"I knew it. I told you this would happen. I said from the start you would get hurt, and what happened?" Craig's words were heartfelt and edged with compassion as he spoke to his dad.
"I'm fine." Bobby Sutton replied, stubbornly dismissing his eldest child's concerns.
"You're not fucking fine, dad! You were turning purple for christ's sake!" Craig's words, though still coming from a loving place, carry an increased sense of frustration.
"So you watched then?" Bobby replied, his voice an octave higher with pride.
"I saw a clip." Bobby sighs, deflated by Craig's words. Craig continues
"When someone tells you your old man had the life squeezed out of him you take notice. Look, this has gone on long enough, I think you should come home.""You fucking what? You're off your rocker, boy. I'm not going anywhere." Booby replied firmly, determined to continue.
"Dad, what do you really think is going to happen when you step up to Keith Ford?" Craig asked, hopeful that his dad would see sense.
"I'm going to fight." Bobby replied pridefully.
"You're gonna get killed!" Craig asserted, exasperation in his voice.
"No. Beaten maybe, battered possibly. But I'll walk out on my own two feet. What else was I supposed to do anyway? You tell me, boy!" Bobby spoke with determination.
"Maybe you shouldn't have challenged the biggest man Ammo has to offer." Craigs responded flippantly and instantly regretted doing so.
"And maybe he shouldn't have put his hands on me." Bobby replied indignantly.
"Yeah, perhaps not, dad, but he did and now he's going to do it again." Craigs said, now obviously concerned for his father's safety.
"Good." Bobby replied firmly, with determination in his voice.
"I just... maybe I should give up. There's just no talking sense into you." Craig sounded defeated as he spoke.
"This is sensible. This is what you do. I didn't raise you to be a pushover. I didn't raise you to back down. So don't start expecting those things of me. I have to fight.""Just... Okay, dad. I'll speak to you soon.""You will. Love you.""Love you too."
So...
I suppose some thanks are in order.
Ripley, I appreciate the help but I... I don't appreciate the help.
You understand me, son?
I know you already had your own issues with Ford and... you did what you thought was right.
It's admirable. I would probably do the same. Or I at least like to think I would.
But if the roles were reversed I think you'd understand exactly what I mean when I say I don't appreciate the help.
It was necessary. Make no mistake about it, I was fading, fast.
My vision was... blurring. My hearing was getting more distant the more he tightened his grip.
But I'd rather die fighting than live because another man fought for me.
Ford, listen to me son.
It's been almost two weeks and I still feel your arms around me.
Every time I breathe I feel discomfort, pain. A reminder.
Challenging you, they probably think I have a death wish.
But they don't know...
Two weeks ago when you squeezed the breath from my lungs, the blood from my heart, when you compressed by ribs and deprived me of oxygen until my face turned purple. As my vision faded and I approached the point of unconsciousness...
For a split second.
Just a fleeting second.
I felt...
More alive than I have in years.
I don't have a death wish, Ford.
I have a desire to feel.
Alive.
Please...
Give it to me.