American Victory by Henry Cejudo

Author:Henry Cejudo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

SEVEN

I have slept on wooden floors, on dirty bathroom tiles, on mattresses stained an unimaginable color, next to armpits emitting an unimaginable smell. I’ve slept in the depths of the human condition and up on the heights of an apartment rooftop. Since leaving home, there is really only one way I haven’t slept.

I haven’t slept in the dark.

I can’t sleep in the dark. It’s physically impossible for me. My mind races and my hearts thumps and I just can’t relax while alone in the blackness.

I need some sort of light, whether it comes through an open curtain or a cracked door or, okay, hell, I’ll admit, even a baby night-light. Fine, go ahead, laugh all you want. I can hear the joke now, one of the toughest guys in the world and he’s afraid of the dark, right?

Not exactly. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of the solitude of the dark. I’m afraid of the quiet of the dark. I’m not used to sleeping alone, remember? Some of those first nights at the Olympic Training Center when I slept with Angel to avoid being alone in my own room? I’m also not used to sleeping in quiet, especially the kind of quiet that is never interrupted by a crazed Spanish scream or long looping siren.

When I was growing up, sleep was always the best, safest time of my day. I was surrounded by family in a nest of blankets. I was protected by my siblings’ bodies, surrounded by the murmurs of their whispered conversations. They were not only my bedmates, they were my shield against the world.

Once I moved out, I missed that. Hugging a cold pillow miles away in another state is not the same as draping your arm around a warm shoulder of a brother or sister. Now, while the hardest parts of my life have become easier, the easiest part of my life has become hardest. Even though nobody else is with me, I need to know that someone else is out there. Even if that someone else is just a flickering hall light.

The first person to notice this was Mr. Hurtado, my assistant high school wrestling coach and resident mentor. I would usually hang around his house long enough to be invited to spend the night, and then I would go to bed before everyone else and sneak back to Mr. and Mrs. Hurtado’s bed, which was soft and comfy and felt like it was being used even when it wasn’t. Mr. Hurtado would eventually come back, find me there, and throw me out, putting me in a separate room or out on the couch, and every night, I remember he would laugh.

“Can you leave a light on for me?” I would ask.

“Big tough guy can’t sleep in the dark?” he would say with a chuckle.

But he would always find a distant light and switch it on. And he would never say a word about it to anyone else. And I’ll never forget him for that.

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