My friend, he lifted his hands to his head to push his fingers through his hair, pulling on the roots and staring at the ground. From a distance I couldn't see it, but there were tears falling from his eyes. They glistened beneath the lights, forming small puddles on the ground which grew with every new addition that came from above. I could only stand there and watch him from afar for awhile, fighting the demons within me that demanded I leave him be, that it wasn't my business.

I say demons, because they would have robbed him of what at that point he needed most... a brother.

I couldn't let myself watch on as my friend became a shell of his former self, much as I had myself long ago. So I didn't run, I didn't back down from the challenge I knew was lying ahead of me. It was a challenge greater then any other person I'd faced in the ring before, and I knew-- I knew-- that the end result would be worth the struggle if I could only help him through a little.

My feet scarcely made a sound on the ground, I remember being surprised by my own nervousness of approaching the situation. Guys like him and I... we were used to pressure, used to the tension that came before a confrontation, but this was unlike any I'd ever had before.

Still, I fought those fears and found myself standing beside him, my hand on his shoulder. He never looked up at me, the whole time we spoke he never once could look me in the eye... but he didn't have to to know who it was.

"I'm sick of this, Dom..." came his strained voice, which was fighting against his tightened throat to escape his lips, "Sick of the smell, sick of watching all these people in coats walking around... I'm just sick of all of this."

"I know, I know... but it'll be worth it in the end, okay? She'll wake up soon enough..." I'd began, but he lifted his right hand to grab my wrist on his shoulder, tightening his own grip on it.

"I know that, Dom... I've not given up hope yet. I have to carry on."

I remember... I remember giving him a weak smile. I remember feeling proud for my friend, because even when everything seemed so catastrophically against him... he stood firm in his believing. He wasn't going to lose faith in her, no matter how grim the situation was. Even if, in the end, my friend was ran dry from the medical bills and could never live the life he does now... he would have never lost hope for the better.

I really am proud of him, even today.

"So... that Laura woman still taking care of you?"

He laughed at my comment, we'd been talking alot about his life around that time and this Laura Beumont often came up. She'd been around him alot at the time... always celebrating with him over wins and trying to keep his spirits up-- at least, it seemed at the time.

"She's an old friend, Dom... it's what she does," he managed to force the words out through the lump in his throat, but even in his state of mind back then... I have a feeling he still knew her true intentions in the end.

"Just... be careful, okay? This whole ordeal... I know it's got you messed up." I placed my hands into my jacket pockets and let a sigh escape my lips, and shortly after he responded in kind to my words.

"You have no idea..."

I would, eventually, however... it's almost funny looking back on it. Hearing the voice of another friend in his mind, acting as his conscience... it's comical to the both of us now. Back then, however, I know it was all too real for him, and all too difficult for him to take.

I closed my eyes before lowering my own head, trying to think of words to say to him. Trying to know exactly what I could possibly say that would bring him a smile, or another laugh... something to lighten his meloncholy mood. I couldn't just let the conversation end in an awkward manner, couldn't leave him behind as so many others already had. I was one of the only people who came to see him on a near-daily basis... and not because I felt compelled to, but because I wanted to.

I wanted him to recover, just as badly as I wanted her to recover with him. So even though I didn't know exactly what I could do to help... I never did give up on either of them, and I always did what I could to at least try to help. I was like a blind man trying to him from the oncoming darkness, not exactly knowing where that darkness was or when it would come upon him completely. All I knew at that point in time was that it was beginning to set in, and my friend was teetering dangerously close to the edge of it.

I wouldn't allow him to fall like I did though, I don't know if I could have forgiven myself if he had.

"Listen, I... I know I can't say anything to improve this situation, but I want you to know I'm always going to be here to support you, okay man? I'll be by your side the day she wakes up, I'll..."

He cut me off in mid-sentence, as he usually did back then and, admittedly, still does today.

"... sound gayer with every word that comes from your mouth?"

He's always known how to make a person smile even in the hardest of times, regardless of who was going through the pain. Maybe it was a kind of self-healing humor of his, to crack a joke at a friend's expense and hear them laugh at it, it might be a type of healing for him. Then again, it's probably just him being, well, himself... I just know back then it did help; that it helped the both of us through a troubling time.

True to my word though, when she did wake up... I was there. I wasn't exactly at his side, but nevertheless I was outside the door when the doctors forced him out of the room and he had one of the most intriguing mixes of pure rage and undeniable happiness plastered across his face. When she woke up, the doctors had to get to work to make sure she'd turn out fine; after all, spending months in a coma can take a toll on a person's body.

I was the one holding him back from decking one of the doctors who'd escorted him out of the room, and I was there when he shook that same doctor's hand later that night. The doctor, of course, shook mine as well... he was grateful that I saved his jaw from my friend's fist earlier on.

We really have been through a lot together... why, this wasn't the only point in his life where I was there for him at a critical moment.

Far from it, actually... this was only one of many.

He was drunk, that much I remember... I'd be hard pressed to forget that, really. Drunk off his ass, moreso then he normally was... and he was still trying to fight through his own personal hell. I remember waking up to the sound of my phone ringing and his slurred voice on the other end telling me what a great night it had been, how he'd lost his car and needed a ride. For all the alcohol he drinks... even today, he still can't handle it when the night comes to an end.

By the time I'd gotten there, what I feared might have been my staggering, sputtering, drunken friend friend was instead my staggering, sputtering, drunken friend thinking it was a fine time of morning to take a dip in the city's fountain. It was the first time I'd ever have to drag a half-naked drunken man out of a wishing fountain, and then have to pick up the fallen change he'd decided to drag out with him.

"Lookitcha," he slurred, laughing all the while, "Goody good pickin' up th'pennies..."

"For God's sake, it's stealing if you take them. You don't need to get arrested for stealing a couple of damn pennies, you idiot!"

I had to admit, later on I'd find it hysterical how he tried to sneak a few of the pennies from the ground into his shorts, it was just that at that point in time I was tired and aggrivated. So instead of a laugh and a shake of my head, I gave him a slap upside the back of his head that sent his drunken body listing to the side. He slurred some sort of an empty threat at me, but to this day I'm not quite sure what it was.

I certainly know it had something to do with my mother, though.

It was then that I allowed myself to shake my head and, instead of laughing, I just sighed and picked up the last fallen penny on the ground. Yet when I turned to face him, he wasn't exactly lying about staring at the stars still hovering overhead, rather he was trying to stand and failing horribly at it. The sun was only beginning to rise at that point, so I still had time to use the cover of the dark to get him safely out of the city center and back to his home. I had no intention whatsoever to try and explain why my pantsless, shirtless, drunken friend was wet as we stood next to the city fountain.

So, as I began to make my way over to him, I still don't find it unreasonable that I panicked when I noticed a police car coming at us in the distance. Cursing under my breath, I wound up lifting him up onto my shoulders and running with him to my parked car at the side of the road. I still remember the way he looked over to the side, seeing the advancing figure of the police car and letting out a triumphantly drunken shout for the world to hear.

"The clavary is here!!"

"Oh, for God's sake..."

Unlocking the doors to my car I threw open the passenger side door and tossed my friend inside, slamming shut the door and making my way around the front of the car. At this point, I could only hope the policeman in the car hadn't noticed us by the fountain, and so I made my way to my own door as calmly as I could. Opening it carefully, doing my best not to act suspicious...

"The calgary is coming!!"

"Augh, will you please settle down?!"

He was drunk, I should have known that such a request would fall on deaf and drunken ears. He just kept on babbling to me as I stepped into my car and shut the door behind me, only now allowing my eyes to glance over where the police car was. It had already made it's turn down the road we'd been across from, driving by the area in a slow, patrolling fashion. I couldn't see through the windows well enough to catch whether or not the policeman was staring at us, but I'd imagine he was.

Thank God he wasn't so drunk he couldn't call me... poor guy would have woken up in a jail cell had he not gotten help. Sometimes, back then, I didn't understand him... and there are times nowadays that I still don't. He's my friend, though, one of the closest friends I have. Sometimes it isn't too difficult to understand him at all when others scratch their head to the same situation, and other times it's still like a game of chess.

He considers himself a warrior, much like I do and yet... completely different. We're similar, he and I, so very similar yet still not the same. I remember once, long ago, that he told me we were born to face each other, born to look into each others eyes and claim we were the better man. I never argued with him about it, but even on the eve of a day like this Sunday... I still believe there isn't a better man.

A better warrior, perhaps... but not a better man. Things like that can't be determined the way that we do, they're determined through the experiences in a person's life and their actions and reactions in regards to them. That being said, there is no better man.

"Hey Percolator... th'hell you doin'? I... I 'anna go home..."

Even back then I'd get lost in thought alot, wondering what might have happened had I never arrived. So when his voice pierced my thoughts I couldn't help but jump a little in surprise, bringing an obnoxious laugh to his lips as I sighed and lifted my fingers to my temples, trying to contain my annoyance to the situation.

"Sorry... just thinking."

"Y'gotta keep yer head in th'game..." he sputtered, leaning back into his seat, "Keep... keep on lookin' at whatcher doin'..."

Advice from a drunken friend is always good advice to go by. With a chuckle, I'd started up the car and we made our way down the road. It wasn't that long a drive back to the hotel he was staying in, but having to carry him into the building, the elevator, and then to his room more than likely just made the experience drag out further than I'd wanted it to.

I've noticed that time and time again, when he's needed help, I'm the first man he goes to. Maybe it's because he knows I'll be there, maybe it's just because he trusts me most... whatever the reason, I've always been the first man there for him when he needed it. When times were rough, looking up, or standing still... I was somehow drug into his world once again.

It's just something that, over time, I've been able to grow accustomed to.