by Brian Cotton
***
The steaming hot plate of spaghetti tempted Kaspar as he went in for another mouthful. He spun his fork around the organic sauce and limp noodles. His front teeth cleared the fork of its tasty contents. He chewed as he looked across the table at his mother. Jenna Kaspar had not taken a single bite. She kept a blank stare at her plate. She looked up and gave that same look to her son. It was like she was looking at him for the last time.
Kaspar dropped his fork into his plate. “What’s wrong?”
“Hmm?” Mother asked with a blank expression.
“You haven’t said a word.Haven’t even taken a bite.”
“What do you think is wrong, dear?”
Kaspar paused. He reached down for his fork and shoved another mouthful in and swallowed. Never before did the pre-fight ritual feel so awkward. He knew now that he should have never disclosed Razor to her. Kaspar cursed himself and his unwillingness to keep things from her. She continued to stare back at him. He dropped his head and worked on his plate again.
“Don’t ignore me, son.”
“I know what’s bothering you.”
“Then, why did you ask?”
Another forkful; Mother remained expressionless.
“I don’t know, just never seen you like this before.” Kaspar replied.
Mother’s expressionless face changed. A single tear rolled down her right cheek. He felt nothing but guilt at the sight of it. For the first time ever, he considered walking away, to be done with it, to take her advice and get a real job to occupy his time with.
A real job? What was that anyway? Be like the slaves who worked for the Crimson Corporation? Those people who were beaten by their slave master’s whips—their impossible deadlines and low wages—and took it all in with a smile and a sense of entitlement? Be like that kid at the diner who was forced to skip school so he could support his family? Or, how about that pimply faced guy at the lobby desk, who found a way around the government health regulations and still became obese?
No. Kaspar had to fight Razor so he could win that prize.
“I do not want you to go!” Mother cried out.
A single, warm tear could be felt running down Kaspar’s own cheek. He hated to see her like this. He hated having to put her through this before any fight, but this one was different. There was a legitimate chance he was not coming home.
“I have to,” Kaspar replied.
“You keep saying that, but you do not. You do not have to if you change your mind.”
“You don’t understand. This fight—this prize—will feed us for weeks if I can win.”
“If you can win?”
“I can go out, I promise you that I will go out and find work after this fight.”
“Promise me,” Mother said in between short breaths, “that you will not fight tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“Then, at least promise me you will come back and that you will never fight again.”
Kaspar shook his head. Why did he have to go through this? All week, he tried to not think about the consequences of entering the ring with Razor. Mother, she seemed to only be interested in the negative: that Razor outmatched, outweighed, and most of all outclassed her son.
“Listen, don’t you worry about me.” Kaspar said.
“How can you ask me to do that?”
“Because, I won’t lose, I never have.”
“Your ego is going to get you killed.” Mother replied.
“What would you have me do?”
“Go out there and find something for yourself. Something, I do not know, meaningful? I hate to see you waste your youth in a boxing gym.”
“I’m feeding us and paying the rent, how is that meaningless?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“So, what then?” Kaspar demanded.
“You need to find someone special…” Mother started to say.
“Now, there is the best advice I’ve gotten all day. Yeah, just shack up with some woman, get her pregnant, and then leave her ass to raise the kid alone?”
Mother slammed her fist on the table. “Goddamn it, Ryan, you are not your father!”
“Damn right I’m not.”
“And, you know something? You just need to get over your hatred. You don’t know what the times were like back then, do you? You weren’t around for the Purge, were you? You were lucky.”
Kaspar smirked, Mother had struck a nerve. “He’s my father, he could at least have checked in from time to time. Checked in on me.”
“You weren’t the only lucky one,” Mother said with moist eyes. “I was lucky that I could find a doctor to deliver you without reporting it. Sure, he left us, but it was not like he didn’t have a reason.”
More excuses. Kaspar hated that about Mother, always the first one to make an excuse. He didn’t know what his father looked like, didn’t even know his name, but at least father got the benefit of the excuse. Sure, he must have been scared for his life, but he should have been there for his family. Not run off like a coward.
He stood up from his seated position and walked over to the garbage can. He scraped off the remains of his half eaten dinner. He could not stomach another bite; his appetite long gone. Kaspar walked his plate over to the sink and placed it inside. One last look at his still weeping Mother and the guilt clouded him once more.
“Please,” Mother cried, “come back to me in one piece.”
“I will.” Kaspar replied.
