A TW Lightweight Enigma: *Myca* - 1 RyanCarrWeber

~Two Weeks Ago~

The chair of the three parents who took care of the few organizational tasks of TW, who had worked with BW before TW was founded, recieved in the mail a letter from a boy interested in the league. The letter, and the boy from whom it came, were more than passingly fascinating. He offered only his first name - Myca.

The boy, a recent immigrant with his parents from Western Hungary, had written to join the lightweight division - for which he was small - and also to offer his reasons for joining it. The letter, interestingly, was in better English than most home-grown HS seniors speak, despite the boy's having studied the language for only two years, according to the letter. The boy was obviously a prodigy.

As to why he wanted to join, Myca wrote: "I desire to experience through close physical combat interaction with boys my age the frustrations and rages which lie so close to the surface of their skin. I want to feel the tension they release as I fight them, even if my size means I become what wrestling calls a jobber. If I sound masochistic - I am." That passage left the chair wondering whether the boy was emotionally unstable, queer, or just plain crazy.

At first, allowing the boy to fight seemed unwise. But the boy's letter was co-signed by his parents, and he was of High School age. So out went the letter of welcome.

~One Week Ago~

Myca walked into the changing room mostly unnoticed, and looked around at the smattering of wrestlers around the room. His eyes fell on one, Bill, who was stretching in a corner of the room where no one else seemed particularly inclined to go. Anyone following the new lightweight's eyes, as David, himself new but as yet untedted, was, could trace the small teen's gaze up and down the lines of Bill's body as he stretched. David made a note of this, and returned to a conversation he was having.

Myca watched the amateur-experienced heavyweight a moment longer and then walked, or rather strode with exaggerated steps, over to him. He stood unnoticed behind Bill for a few seconds before winding up and kicking the heavyweight in the butt. Laughing hysterically, in boisterous teetering indicative of his age, Myca darted from the spot just as Bill turned, stunned, and began to pursue. Myca rocketed around the changing area, easily faster than his heavier persuer, and ran between, around, and over wrestlers to avoid capture, while an ebullient smile played accross his eyes the entire time.

Bill was furious, not happy at all about being played, and getting madder as the other wrestlers began laughing at the failure of his attempt to catch the lightweight. Myca dodged and feinted and avoided Bill for over a minute until a foot, owned by fellow lightweight Kevin, tripped him with a thud to the carpeted floor. David, his attention drawn back to the funny little newcomer, made another mental note.

Bill was soon upon Myca, who surprised everyone by not resisting at all to Bill's assault. Bill pounced - literally - onto the smaller teen, sitting on the boy and shaking him, "What the hell do you think you're doing, you little shit?" He slapped the kid hard accross the cheek, relaxing his weight a bit more onto Myca's stomach. "You just walk in here and kick me?" Slap. "I'll teach you, you little -" As Bill was about to slap Myca again, the boy deftly caught his wrist, and held his gaze.

"Don't vent at me, Bill," Myca began, with Bill unsure how the newcomer knew his name. "You're unhappy that you're not in the Heavyweight Mini-Tournament. You need to vent. It feels good to vent at me for a petty reason. Do so next week, one on one."

David smiled.

Bill became suddenly aware of the smaller teen's frame beneath his weight, of the boy's thin fingers holding his own thicker wrist. He considered, unsure whether to be mad at the boy's presumption or awed at his accuracy. The latter prevailed, though not completely. An incredulous amateur looked down at Myca, and said, "okay. We'll have a match next week. You'll be no problem, you weight what, 125?"

Myca smiled again with his eyes, and Bill got up, helping the newcomer to his feet. "But don't do that again," Bill admonished. Myca nodded, with a mirthful giggle, and when Bill turned to return to his corner, the boy again kicked him in the butt. Bill turned, slowly, more amused than angered, and when he saw Myca, the lightweight was already at the door out of the building, looking back.

To Bill, he said, "I weigh 108 and a half, exactly half of you" and the heavyweight gaped. To everyone, the boy said, "my name is Myca. You won't soon forget it." And as abruptly as he had caused the commotion, he was gone.

David, watching with a smile from behind a disinterested mask, made note.

Changing room conversation for the remainder of the day frequently wandered back to the strange little newcomer who had boldly challenged a heavyweight for his first match.