Gravity

by Sarah Deming

  Ariana cocked her head and eyed Gravity, a half smile playing on her lips. Gravity extended her gloves, grinning. Ariana touched them.

  “Tell her three rounds wasn’t enough,” Gravity said to Igor.

  He translated. Ariana replied, looking right at her as she spoke.

  Igor said, “She says it was enough for you in Canada. She says you run from her the whole fight.”

  “Tell her I’m from Brownsville. Never ran, never will. What I did was called boxing. She should try it sometime.”

  It was possible this did not translate perfectly into Portuguese. Igor and Ariana went back and forth a bit in their soft, sexy language that made everything sound like a love song.

  Finally Igor said, “She says she will show you how they fight in São Paulo. And now there are not judges to steal her joy.”

  Gravity grinned and touched her rival’s gloves again. She skipped back to Shorty to get the mouthpiece. The Frenchwoman and the Swede slipped out of the ring, and Gravity and Ariana took their place. The bell rang and they began.

  Ariana came out hard, like she was still angry about losing the decision, and fired off three pistonlike jabs. Gravity cupped the first two and slipped the third, dancing to her left and snapping out her own double jab in return. Ariana caught it on her high, tight guard, then fired a one-two combo to the head. Gravity slid left and countered with a hook to the body. Ariana brought in her elbow for the block.

  Gravity raised her eyes from Ariana’s shoulders to her face. The Brazilian was scowling in concentration. But even with her brow furrowed and her Mohawk smushed down by the headgear, she looked beautiful and strong.

  Ariana surprised her with a lead right hand. It was a good shot, thrown with all her weight behind it, and although Gravity blocked it, she was knocked back a little. So she did the same, slingshotting off her back foot to return fire and catching Ariana at the sweet spot at the end of her right arm’s extension. Then it was Ariana who took a step back.

  They broke for water and instructions, and when they started back up again, Gravity was feeling lighter, and her feet on the canvas were nimble. Both of them began moving more quickly, letting their hands go, throwing threes, fours, and more.

  “That’s it!” Shorty yelled. “Punches in bunches!”

  Gravity lobbed a left uppercut, right hand, double hook to the body and head, without any illusion that it would score. Ariana slipped and slid delicately and returned to her piston jabs. Gravity blocked easily. She threw some shoulder feints, hoping to get Ariana out of position, but the other woman was undeceived and, smiling around her mouthpiece, jabbed at Gravity’s body.

  In the third round, Ariana kept circling and leading with the jab, while Gravity blocked and countered with her own. She felt somehow wide open, amused, although her focus was intense on Ariana. They continued this dance for a while, circling each other, probing for weakness.

  It made her sad in a way when she saw how to beat her. There it was: as Ariana tired, her right dipped low every time she jabbed, leaving her open for a counterhook. Coach had taught Gravity to hook two ways. One was more looping, thrown from close quarters to strike the side of the opponent’s head. Gravity would throw the other kind, the hook that was long and straight and thrown from farther out, almost like a jab but twice as hard.

  Gravity had gotten the feel by now for Ariana’s jabbing rhythm, which mostly went in threes. She waited till the end of her next triplet and hooked with her, hard. When it landed, Ariana’s eyes watered with pain. Gravity came back immediately with a double right cross, being disciplined and keeping her distance. She was longer than Ariana. There was no need to crowd or rush. The second right hand wobbled Ariana’s legs, and she barreled into Gravity, holding on tight and panting.

  From then on, Gravity had it all her own way. She lit Ariana up, picking her shots, having her fun. The best part was, at the end of the fifth, Ariana turned from her, shaking her glove in the air and taking out her mouthpiece.

  “Não mais!”

  There it was. Gravity had made a great champion quit. This was an indisputable victory, a private concession better than a medal on her neck. If only Carmen had been there to write it down.

  Gravity did not particularly want to see the Great Wall of China, but Kaylee said, “Anchors aweigh, matey! The sea air’ll be good for what ails ye,” and kept making dumb jokes about booty until she agreed to go, just to shut her up. Nothing is worse than an optimist when you are trying to be depressed.

  Yesterday’s sparring had temporarily elevated her mood, but after the endorphin high wore off, it left her feeling raw. It had whetted her appetite for boxing again, and that made the thought of not fighting in Rio ache in her anew.

  Du Li had won again last night, advancing to the semis against the UK’s Tasha Newman. Gravity had not been able to find Carmen to get the scouting report on Tasha. The other semifinal was Jean Sullivan against the Russian Sofya Bulgakov.

  Gravity was the last on the bus, and as she trudged up the steps, the Chinese man in charge of the outing scolded her for tardiness—Chinese men were always scolding her. She took a seat in the back and watched the factories roll by as they headed to the place called Laolongtou, where the Great Wall ended at the Bohai Sea.

  There by the water, the exhaust fumes lifted, and she could smell the salt air beneath. The mixed group of boxers, coaches, and officials gathered on a broad plaza by a statue of some general. Gravity was unable to muster the energy to listen to the tour guide’s speech about fortifications and dynasties. Little snippets floated to her ears:

  “More than twenty thousand kilometers in length…the only man-made structure visible from space…Laolongtou meaning ‘head of the dragon’…a gift shop we will visit at the end.”

  They walked along a raised pathway of square tan stones with brick walls on either side. The walls started out about the height of Monster and gradually got lower. One side had crenellations that you could lean into and look out over the rocky shore.

  As they walked along this path to the water, Gravity kept waiting to see the impressive Great Wall. Then they went through a big stone pagoda-looking thing and emerged onto a small platform that overlooked the sea. And that was the end, and she realized this was the Great Wall; they had been walking on it the whole time.

  “Say ‘cheese,’ mami!”

  It was Shorty, in a cap that said “Jabbin’ for Jesus,” his usual grin beneath his thin mustache. She gave him a big fake smile, squinting into the sun. He took a selfie with her, then made her take a picture of him. Then they stood together side by side, looking out at the Yellow Sea.

  “Amazing, all the places boxing take you,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  She wasn’t really feeling it, but Shorty was always so enthused about everything. She didn’t want to rain on his parade. He patted her shoulder. His hand was square and stubby, big for how short he was: a puncher’s hand.

  “It’s good you train yesterday, mami. Train and pray. That’s your job now.”

  She sighed.

  He cocked his head and studied her through his tiny wire-framed glasses.

  “You no pray, mami?”

  “Yeah, of course I pray….”

  She had talked to God for hours after the loss, lying there in her bed sleepless and dry-eyed—because somehow she still could not cry, could not remember the last time she had cried, although her heart was breaking—then pacing the dormitory courtyard beneath the moonlight and flickering fluorescents.

  She had yelled at God, asking why He had done this to her when she always tried so hard, when she had done her roadwork and looked out for Tyler and endured all her mother’s bullshit and Lefty’s betrayal and not done drugs or alcohol. Then she had apologized to God for yelling. Then she had berated herself and contemplated all her failings; it was like picking at a scab.


  Then she had found her favorite Psalm in Sacred’s Bible. It was Psalm 144, the one that started with “Blessed be the Lord my strength which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight” and ended with everybody being happy in the streets. But there was a part in the middle about God coming down and delivering King David from the hands of strange people who lied. She thought of it now, as she leaned out over the thick stone and looked onto the implacable sea.

  God had not done that. He had let her lose. He had let Rick Ross play her. And Lefty, too.

  She turned back to Shorty, who looked so goofy, grinning at the ocean in his Jesus cap. She thought of his barrage of corner advice, some of it good, some of it useless. He had no idea what she was going through.

  She said, “I talk to God, but I don’t think He’s listening.”

  Shorty said sharply, “How you know what God hears?”

  “I don’t. I just mean, God has better things to do than worry about me and my boxing. Who am I to ask Him for favors?”

  Shorty laughed and shook his head.

  The group was on the move, and so they turned away from the sea and walked together in silence back through the pagoda-like thing and along the wall toward the gift shop. After a while, he said, “Let me tell you something.”

  What he told her next was better than any piece of corner advice she would ever hear. Gravity had heard rumors about it. Coach had said something way back about how Shorty was a miracle, and Kaylee mentioned something about him being part of “that 1980 team.” She said it like it was something special, but Gravity could not remember any medalists from that year. It was the 1976 and 1984 teams that were the most famous. But she had never been that great at history.

  Shorty had been the light flyweight champion, the smallest of all the weight classes. The reason she had never heard of his team was that 1980 was the height of the Cold War, and the US boycotted the Moscow Games. The team flew to Poland instead for an international dual meet. Shorty’s mother had driven him to the airport in Wisconsin for his flight, but he could not make himself get out of the car. As he told Gravity this, he stopped walking, removed his glasses, and dabbed at his tears.

  Gravity stared at him in astonishment.

  “I don’t know, mami. Something stop me. God told me don’t go.”

  The plane crashed over Warsaw. The entire US team died: fourteen boxers and eight officials.

  Shorty put the glasses back on, and his face assumed its habitual serenity as he turned back to look at the Great Wall. Gravity looked at him for a moment, registering her new understanding of his smile. Then she followed his gaze to the end of the wall, where it jutted out into the sea. It really did look like the head of a dragon.

  Shorty said, “God works in mysterious ways, mami. You say, ‘Who am I to ask God favors?’ But who are you not to ask? You don’t get to decide for God.”

  She took that in.

  “Pray as hard as you can,” he told her. “Right now, that’s your job.”

  BOXINGFORGIRLS.COM

  THE GREAT WALL OF BLOGS

  Carmen Cruz, Independent Journalist

  May 25, 2016

  World Amateur Championships, Day Six: Semifinals Preview

  QINHUANGDAO, CHINA—As the tournament winds to a close, the remaining 40 undefeated fighters prepare to face off in tomorrow’s semifinal sessions. Most of the quotas for Rio have now been claimed; the remaining slots will likely be finalized when the semifinals are over. Let’s take a look at the four US fighters whose hopes remain alive.

  London bronze medalist Paloma Gonzales has had a good run at featherweight, outpointing Ukraine in the round of 16 and yesterday squeaking by Mongolia. Gonzales will face a tougher test tomorrow against Kazakhstan’s Dina Kyzaibay, who has the size to give her problems and has dominated thus far with two stoppages and one decision. Gonzales says, “I’m not worried about Dina. She’s a strong girl, but she has the boxing IQ of a squirrel.”

  Brooklyn’s Gravity Delgado, although eliminated by China in the preliminaries, will be watching tomorrow’s lightweight semifinals with great interest. If Du Li of China defeats the UK’s Tasha Newman, Delgado goes to Rio. If Li loses, Delgado could still go, but only if Newman then takes the gold medal in this tournament. This seems unlikely, as the other semifinal features the greatest star in the lightweight division, Olympic gold medalist “Irish” Jean Sullivan, facing the talented southpaw Sofya Bulgakov of Russia. Delgado says, “I am praying for China.”

  In the middleweight division, the inimitable Sacred Jones will do what she does best against Aya Moudden of Morocco, the only African fighter still alive in this competition. The other middleweight semifinal promises an interesting stylistic clash between the tall Swede Josefine Johansson and the hard-punching Ukrainian Gallia Kob.

  The final US boxer still standing is heavyweight Bettina Rosario of San Diego, who faces Turkey’s Canan Corus. The daughter of US team manager Bonnie Rosario, Bettina has stormed through the heavyweight field with big wins over Romania and top-seeded Russia.

  When asked about her progress, Bettina shrugs and says, “I got better.”

  Gravity and her teammates let out a whoop as Paloma Gonzales took the ring. Teamwork makes the dream work. But the whoop was noticeably quieter and less enthusiastic than the whoop they later gave Sacred Jones, Bettina Rosario, and even Du Li.

  Bonnie had arranged for takeout from Pizza Hut, and Gravity emotionally ate a slice as she watched Paloma win the first round. Du Li was up next, and she felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin.

  The second round was hard to score. Paloma might have edged it on ring generalship, but you could make an argument for Dina Kyzaibay on aggression.

  Kaylee yelled, “All right, Paloma! Great round!”

  In the third, Kazakhstan came on strong, and Sacred, who was all wrapped up and ready to go against Morocco, led them all in a cheer of “U-U-USA!”

  When the final bell rang and Paloma was struggling to stay standing as Dina Kyzaibay battered her, everybody let out a huge cheer of “Yay, Paloma!”

  So it wasn’t that they didn’t cheer; it was that, by a quiet consensus, the worse Paloma did, the more enthusiastic they grew. The German team could have told them the word for this: schadenfreude, the happiness you feel at another person’s misfortune, especially when that person has spent all week bragging about her spread in ESPN’s “Body Issue.”

  “Dina seemed pretty smart for a squirrel,” Sacred said dryly.

  But Gravity was unable to focus on anything but Du Li, who had come out of the red corner dressing room and was swinging her arms and rolling her neck as she made the walk to the ring.

  “She looks good, G,” said Kaylee. “She looks confident.”

  Marisol reached out to squeeze Gravity’s shoulder.

  Tasha Newman’s father—one of the few parents to have made the trip to Qinhuangdao—hollered loudly from the upper bleachers as his daughter made the walk from the blue corner. Gravity had not paid much attention to Tasha, beyond noting her extraordinary beauty. She had long dreadlocks and green eyes and an accent that made everything she said sound cool.

  “All right, Li!” yelled Sacred, pumping her fist in the air.

  Bonnie led the whole US team in a chant of “Let’s go, China, let’s go!”

  Gravity looked around at them gratefully. Everyone on the team understood what was riding on the match. When Tasha came out, Gravity saw that she was a southpaw too. Gravity clenched her hands into fists at her sides, praying Du Li knew how to handle another lefty. Tasha was taller than she was and boxed in a classic upright style. The first was a feeling-out round. Not much happened, although Tasha opened up a little at the end and scored with a big left.

  Gravity felt her legs begin to shake uncontrollably.

  In the second, Li began to come on. She was leading
the exchanges and landed a big left to the body and a right hook to the head.

  “Yeah!” yelled Sacred. “That’s it, China!”

  Li closed out the second strong. Gravity watched Rick Ross in the corner, smooth and smug and orange.

  Tasha faded in the third. Her guard was open, and Li was landing hard shots down the middle. At one point, Li trapped her against the ropes and landed a good, clean one-two-three.

  Kaylee hugged Gravity and said, “You got this, matey!”

  But Gravity said, “Hush.”

  There were sixty seconds left in the round. Du Li could still get knocked out, or the judges could steal it from her. Gravity got down on her knees, squeezed her eyes shut, and said the Shema until the decision was announced. Sacred came and put a gauze-wrapped hand on her head, and Kaylee reached down to take her hand, and they stayed that way during the interminable wait between the final bell and the moment when the referee raised Du Li’s hand.

  Who would have thought Gravity would qualify for the Olympics on her knees?

  She had done it. She was going to Rio!

  Best of all, she would see D-Minus there! She had watched him win his quota spot earlier that morning in Sacred’s room, on a livestream that kept freezing. His performance had been magnificent, but she had been too tense then to truly celebrate. Now all the happiness came raining down on her at once.

  She leapt up and hurried to the stadium floor as “Irish” Jean Sullivan and Sofya Bulgakov took the ring for the other lightweight semifinal. When Du Li and her coaches headed back to the dressing rooms, Gravity stepped out and blocked their way.

  Li was swinging her arms like a happy little kid. Her short, dark hair was mussed, and red blotches on her shoulders and cheeks testified to Tasha’s power. When she saw Gravity, she looked up, uncertain.