by Ella Col
He rips his eyes away from her. Caydon doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him. “I won’t fight you…especially for a girl.”
“You have no choice.” My voice is low and unfeeling. I have to distance myself from him. He’s getting inside of my head.
“Here are the rules. The first person that can’t get up off the ground after ten seconds loses. If I win, you leave Hannah alone…forever.”
Caydon cuts me off. “Let me save you an ass beating. I’ve already told you that I don’t want her.” His eyes drift to Hannah’s blue eyes…the eyes I’ve gotten lost in time and time again. It’s like he’s silently pleading with her. For what? I don’t know.
“Maybe we should talk this over, Nash,” Hannah says in a low voice. Did they have some kind of fucking agreement? A “Save Kevin’ campaign is happening right before my eyes.
“All I want to know is that once I win this fight that you’ll forget about this dick. That’s it,” I answer her.
“Fighting is not the answer, Nash.” Wait a minute.
I study Hannah, examining every part of her. She’s acting. Her facial expressions are exhibiting fear and concern. However, I know that look in her eye. She’s thrilled. All of the attention is on her. The entire school is here watching two best friends fighting over her. And she is trying to show Caydon that she’s good. I need to show her that I’m going to be the one she is leaving with.
“Please stop this insanity!” she whines. A fake tear runs down her cheek.
It’s on. Two can play at this game. “You deserve better than this low-life motherfucker, Hannah.”
Caydon winces but remains silent.
I slowly inch toward Caydon. Standing in front of him, I make the first move. I push his chest with my fists. He stumbles back a little but doesn’t fall. Still, he won’t return the push. “C’mon motherfucker! What are you waiting for?”
“I won’t fight you.” He remains calm. It’s a struggle for him.
I push him again. Nothing. This time, I punch him across the face. It’s hard enough where he staggers to the side. Again…nothing.
This could go on forever. Caydon is going to take a beating for me. Unless, I must degrade him like no other could. I know his weaknesses. “Face it, Caydon. Even if you get Hannah, you’ll never be good enough for her. Christ, your own father didn’t even want you.”
Rage. It’s overflowing from Caydon’s body. There are only two things that can tear Caydon apart…his father and telling him he’s not good enough.
Caydon charges toward me, hitting me with such force that I fall to the ground. He punches me with his left fist, which he plans to follow with a right cross. I slip to the left, which throws him off enough so I can reach up and grasp a handful of his hair. I pull his head forward and head butt him in the cheek. Still holding his hair in one hand, I get my other arm under his crotch and put my shoulder into him lifting him off the ground. Now, I’m on top of him. I have the advantage.
My victory is short lived. Caydon brings his right knee up, catching my balls, and delivering excruciating pain. I tumble from above him, clutching myself and moaning. Caydon crawls up next to me and throws him arm across my chest to hold me down.
“Give up, now. She’s not fucking worth it. It’s your last chance,” he whispers so only I can hear. “If you don’t, I’m going to take her like you took that little girl from me. It’s called an eye for an eye mother fucker.”
Reece.
“Fuck off.” I bring my elbow down making contact with Caydon’s head.
Caydon returns the favor by punching me multiple times on the side my head. All I feel is an explosion of pain.
We continue to exchange blows and bruises. And for a long while, we were equal. However, I’m beginning to tire. Caydon seems to be gaining momentum. I’m losing. If I lose, I lose her.
Maybe there is hope. I try to trick myself into thinking Hannah will take me…the real thing…over momentary happiness and satisfaction. Could Hannah really push me out of her mind and heart to leave me for Caydon? I mean something to her. Would she rather cover up and deny that she feels anything for me at all? Maybe she will realize that there is something missing with Caydon. Maybe she will realize he’s only taking her to get her away from me.
By this point, I’m drifting in and out of consciousness. I hear people screaming. I feel Caydon being pulled from me. It’s official. I lost her. I lost him. I lost myself.
Chapter Six
Everyone has moments in their life they wish didn’t happen.
Fights happen. There is always a winner. There is always a loser. And that’s what I am…a loser.
Imagine your first love, departing from your sight. And then imagine that true love leave from your very eyes.
It literally is like getting your heart ripped straight out of your body. It is a flood of emotions that hit me all at once. First, disbelief and confusion run through my mind. Then the pain of feeling lost. Pain from knowing that you’re going to have to learn to deal with not having this person in your life anymore. And anger. I guess it’s because part of it is feeling humiliated that someone so close to you can just make you feel so worthless.
At least, I fought for her. I can’t regret that. However, I do have regrets.
The hardest part is coping with the overwhelming feeling of loss. In a little more than a week or two, I’d lost two of my best friends. How do you bounce back from that? Not even just bounce back from that? How do you even take one step forward from that? The loss, the pain, the sadness, and the fear that I feel is all consuming. I feel like I am dead, a walking zombie, with no soul, no feelings, no emotion left to give.
Hannah was my ‘everything’. When I was sad, I turned to Hannah. When I was happy, I turned to Hannah. When I needed advice, I turned to Hannah. When I wanted comfort, or a hug, or a kiss, or love, I turned to Hannah. To laugh, I turned to Hannah.
What’s worse is Hannah hasn’t even called to see if I’m okay. It’s been two fucking days. Doesn’t she notice I’m not at school? I guess I just answered my own question. Nope.
If I’m being truthful with myself, I miss Caydon. Caydon’s betrayal is so hard to cope with. The trust I’d built up in him…gone. Then again, I did betray him first. No matter what, it would never be the same between us. Never. Our friendship was already too far gone before it began.
Wandering downtown seems like a good idea. With the bruises and scratches on my face, I’ll fit right in. I walk for what seems like eternity. As I wander…I wonder. I think about all of the chaos in my life, and I’m only fifteen. The future looks bright…
While I ponder how to get my life in order, I bump into a wall. Well, it feels like a wall. I realize it’s not a wall at all when I hear it grunt. The wall is actually a guy. A big guy.
The man is in his early thirties but is built like no other man I’ve ever seen in person. His arms are solid blocks of muscles with black tribal tattoos. He’s toned in all the right places. I feel small and weak compared to him. I feel the need to apologize quickly for my faux pas.
“Sorry, man. My bad,” I stutter.
The man eyes me up and down. “No worries.”
I nod and make my way around him. I have every intention of becoming invisible again.
“Hey,” he calls after me.
I turn around. “Yeah?”
“It’s getting dark. You should get home.”
“I’m alright,” I say.
The man pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to come in?” He points to the sign of the storefront. It’s a boxing club.
Seeing my hesitation, he gives me a warm smile. “A kid like you shouldn’t be walking around down here by himself.”
“Like me?”
“You’re a lakeside kid. Anyone can tell by your clothes and shoes.” The man points to my red high-top, Prada sneakers. “You’re asking to get jumped.”
“I assure you that it’s the last thing I want,” I snicker. “I don’t have
many other places to bruise.” I point to my busted face.
The man smirks. “C’mon. Come inside. I have a few things to finish up. I’ll take you home.”
“How can I be sure that you’re not trying to rob me?” I ask.
The man laughs. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in those sneakers.”
I glance at my shoes. The man is right. They’re obnoxious looking. Hannah picked them out for me. She never let me buy anything under five hundred bucks. Even if the shoe is absurd looking, it is still trendy because it is expensive. And we can afford it.
I laugh for the first time in days. The man turns his back on me expecting me to follow. So, I do.
“I’m Mark.” The wall offers me his hand.
“Nash.” No use in telling him my first name. Kevin is dead.
While shaking his hand, I take in my surroundings. The place is kind of neat. The gym has an industrial feel. It looks like an auto body shop from the outside.
When I step inside, the world of old-fashion boxing is open to me. The gym houses an Olympic size ring, along with a row of punching bags and a conditioning area, which includes free weights.
Mark places weights back in their appropriate spots. “Wanna tell me where those bruises came from?”
Not really.
“I got into a fight.” I climb into the ring and walk around while Mark asks questions. Mark eyes me with concern. “I’m not an abused kid or any shit like that. If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not the type of guy who judges if you want to talk about it.” I bet Mark has his own demons. He wears his scars in his expressions.
I’m not ready to talk. I’d much rather know about Mark and this gym rather than discuss my fucked-up love life. Quickly, I change the subject from me and ask about the gym. “Is this place yours?”
Mark’s laugh is low and short. “Nah.” He jumps into the ring with me. “I spend all of my free time here. When I’m not training, I’m fighting. As a favor to the owner, I help with the upkeep. And I train new fighters. In exchange, I don’t have to pay any fight or gym fees.”
“Sweet deal” I lean against the ropes. “So why’d you start fighting?”
Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s like he is toying with whether or not he wants to tell me anything about his life. He gazes in my direction and nods his head. “Anger.”
I cock my eyebrow. That’s all I’m going to get?
“Anger,” I repeat.
Mark releases the air from his puffed up chest. “I have a daughter about your age. But I don’t get to see her very much anymore. That’s just part of it.”
First, I think it’s almost impossible for Mark to have a daughter about my age. He can’t be more than thirty years old. Secondly, I don’t want to push him to tell me anything he doesn’t want to. “I’m, like, fifteen years old, man. I can’t be your daughter’s age.”
“I had her when I was fifteen years old…man,” Mark snickers.
“Oh.” What in the hell do I say to that? He was a dad when he was my age. That’s just fucking scary. And here I thought I had problems.
“Yeah,” he laughs. “That’s not why I have anger, though. I wish I could see her more. She lives in Florida with her mom.”
“And that makes you angry?” I ask and squeeze the ropes harder.
“It’s a long story. She lived with me up until five years ago. Her mom was visiting from Florida and decided to take her back.” His mind is in a far off place now. “When Reece left, she was just a little girl. Every time I talk to her now, she seems so mature and distant.”
Seriously? The world can’t be that small. “Reece? Did she go to Spring Academy?”
“Yeah. You know her?” Mark’s eyes brighten.
I decide to keep my history with Mark’s daughter to myself. “I think we had one or two classes together.”
Mark nods his head. “Anyway, I started training when I was about eighteen years old. I was raising my daughter along with my mom. Her mother didn’t want a thing to do with her until later. I had some resentment toward Reece’s mom. I was pissed at myself for not bagging it up with her and putting both of us in that position. I felt like a loser.”
He puts his gloves on. While telling me his story, he begins to show off a few moves by hitting the air. “I met the owner of this place on my way to work one day. My face was smashed from a fight the night before. I’m pretty sure I was still drunk. The owner asked me if I wanted to learn how to fight to win. My answer was ‘hell yeah’. That’s when it all began. He told me that boxing teaches discipline and focus. It’s about determination in overcoming great odds no matter what obstacles one might encounter. It will teach me to be confident. Most importantly it will teach me how to remain in control - controlling my mind, body, and emotions.”
“And you bought that?” Nothing can do all of those things for you.
“Not at first. Then, I started training. My body became a vessel. I can’t explain it, but my mind settled. I was still fighting but with technique and stamina. I didn’t go looking for a fight. The fight was in me…still is.” The gleam in Mark’s eye is alluring. “Now, I release my anger and frustration with grace. I fight with a purpose.”
“After you learned to fight, did you ever find the guy who busted your face up?” With his body all jacked up, he could do some serious damage. If it were me, I’d find the guy and kick his ass so he’d never mess with me again.
“Nope. I learned that it isn’t important. He isn’t important. Neither is revenge. I knew I could kill him if I wanted to. That was enough for me…knowing I could harm him beyond repair.” Mark is sweating from fighting the air. “And knowing I could but wouldn’t was far more freeing than fighting his no good ass.”
It all sounds too good to be true. Forgiving the person who hurt you is impossible. I mean, people say they forgive all of the time but they will never forget. What the fuck does that mean? I will tell you what it means. It means that the forgiver wants to feel fucking good about themselves by telling everyone that they are capable of forgiving. It’s a contradiction. Admitting that the crime will never be forgotten is proof forgiveness is not in the cards.
I decide to call Mark out on this. Sure, he can kick my ass and tell me to piss off, but I don’t care. “So, you just forgive the asshole?”
Mark chuckles. “Hell no. Who said anything about forgiveness? I said he wasn’t important. I’ll never forgive that asshole.”
Now, I’m sold. “Oh.”
Mark cocks his eyebrow. “I train four times a week. You interested?”
I click my tongue and think for a minute. What in the hell do I have to lose? Caydon already thumped me. Working out a few days a week will only help my cause. Besides, I have nothing better to do now that I’ve lost Hannah. “Alright.”
He wipes down his boxing gloves and places them in a cloth bag. “I’ll see you Saturday. Nine o’clock. Don’t be late.”
***
Saturday couldn’t have come sooner. School was an absolute horror show this week. Watching Caydon and Hannah parade their newfound couple status around is puke worthy. Worse than that is not having Caydon by my side. I miss him.
Hannah ignores me like the plague. I’m assuming Caydon doesn’t approve of her friendship with me, considering they are a couple now. It’s a joke observing Caydon try to fit in with her friends. He couldn’t be more distant from them although he is standing right next to them.
Mark pounds his fists on the ropes. He chucks a pair of gloves at me. First, he shows me how to put them on. Next, Mark teaches me how to do basic punches on a heavy bag. The hardest part of the lesson is the footwork drills. I would have never thought that moving around in a boxing ring is somewhat choreographed—so you don’t get hit but also so you can get a hit in. For the longest time, I stand in front of the mirror practicing my hooks, uppercuts, and combinations. Finally, Mark wants to spar.
“You want to what?” I feel like my arms are going to disconn
ect from my shoulders. And he wants to play around.
“C’mon. It will be fun.” Mark tries to coax me into more body torture.
“I’m sore. My knuckles are numb. And my arms feel like jelly,” I whine.
“Is your ass jealous of the amount of shit that just came out of your mouth?” Mark dives right into the insults. “Stop screwing around and get in the ring.”
Mark is the official boxing instructor from hell. Granted, my body is young, but I’m out of shape…a fact that he seems to miss. “Dude, I’m beat.”
“Get in the ring.” He doesn’t need to say more. I pout my way into the ring.
The first round goes as expected. I’m getting my ass kicked, and Mark is barely touching me. The wind gets knocked out of me with in the first ten minutes. I’m gasping for breath and losing steam.
I’m tired of getting my ass handed to me. Mark aims for my weak spots. I use the technique he showed me today to block. He aims for my stomach, another weak spot. Again, I thwart his efforts by turning the way I rehearsed earlier today. My anger is cresting. Mark is aiming for all of the spots that I damaged earlier. It’s pissing me off.
I begin taking jabs here and there. Mark is skilled. He knows my moves before I do. This angers me more. I feel the tension rise, and I begin to deliver hit after hit. My glory doesn’t last long.
First thing I learned: You don’t know what it’s like to get hit in the face…until you get hit in the face. The first blow is a stinger. I try shake it off and deliver it right back. That’s a joke. Mark knows my skill level. And he also knows I won’t rise to the challenge. I’m searching for my “fighting legs” and any drills from class—the uppercut-hook combinations, the slips and rolls, the jab-jab-cross drills—and waiting for them to click. They don’t.
Boxing delivers rapid exhaustion unlike any other sport. It’s fast, it’s intense, and it’s furious. It’s a sport that requires so much thinking and strategy—which is easier said than done when someone is swinging at your face. Now I know why Mark told me to always keep my gloves up at my cheeks. Seriously, if you value your face at all, you sure as hell better keep your gloves up.
