A Dream Come True

"You're supposed to tell me how horrible I look," I grinned, teasing her, "And that I should be ashamed of myself for brawling like a common hoodlum."

"Not in this lifetime, baby," she softly purred, "And allow me to remind you that there is nothing common about you, and there never will be either. Do you understand me?"

"I love you," I smiled, "I have since the very first time ever laid eyes on you ya know."

"I know that, just like I know that you love me, Michael," she tenderly replied, "And I've never doubted it for even so much as a second."

"I never want to disappoint you, because I'd be so lost without you, Amy," I said, taking her hand into mine and softly kissing the back of it, "I don't know if I ever told you that before so; I'm telling you now."

"No, Michael, you've never told me that before now," she warmly smiled, "But just so you know; I'd wither away and die if I ever lost you, my love."

"That's something else that you'll never have to worry about either," I told her, while I was standing in front of the mirror shaving my face "Because you're my reason for living."

"I love hearing about how much you love me, baby," she smiled, looking at her wristwatch, "But you need to hurry up and finished getting dressed, or otherwise you're going to be late for your press conference, okay?"

"Okay, sweetheart," I chuckled, "It'll only take me a few more minutes before I'm ready."

~~~~~~

Chapter Fourteen

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

Coaches Larson and McGavin, with Terry Watkins, as well as a man named, Hal Shannon, an attorney who was a long time friend of the Watkins family, all stood with me behind a raised podium that had several microphones secured to it.

I had mentally, as well as emotionally, prepared to answer the questions that I somehow knew were going to be asked of me by the local and national media. Granted, I had no idea what kinds of questions that they were going to ask me, mind you; but I still resigned myself to be totally truthful with them, and not allow them any information that I thought might even remotely be of a personal nature.

"Mike, "a lady from one of the local stations asked, "Were you afraid of your opponent when you stepped into the ring to fight him earlier this evening?"

"No," I plainly replied, "I've never been afraid of idiots before, and I certainly wasn't about to be afraid of another one tonight.

"Tell us, Mike," a man from one of the national TV stations inquired, "Do you know why Will Thomas was arrested and then escorted by the police from the premises after the match tonight?"

"I would imagine that he broke the law," I replied, "Why else would the police arrest somebody? I mean, didn't you learn the answers to those kinds of questions when you went to school? I know that I sure did." The other reporters in attendance that night all laughed at the answers that I gave that man, but I could tell that I pissed him off. However, I didn't give a damn about him then, and I sure as hell don't care about him now. Besides, it's because of assholes like him that the press sometimes gets a bad name to start with.

"One more question, Mike," that same shit head reporter maliciously asked, "Has anyone ever told you that you were an arrogant jerk?"

"Not even the first time," I dismissively glared at him, "Has anyone ever told you that you were a supercilious pig?" And this time his peers did more than laugh, they applauded my response to this prick, making it very clear that he was very disliked by his own kind.

"Hi, Mike," a lady from the Associated Press replied, "Did you know that Will Thomas was connected to and tied in with the mob?"

"No, ma'am, I most certainly didn't," I truthfully answered, "I'm just a simple college student, and it's all I can do just to keep up with my studies sometimes."

"Over here, Mike," a guy from the United Press International waved, "Can you tell us what brought about the fight to begin with?"

"You mean the Exhibition Match?" I chuckled, "Not only did Will Thomas disrespect my father for being a Vietnam Veteran, but he disrespected everyone, every single man, woman, every person who was called to duty by this country to fight in that crappy war. So, I basically called him on his own ignorant stupidity, and he paid for it dearly. Won't you agree?" And this time when I gave my answer, everyone there, the press, the public, as well as every single person in attendance, gave me a five minute, standing ovation for the comment I had just given.

"Another question, please?" an older, kind of sad and weary looking lady, standing in the second row of reporters condescendingly asked, "If you hate war so badly, then please, tell us, Mister Masterson; why did you use violence as a means to settle a seemingly non-violent difference of opinion between you and another human being?"

"It was a case of self defense, I assure you," I stated, in no uncertain terms, "This man called me out first, and then kidnapped, as well as threatened my family with bodily harm if I didn't intentionally lie down and lose the fight just so he could win a bet...a rather large bet with some very dangerous people, whom, I don't know, and don't want to know either."

"You still haven' answered my question," she contemptuously replied, "Why did you use violence against another human being, just to settle a difference of opinion with him?"

"Do you have any children? I asked, "And if so, how far would you go to protect them?"

"Yes, I have one son and you're the reason he's in jail, God dammit," she angrily said, and then she quickly withdrew a nine millimeter pistol from her purse, aimed it directly at me, and then with an almost demonic tone of voice, replied, "And this is how far I'm willing to go to protect him, you motherfucker," and then she began to fire the weapon.

She only got two shots off before she was taken down and disarmed by two rather large security guards. However right before the men were able to wrench the weapon from her hand, it discharged again, hitting me in the left shoulder, which knocked me backwards, making me fall off of the raised podium and onto the ground. I hit my head on the floor of gymnasium, and it was a good thing for me that I waas hard headed or other wise I might have been knocked unconscious.

"MICHAEL," I heard Amy scream, and then she was at my side, next to me on the floor behind the podium, with tears raining down her face, "Can you hear me, baby? Please don't die...please," and holding tightly onto my hand, she began to tearfully weep.

Even though my left shoulder was on fire and hurting like nothing I'd ever felt before, I still had sense enough to keep my wits about me, knowing that I'd not been mortally wounded. Therefore, I opened my eyes to let her know that I was not only still alive, but that I was also going to be okay.

"Shh, it's okay, baby," I soothed her, "I'm still here, Amy, and I'm going to be alright."

"But you've been shot, Michael," she painfully cried, "Oh, my God, you've been shot..." and then she couldn't continue for crying, yet she hung onto my right arm like she thought I would certainly die if she were to let go."

~~~~~~

The police arrived a few minutes before the ambulance did, and in the process, discovered the identity of the woman who shot me. Her name was Joanne Thomas, Will's mother, and because of the fact that Will had been charged with two felonies; somewhere in her deluded mind she felt like it was all my fault that her son was in jail, and that I'd somehow driven him to commit the crimes he'd been charged with.

However, that was the furthest thing from the truth, and when the paramedics realized that I was not as bad off as they originally thought; they had a decidedly more relaxed attitude about where my health was concerned.

Don't get me wrong, they were still going to take me to the hospital where I would immediately be taken into emergency surgery, as a team was standing by at the University Hospital. However, as the paramedics were rolling the gurney I was on past the police cruiser that Mrs. Thomas was handcuffed and seated in the back of, I made them stop, help sit me up and then help me to stand up.

Then I made the police pull her from out of the backseat of the cruiser, lifting her to stand so that she and I were face-to-face. My left arm was tied and taped firmly against my chest so; after placing my right arm around her shoulder, I then leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and gently said, "I'm truly very sorry about Will, Mrs. Thomas, but I'm going to do everything in my power to see that you don't get into as much trouble as the District Attorney is going to try to bring down on you."

"But why would you do that for me?" she began to cry, as the press's camera's were recording video, and flashbulbs were popping everywhere around us, "I tried to kill you."

"No you didn't," I gently smiled, "Because if you were really trying to kill me, I'd be dead...okay?"

And then as I slowly turned to walk away, I looked back at her and with a painful smile on my face, I said, "I'm doing this because I believe everyone deserves a second chance, and it's your turn."

"You're very kind," she sniffled, "Thank you Mister Masterson."

"Mister Masterson is my father," I groaned smiling, the paramedics helping me back onto the gurney, "My name is Mike."

~~~~~~

"The last thing I remembered before I was taken back to the Operating Room was Amy as she leaned down, kissed my lips, and then told me how very much she loved me.

~~~~~~

When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I saw was my beautiful Amy, smiling and gently holding my left hand. "Hi, baby," she sweetly sniffled, "I'm so glad that you're back with us."

The sun was shining through my hospital room window, which made me feel a little better. Then I looked down at my body, pleased to find that while everything was still in tact, my shoulder was thickly bandaged while my left arm was immobilized, and taped firmly across the left side of my chest.

I was about to speak to Amy until a woman wearing a white lab coat, who, I correctly assumed was the surgeon who had worked on me, walked in to my room with a bright smile across her pretty face.

"Good morning, Mister Masterson, I'm Doctor Pamela Wickham," she grinned, "How're you feeling this morning?"

"A little bit sore," I weakly smiled, "And you can call me Mike. Mister Masterson is my father."

Then she took a seat in one of the chairs next to my bed, opened the chart she was holding, and then smiled and said, "The gunshot you received, luckily, didn't hit anything vital," and the she reached into her lab coat jacket, and after withdrawing a small specimen bottle which contained what was clearly a nine millimeter bullet, she handed it to me, and with the same bright smile which had never left her pretty face since the first moment she'd walked into my room, she continued, "I thought you might want a little souvenir from all of this. But you're going to be perfectly fine. Don't get me wrong though, it's going to be at least two weeks before the bandages come completely off. Plus, I had to give you four stitches to cover the wound, but other than that, I don't see anything whatsoever that's going to keep you from making a full and perfect recovery from all of this."

"Thank you, Doctor Wickham," I graciously replied, "I really appreciate all you've done for me."

"You're very welcome, Mike," she nicely replied, "But if you don't mind, may I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it if you don't want to though."

"Please," I smiled, "Feel free to ask me anything you want to."

"Alright then, here it is," she began, "My fiancée took me to the fight last night; and I wanted to first off, say that I thought you were absolutely amazing; but what I'd like to know is, where did you learn to fight like you do? I mean, I've never seen anything like what I saw last night, not ever."

"First of all, thank you for the very nice compliment, I really appreciate it," I told her, "But in answer to your question, my father put me under martial arts instruction when I was very young; and I guess that, to put it bluntly, I took to it like a duck takes to water," and because of the look of confusion on her face, I added, "What I mean to say is that it just came naturally to me."

"My fiancée and I both thought that you were absolutely amazing," she once again, very nicely replied, "And I was wondering if you might consider teaching me how to defend myself like that?"

"Michael is a great teacher," Amy proudly beamed, "And I've heard him say that women are even better students than men."

"Let me guess," Dr. Wickham sweetly said, "You two are boyfriend and girlfriend, aren't you?"

"We sure are," I replied, gently taking my beautiful Amy's soft hand, "And I'm going to marry this girl as soon as we I graduate from college."

"Good for you," Dr. Wickham sweetly giggled, "What're you majoring in, Michael; you don't mind me calling you Michael,. Do you?"

"Not at all," I grinned, "I came to college with an undeclared major, but next semester I'm going to major in music, preferably piano and voice, but with a strong minor in theory and composition."

"Oh, really," she replied smiling, "And I assume you play piano from what you just said, yes?"

"Oh, my God, Doctor Wickham," Amy sweetly gushed, "You should hear him. He plays and sings so beautifully."

"Wow," she giggled, "Men like this don't come around very often you know. He's good looking, very strong, and from what you just said, he's very talented, too."

"I know," Amy sweetly smiled, and then quickly kissed my lips, "He every woman's dream...a dream come true."

~~~~~~

Epilogue

Amy and I moved into and apartment together that next semester, where we remained until we both graduated. A year later we were married in a very sweet and tender ceremony that was attended by our families and close friends.

Mike Watkins and Sandra Ross were married two years to the day after they met, and have been as happy as can be ever since. Amy's little sister, Nikki, met her dream guy during her second year of college, and while he's five and a half years older than her, Terry Watkins, who now plays professional football for the Pittsburg Steelers, has treated her like gold since the very first time he got mine and Amy's permission to ask her out on a date...lol.

Will Thomas was given a sentence of twenty-five years to life for the crimes he committed when he took my parents hostage. Sadly though, he was mysteriously killed in prison. Some say that it was because of the money he owed the mob, but no one actually knows what really happened.

I refused to press charges against Joanne Thomas so; the state of Texas pressed charges against her instead. I stood up in her defense, and testified on her behalf at her trial. And when she was found guilty and convicted of aggravated assault, the district attorney's office, at mine and my family's request, asked that the judge show her leniency and gave her five years of probation, which she did with no problems whatsoever.

Three years after we were married, Amy gave birth to an eight pound, seven ounce baby girl who we named Samantha Leigh, and call her Sam. She's beautiful because she looks just like her mother, thank God, however, because of complications after Sam's birth; Amy and I were never able to have anymore children after that. I worked as professional studio and session's musician for twenty years, and made enough money to not only retire early, but to put our baby girl through college, too.

I now have my own martial arts dojo, where I teach adult men and teen aged boys. My daughter, who also earned her black belt at roughly the same age as I did, also teaches alongside of me, but she likes teaching the children, and she's very good at what she does.

Amy eventually earned her black belt not too long after she graduated college, and she teaches the adult women, as well as the teen aged girls. I also taught Sam to play the piano, too, but she prefers not only the rigors of martial arts training, but teaching as well, hence the reason her major in college was kinesiology and physical education.

Our dojo, Masterson Karate, has trained many martial artists from all over the southwest, many of whom, have gone on to find their fortunes working in the movies on Hollywood sets, teaching movie stars how to look like they actually know what they're doing, which makes me proud, and therefore, for me, is A Dream Come True.

THE END

I know that I'm going to catch grief from the wannabe critics out there, I always do. But to those who like to leave their crass, and childish little comments, please try to remember that this is just a FICTIONAL STORY, nothing more, nothing less.

In the mean time, I wish you all peace and prosperity, and I pray that your lives are all very richly blessed.

MoogPlayer