text: I had barely been home for 10 minutes before my phone started ringing. “God dammit...” I breathed out. It had been a long day at work. I'm sure most people can relate. I fished for my phone in my pocket for a few agitated seconds before I withdrew it to see who could possibly want something from me now that I was outside of work hours. “Oh..” I said sadly and almost apologetically as I saw the name “Nate” blinking on my phone screen. He was a good friend. And he always answered my call. I was obligated to answer. “Hey.” I said more enthusiastically than I felt. “What's up?” “Hey brotha” He said in a smooth drawn out voice. “What are you up to?” “Just got home from work. Was about to sit down for the first time today.” I said trying to imply that I was not up for anything adventurous. “You down for an ass whooping in smash?” he asked almost condescendingly. Now, while I do love time to myself and to disconnect from the world, I always appreciated a challenge. When Nate refers to “Smash” he means super smash bros. We both love to play and I’ve never once considered myself a superior player to him. Which is why he irritated the hell out of me sometimes. I love to win. I love to improve. And I love the fight it takes to become better than other people. I love facing them down especially when the odds are against you and coming out on top. If you know what I’m talking about, then you also know how maddening it is when someone is talking smack. The simple question Nate had asked me made something stir in my belly. I felt simple defiance and hunger for competition rile up inside me. The longing thoughts I had for my bed started to fade into the background and different priorities had started to set in. “When you gonna be here?” Is all I asked, a little too tired to put much effort into my retort. We hung up a minute later after a little more bantering and he was over in less than 20 minutes. Barely enough time for me to shower and get out of my work clothes. But when he arrived I was ready and the fight was on. Nate and I might have been pretty closely matched but he was just a head better than me. A step faster. A move ahead. Always just a little better. It infuriated me. But it was also exhilarating. While I couldn't recall a single detail of those games, I remember reveling in the challenge of fighting my friend again and again. Each time seemingly doing better than the last but as I stepped up my game, he matched me. Always. By the end of the night I was seeing him out the door frustrated as hell with barely a game or two under my belt after the dozens that we played. But regardless, I was still smiling as I waved to him while he left my driveway. I walked to my room and laid down in my bed staring at the ceiling. I thought back on the games and how much fun I had. I tried to think of the previous games I had with him and how I could improve on my playing. But all I could think about was the stupid trash talking between matches. The stupid jokes we made and the small talk we had to pass the time in between. I could remember nothing about the matches except the good time I was having with my friend. Maybe it wasn’t the competition I was living for. I looked at the time and decided it was time to go to sleep. I closed my eyes still mad as hell about losing, but I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face for the life of me.