The Boxer and the Butterfly

by Sasha Hibbs

  It was these kinds of moments when I looked into my mother’s eyes and felt like it was possible that she would love me regardless of what I did. All too soon I would put the theory to the test. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, didn’t want to tell her that while I would go off to college, Mickey was going to be part of my life, and if she couldn’t accept that, then I wouldn’t be in hers. Instead, I tried to freeze the image of her in my mind, sitting down beside me on my bed with a mother’s look that said she would always find a way to love her child despite their differences.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I’d been nervous the rest of the week, constantly checking the weather and praying the rain would hold off. I planned this day carefully. I wanted to do something special for Mickey and after days and days of my parents’ tyrant rule, my probationary period was over. They’d finally trusted me enough to give me back not only my cell phone but also my car. They really liked Dakota, let us go to prom together, and after Dakota convinced them to let us go to Blackwater Falls with his family, my alibi was set and I had the entire day to spend with Mickey. I told my parents that Dakota and I were following his parents there on the off chance she or Dad would drive by the Rollins’ house and see my vehicle wasn’t parked in their driveway. I felt good about our plan. My parents only knew the Rollins’ by association. It would work. I was willing it to.

  After throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt over my bikini, I ran downstairs and told my parents I would be back late. I stopped at the Food Mart on the way to Mickey’s and packed a picnic for us. I could almost jump out of my skin with excitement. I had the entire day with Mickey. Just the two of us. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, and he’d know if I told him to pack swimming trunks. I told him to wear shorts and I packed extra towels. The sun was shining. It was warm. Nothing could have ruined this day.

  He stood, waiting outside, leaning up against a post on his porch when I pulled up. As soon as I did, he gave me that smile that made my heart skip a beat. This day was going to be perfect.

  ****

  “Follow me,” I said, guiding Mickey toward the river. “No peeking.”

  It was overdramatic, but I tied a bandana around Mickey’s eyes to add to the suspense. Mickey’s lips curled up slightly, humored by my playfulness. It was times like this I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. I should be able to take Mickey to the Country Club to go swimming. It pained me that my parents judged him so much. I wanted them to give him an opportunity, to see what I did in him. I wanted to scream from the rooftops that I loved a boy. That he meant more to me than I could’ve ever fathomed. Instead—like our relationship—I held his hands in mine and led him in silence to a place where we could be together, free from the judgmental stare of society. It wouldn’t be long before we didn’t have to hide anymore.

  “Where in the world are you taking me?”

  “It’s a surprise. Just a moment and we’ll be there.”

  I stopped, removed one of my hands from his and waved it in front of his face. He didn’t flinch. Resuming, I led him down a narrow path surrounded by thick rhododendron that finally opened up to the bank of the river.

  Mickey jerked.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  I watched him tense up—which confused me—so I thought it best to end the suspense.

  “You can take your blindfold off now.”

  I watched Mickey with shaky hands loosen his bandana, letting it fall from where it was secured around his eyes. The next few moments—ones I thought were going to be filled with excitement—were filled with absolute horror. Mickey’s face twisted in fear. He turned pale, followed by sweaty, his eyes big as he glared at the river in front of us.

  “Mickey.” I grabbed his hands in mine, trying to get him to focus on me instead of what it was that had him so visibly shaken. “Mickey! Look at me. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  I didn’t understand. He started to hyperventilate. What had I done?

  “Mickey, hey … hey, look at me. Just look at me.” I cupped his face in my hands, trying to get him grounded.

  His fearful gaze landed on mine.

  “Just breathe. Come on, like this.” I took deep, calming breaths, coaching him to come back from whatever trip through hell I’d just taken him on.

  “I can’t,” Mickey choked, “breathe. I have to get out of here.”

  He looked like a wild rabbit, a cornered animal. A scared creature far from the fighter in the ring.

  “Okay, okay. Please hold my hand. Stay focused on me.”

  I didn’t know what demons Mickey was fighting, but I’d never seen him like this and it scared me. I led him back up the path to my Jetta. Once there, I quickly opened the passenger side door and guided him to sit down. I ran over to my side and slid down in. Snapping my seat belt into place, I started the car. Backing out and pulling onto the main road, I looked over at Mickey. He sat with his head in between his knees, taking deep breaths.

  “What happened back there?” I whispered.

  Keeping his head down, he simply shook his head. “Take me home.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Sure.”

  I had no idea what was to blame for this panic attack Mickey was experiencing. My mind raced. I had this vision of only the two of us, swimming in the river, jumping off the rope swing, him chasing me. I couldn’t figure it out. Mickey was tough, a fighter, nothing beat him down. But in the flash of the river lay something, its currents carrying a secret hidden deep, well beyond my reach.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, knowing Mickey had an impenetrable shell surrounding feelings that I’d tried so hard to get to. But in this moment I was hopeful I’d found the chink in his armor. I’d unleashed something, something that had a hold over Mickey and whatever it was, I’d fight it for him if he wasn’t strong enough.

  I was answered by silence.

  After driving down Route 33 and hitting I-79 N, we finally arrived at our exit. Mickey wouldn’t look at me. Was it shame? Embarrassment?

  “Please say something.”

  I didn’t want to push him too hard. A twinge of guilt crept up on me. In all innocence, I’d wanted to surprise him. And in doing so I’d hurt him. I wanted to know what happened so I could fix it.

  Mickey scrubbed his hand over his face. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  I pulled onto High Street and parked in front of his house. His mom was still away catering, and Jimmy was only a few hours into his weekend sleepover with Billy. Mickey jumped out of my car and ran out back. I followed him. He left the door to his building open.

  “Mickey?”

  I could hear him punching his heavy bag, and then I saw him. He’d taken his shirt off, had slung it on the floor, and was swinging as though the bag was something he wanted to kill at all costs. For several moments I watched him in silence as this scene unfolded before me. Behind his hits was pain, some kind of torment that he was trying to expel. Mickey was gentle, but buried deep he was full of fury—I’d always known that. I hadn’t realized how profound his fury was. But now I could see it. He hadn’t taken the time to tape his hands, the deep crimson blood across his knuckles proof of that.

  “Dear God, Mickey! What happened back there?” I asked, my heart aching at this unknown torture he was experiencing. He was coming completely unhinged, and I needed to stop it.

  Mickey swung harder, faster, emptied all his anger out onto that heavy bag. After all his fury had gone, he hugged it like a long lost-friend. He tilted his head up to me and I gasped. I watched a tear trail down his face in a single silver line.

  “I killed him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  In an instant I was on him, my arms wrapped around his waist, my cheek against his back.

  “Killed who, Mickey?” I asked in a breathy whisper. What in the name of God was he talking about? I could feel him shake against me, giving way to more tears.

  “My father. I killed him,” Mickey choked out in between sobs that wracked
his entire body.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He straightened out and turned toward me. He kept his gaze fixed to the floor as blood continued to trickle off his knuckles.

  “Talk to me. What happened? What does this have to do with the water? What did I do?” Questions poured from my lips in a rush.

  Mickey looked up and gazed past me, his eyes haunted by the past.

  “I was nine when it happened,” he said wiping away the last remnants of his tears. “My mom was pregnant with Jimmy. It was summer. We used to drive up to Arden, picnic and swim. There’s a place there—Party Rock—that my dad always told me about. He’d tell me stories of how him and his buddies would go up there on the weekend and camp, party, and take bets on who could jump off the rock and stay in the river the longest. There’s a deadly current, you see, one that lies hidden below the surface. And if you get caught up in it, you’re as good as dead. I used to listen to him tell stories of when he was a teenager and think he was the coolest guy, my hero. He told me no one had ever beaten his record. That he jumped off Party Rock, stayed under water for an entire two minutes before resurfacing. He said his friends were going crazy, scared he’d been claimed by the undercurrent like so many before him. But when he came back to the surface, he soon became something of a local legend. One time we were up there, and I asked him to show me the famous Party Rock.”

  My stomach turned, listening to Mickey go down a road I knew he’d closed himself off from a long time ago. I could see where this path was leading and it broke my heart utterly to hear him. The pain in his voice, the ghosts of his past, the walls he’d built so meticulously were all crashing down. I wanted to be there to catch him when he fell.

  “My mom begged him not to. Said she didn’t want me to ever know where that damned rock was. But my dad told her he was just showing me, that he wouldn’t get in the water and he’d never allow me to. I can still see her on the bank of that river. She had her hair pulled up, a hand supporting her back while she had her other hand resting on her stomach. I can still see the look on her face … that look when it happened. I’ve thought about that day every day of my life and I still can’t understand why I did it.”

  “What did you do, Mickey?”

  “I wanted to be just like my dad—cool—like a hero. When we made it up on Party Rock, he held on to my hand and pointed out the spot where the notorious current was. I let go of his hand and pretended like I was going to jump in—goofing off—but right as he reached out to grab me, I slipped, and fell in.”

  “Oh, God, Mickey…” I hurt for him.

  “I couldn’t swim that good and I can still feel the pull of the river, the current that was pulling me down, down, down. It felt like a lifetime. I thought I was going to die. But then my dad jumped in.”

  Fresh tears formed in Mickey’s eyes. They looked like melting glaciers.

  “I just couldn’t swim that well and might as well have not been able to swim at all against that kind of water. I flailed, jerked, trying so hard to lunge myself out of the water, but the harder I fought, the more the water sucked me down. My dad jumped in and I was so scared. I panicked and fought against him. He swallowed so much water into his lungs trying to save us both. In the end, he saved me and my stupidity cost him his life. He didn’t die right away. He held on in the hospital for nearly two months before he died.”

  I stood there—shocked—listening to Mickey’s story, my heart breaking over and over for him. I thought about Daniel and my anger burned like an inferno. Why would he tell Dakota for me to take him somewhere that caused him so much pain? I wanted to hurt him.

  Mickey turned back to the heavy bag. Somewhere his anger rekindled.

  “He died before Jimmy even made it into this world.”

  Swing.

  “I took away his father. Jimmy will never know what it was like to have one. And Dad loved us so much. But he’ll never know because I took that away from him.”

  I heard the flesh of Mickey’s fists connect with the heavy bag again and again.

  “I killed my mother’s husband.”

  Punch.

  “We lost all the financial support my dad provided, forcing my mom to get a job to support us.”

  Crack. More blood spattered from his knuckles.

  “They’ve had to live in this shithole because I killed my father and I couldn’t do any better.”

  “You were only a boy,” I whispered.

  He didn’t hear me—couldn’t hear me—he was lost. Hot tears formed in my eyes.

  Another hit.

  “My mother, my brother, they lost everything because of me.”

  In that last blow, the force of Mickey’s punch caused the cord to break. I heard a thundering crack as the heavy bag dropped from its suspension onto the floor. It had broken—just like Mickey.

  There was an eerie silence followed by the crash of the heavy bag. And finally, Mickey turned, his gaze met with my own.

  “And I loved him.”

  He was that little boy again, drowning in that river. Like his father, I had to save him. I went to him, took him in my arms and cradled him against my chest while he wept. I could name every tear he shed. As they fell, I called them for what they were—guilt, anger, shame, grief. A dam had burst within Mickey. We were both swimming in a flood trying to stay above water, to breathe.

  And in that moment, I knew love. My heart was filled with it. I knew what it was to love my parents, to love Mary, but I had never loved like this. Not until Mickey stole into my life. I now knew what it was to love someone for not all their strengths, but for their weaknesses, for all their many flaws. And Mickey was flawed beautifully. As this broken boy clung to me, I knew I could never love another like this. I would only ever love him my entire life. It was this man-child, my fierce Mickey who’d finally showed me all his demons.

  I gently lifted his eyes to mine. Cupping his face, I kissed him. In that kiss was everything I felt—sorrow for him, what he’d been through, what he was still fighting.

  Mickey was free of that current, but there was a different kind of weight pulling him down. I understood it all now. It was the sense of obligation to his family. He felt like he’d robbed them of a better life, one where Mickey’s dad was still alive. One where his mother didn’t have to work so hard. A life where Jimmy had a father instead of a brother trying to act like one.

  What came next happened naturally for me. I took my shirt off, held Mickey’s bloody hands in my own. I couldn’t wipe away the stains on his heart or the pain of his past, but I could wipe away the blood on his hands. Gingerly, I caressed each knuckle. I never took my gaze off his. I could still see the hurt of years gone by held there, but the tide in his gaze was turning. I could see a hunger build in his eyes and feel the heat flicker off us both turning into a blaze.

  I dropped my shirt—now stained with his blood—and leaned into him. We kissed, soft, slow, and then with a hunger that surprised us both. My fingers trailed up and I wove them through his dark hair. At some point he’d picked me up and carried me over to his bed.

  He lowered me down, and gently settled himself beside me. He gazed down at me for what seemed an eternity. I didn’t mind and I wasn’t embarrassed about him seeing me in my bikini top, the bare flesh of my stomach, the shorts that had somehow become unzipped during our hunger for each other. In his silence he gave me every opportunity to say no. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted nothing more than this broken boy gazing down at me to give himself over to me and me to him.

  After Mickey opening up to me, we were past childish shyness. It was like our souls spoke to each other. And soon the rest of our clothes followed. I had no experience in lovemaking, but through Mickey, I had experience in love. What we were doing was only a physical formality. It was our souls we were connecting. For I loved him completely. And it was that mutual love that guided two inexperienced people to feel their way through it.

  We took each other.

&nb
sp; There was no regret on my part, and as Mickey lay sated in my arms, I knew he harbored no regret either. It was a different kind of regret that would come much later. I knew when he finally spoke what my actions would lead to.

  “Autumn?” Mickey said, his voice sleepy.

  “Yes?” I lay with Mickey cradled against me, his head on my bare stomach as I soothed the hair away from his eyes.

  “I love you.”

  I would remember those three words. They were going to give me the courage I needed to save the defenseless boy in my arms.

  “Are you still going to fight Leo?” I asked. It was a faint whisper.

  “I have to.”

  He couldn’t see the tears that fell from my eyes. “I love you too, Mickey.”

  And I did. So much. More than I could ever put into words, so it was in my actions that I would have to show him. I just hoped against all odds, in time he would know I was standing beside that river, leaning in to pull him out. I wouldn’t let him drown. I would save him at all costs even if that meant losing him forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  He’d been so gentle with me, softly caressing the lines of my body. He asked me over and over if I was okay, if he’d hurt me. There was no physical pain during or after, only the hurt I felt in my heart. After hearing the anguish and torment Mickey subjected himself to since childhood, I knew I was delusional in thinking I could get Mickey to do anything for himself. What were dreams of college compared to such sorrow, especially when he believed in his heart he was the cause of it and therefore must atone the rest of his life?

  I’d felt a dark cloud, a gathering storm, loom over me for weeks now. I thought back to every moment with Mickey, outlined each detail, each look, and I found sudden clarity. It occurred to me somewhere between us losing our virginity and the silent tender hours that followed, that loving him entailed putting him before myself. I wanted to keep Mickey in my arms, hold him always, and chase away all his demons. But all things must come to an end.