Any words of encouragement—good luck, have fun, break a leg—other than what Caleb’s mom offered before each fight would have been better: “Why do you want to take a chance of messing up that cute, little face?”
While she saw Caleb’s youthful glow—a trait embedded into every mother’s DNA—a massive frame of muscle, hardened from years of wrestling, turned to look at his mother, and a face—accessorized with knobby, cauliflower ears and a nose hooked like a question mark for the unknown number of breaks suffered—smiled widely, assuring her that there was nothing to worry about.
Of course, the move to pro invited plenty of worry, and Caleb’s coach zeroed in on elbows, especially for his upcoming debut against Mark Riley—a fighter with a reputation for slicing open opponents with the points of his arms like they were blunt force carving tools.
Coach spelled out the game plan from day one of camp, “All you wrestlers are the same: you’re useless on your back, so every movement—whether on offense or defense—is to keep us from winding up like a tortoise on its shell. Got it?”
Unfortunately, the entire strategy focused on not getting into a particular position, instead of what to do if it were to actually happen, and the symmetry in Caleb’s face was disfigured—a roadmap of scar tissue and a reconstructed cheekbone—forever.
Prompted from the Six-Sentence Story at: https://girlieontheedge1.wordpress.com/2020/02/02/sundays-six-sentence-story-word-prompt-93/.
Prompted from Fandango’s Word of the Day Challenge at: https://fivedotoh.com/2020/02/05/fowc-with-fandango-forever/.
Also prompted from One Word Sunday at: https://travelwithintent.com/2020/02/02/symmetry-barbican-london/.