Their friends called them Handsome.

to their bottoms, they were Sir.

To all they encountered they were

tough but fair:

Compassion as combat,

there for your crisis, there to pick you up

bare knuckle, no trophies, just kindness with a backbone of trauma.

They never lost a fight 

until they did….

This was an endurance match.

It went on for days, Handsome trading punches with

a man from Parts Unknown, in bright red trunks.

The challenger fought like he had all the time in the world,

and maybe he did. Handsome did not. Handsome only had a lifetime, just as limited as anyone else’s.

Handsome could not believe a stranger was handing their ass to them without seeming to break a sweat.

Handsome fought back, fighting for their own life now, unsteady and punch-drunk, still enduring

until one day, just before the bell (nobody was counting rounds anymore)–

Handsome saw their opponent’s face, for the first time,

and it scared Handsome–they who built a big pile of nothing into a neighborhood-sized wheelbarrow filled with love and muscle.

Handsome was not used to being scared.

Handsome didn’t even have words for it.

Fear is for other people, they thought, not for me.

Handsome came of age thinking only

of others who needed to be less afraid.

Thinking, I can help with that. I can keep you safe.

I can keep you safe, but it’s always up to you.

That’s my way–the Handsome Path. You can take it or leave it. 

But Handsome’s body knew what fear was.

Handsome glanced up long enough to see the empty arena. Everyone they knew, all the people they’d helped–they’d all left Handsome to fight their biggest fight alone.

Handsome’s noble spirit fell.

the glance, the fall, the weariness–dear God the weariness of brave tough Handsome–were all the strange opponent needed. A right hook, driving bright and relentless as a comet, smashed into Handsome’s handsome face and 

laid them low, 

lower than anyone anywhere thought Handsome could go.