by Tom Schreck
"Maybe they just get a little puffy," Jerry Number two said.
"The Ladies' Auxiliary is more than a little puffy, especially Marcia the lady who makes the sausage and peppers at field day," Rocco said.
"You know if we were all women we'd probably have the same period," Jerry Number One said.
The group just stared at him.
I created a happy diversion for Rocco.
"Hey, Duffy what's new?" he said.
"I'm puffy and irritable from my period. You guys got it too?" I said.
"I got your period right here!" Rocco said.
"See…" Jerry Number One said.
"That's it. No more talk on this subject. It's over, period, end of sentence," Rocco said.
"I've heard during menopause there's some confusion and indecision," Jerry Number Two said.
Fortunately for Rocco and his puffiness the news came on.
"Today, in Chicago four Pakistani nationals were arrested. In their possession they had six 100-gallon drums of an unspecified biological poison. It is believed the men's intended on poisoning the Chicago water supply…"
The group sat quietly with their attention on the corner television. The 'bio-terrorism' expert was now on the split screen with the anchor.
"…this type of bio terrorism is particularly heinous in that even small amounts would rapidly poison thousands of citizens. It is believed the drums were transported into the country through Niagara Falls, Canada, hidden with a truckload of drums of industrial cleaner. This once again points out how vulnerable we are, as a people, to the terrorist organizations of the world…"
" What the hell was in that shit?" Rocco said to no one in particular.
"Nothin' good," TC said.
"Unless they've come up with something new it's probably stuff like Ebola, botulism, or maybe some sort of liquefied Anthrax," Jerry Number Two said. "The problem with those things is they don't keep and I'm not sure how effective they would be liquefied and dispersed into the drinking water."
"It's effective enough to scare the living shit out of everyone," Jerry Number One said.
"Maybe that's enough," Jerry Number Two said.
"Whatyamean, Jer?" I said.
"Well, what do the terrorists really want to accomplish?
Sure, if they could, they would annihilate us from the earth, but, despite all the bogeyman stuff, it's not as easy as it sounds," Jerry Number Two said. "So, what's the next best thing?"
"Scaring the living shit out of us?" I said.
"Exactly. John Q. Public now has to worry about getting on airplanes, drinking water, going to the mall. It's not annihilation, but it does fuck things up in every day life."
"I got a client who believes it's all bullshit started by our own government to keep our minds off all the other shit," I said.
"Whoa? What kind of nonsense is that?" Rocco said.
"The government would pour shit in the drinking water?
That's a little nutty Duff," TC said.
"Well, Duff's client isn't the only one who believes this kind of stuff," Jerry Number Two said.
"Here we go. Let's hear it professor," Rocco said.
"We just heard about a nasty-scary-bogeyman-type terrorist plot and we're all talking about, it and we're all a little uneasy," Jerry Number Two said.
"Yeah, so?" Jerry Number one said.
"What aren't we talking about today?" Jerry Number Two said.
"Huh?" TC said.
"Exactly!" Jerry Number Two said.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Rocco said.
"Let's see, we're not talking about the trillions the Senate approved for the defense department today, or the six American soldiers died in Korea yesterday, or the Supreme Court upheld some more of the Patriot Act," Jerry paused for effect. "Why?
Because we're all scared to death about a terrorist act that didn't quite happen at the hands of some scary people of Arab origin," he said.
"The Arabs are scary," TC said.
"Sometimes, but they're not the only people doing scary things. In World War Two it we had the Japanese, then the Koreans, then Vietnamese. Why? They look different than us. It makes it easy to dehumanize them," Jerry said.
"But Jerry, they got six Arabs with poison in drums. Isn't that the truth?" I said.
"Does it raise any questions they got caught right before they did anything? These guys were smart enough to get this shit in the country, yet they're stupid enough to get caught right before they execute their plan?" Jerry Number Two said.
"Good Homeland Security caught them," Jerry Number One said.
"Maybe," Jerry Number Two said. "Or, it was all set up so we could argue about this and not the other stuff that happened today, or yesterday, or what will happen tomorrow," Jerry said.
"This is some nutty bullshit," Rocco said.
"You might be right, Rocco. But how come we keep having these near misses of terrorism every 60 to 90 days right around the time there's growing dissatisfaction with our military involvement, our defense budget, or something similar?" Jerry Number Two said.
"Are you saying the government could be actually doing this?" I said.
"I'm saying there's evidence to supports that. It's not all the evidence supports, but it is one explanation," Jerry Number Two said.
Rudy came in through the front door. His underarm stains formed concentric circles down his dark blue shirt. I wondered if you could empirically measure his age by counting the circles like you could on a tree stump. It was far too disgusting to ponder. The group exchanged 'Hello's' with Rudy, and AJ slid a Hennessey in front of him.
"Your whack job buddy gets out tomorrow night," Rudy said.
"How's he's doing?" I said.
"Well, he insists on wearing his Redskins helmet and he wants most of the monitors turned off so they don't emit mind erasing gamma rays or something. All in all, he sounds better to me."
"Yeah, sounds like Karl is back to himself. Is anyone coming to pick him up?"
"I don't know. Who were you thinking, Sonny Jorgenson, Billy Kilmer or Doug Williams or one of the other retired
'Skins?"
"I'll get him. One thing about Karl is he's never boring."
"Sure, it's probably because you're a double agent. Anyway, they're going to discharge him tomorrow night, so they can bill Medicaid for another half a day." Rudy slurped his Hennessey, which kind of neutralized the upscale image of the cognac. I gotta believe the folks back at the Cognac distillery would wince if they knew Rudy was drinking their product in public.
"Hey, I almost forgot. How's the party plans going?"
"The pool's almost in; I got a caterer and some sort of string quartet. It's costing me a month's pay."
"All this to get Maria back?"
"Yeah. Sad isn't it? I had my shot and I blew it for this goddamn job. No offense, kid, but hangin' out here with you and the brain trust isn't exactly how I want to spend my golden years." He slurped again.
I raised my glass to salute Rudy and his plan. I hoped for his sake it worked out.
Meanwhile the Foursome was still transfixed by CNN. There was Dr. Theodore Martin, the talking head guy, going on about the psycho-emotional effects of a foiled terrorist act on a community. He said it tended to make people frightened and a little uneasy.
No shit.
After that the Foursome segued into a discussion about going over Niagara Falls in a drum.
"They use a drum because you can sit in it like a little tiny boat and because its floatacious," TC said.
"Whatyamean you can sit in it?" Jerry Number One said.
"You know, the big bass drum, the one that has the band's name on it. Dennis Wilson's said 'The Beach Boys' on his," TC said.
AJ started whistling 'My Little Douche Cup' on cue.
"You jack ass. They use industrial drums," Rocco said.
"The kind of music isn't important," TC said. Jerry Number Two started singing 'Little Douche Cup' under his breath.
> "You're just an idiot," Rocco said. "I'm goin' home to paint another coat on 'The Deuce,'" he said.
TC started humming with the other three.
They kept awful time.
16
The next day at work figured to be a beaut. Without nearly enough caffeine I had to have a session with Suda-Fred, my long time client, who got himself addicted to over the counter cold medication. Fred wasn't doing so great in terms of his ability to stay off the little red devils. On this particular morning I had to call his sobriety into question.
"Hey, Duff, whatsgoinon? Everything good? Good. HowabouttheYanks? Phew, isithotinhere?" Suda-Fred said.
"Uh, Fred," I started to say.
"Oh shit, hereitcomes. I'm busted, right? Damn, shit, piss." Fred patted his wet forehead and then started to drum his fingers.
"Fred-"
"Sorry, Duff 'bout the language. Shit, piss. I've been tryin, really Duff, really. Shit piss."
"Fred-"
"Duff, I just get the snots and then I can't breathe and that's what the shit is for. I gotta breathe, Duff. You unnerstand, right?" Fred's eyes were wide.
"How many did you take?" I asked. I tried to be soothing.
"Eleven…no, no…I ain't lyin' no more. It was more like 22." Fred shook.
And so it went.
Right after Fred, there was Martha, whose last name happens to be Stewart. Martha struggles with food issues and sex issues-meaning she can't get enough of either. On this day, we worked through the grieving process of her having to give up 'Hog Wings' at Stan's Sports Bar.
"I've never heard of 'Hog Wings'," I said.
"They taste just like chicken wings but they're pork," Martha said.
"When pigs fly!" I said and laughed a little bit. Martha just stared at me.
"Oh, this is funny to you? I loved those things." Martha was wounded. I spent the rest of the session trying to be genuine, which is actually kind of tough when you're suppressing a laugh. Sparky was in after that, and he had a big smile on his face. He had just hit seven months clean and sober. Even though he didn't always connect with people at AA, they made a cake for him and toasted-er, saluted his achievement at the last meeting.
"It felt good, Duff." He allowed himself a bit of a smile.
"Like the first time I've been on the right track and doing something positive."
I didn't want to bring up the daughter thing and shit on his day. I didn't have to.
"If only…" Sparky put his hand up to his eyes and squinted hard. A couple fat tears ran down his face.
"If only I could make things right with Kristy." He bent over and let more of a cry out.
Once again, I didn't have much to say in terms of anything worthwhile. I sat there while the guy cried. That's me, Mr. Therapeutic. It gave me a sick feeling to watch a guy, who life was giving a raw deal to. This whole counseling thing often seemed like bullshit, but on days like today it felt worse. Afterwards, I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back to the cubicle. Doing paperwork after dealing with Sparky just didn't seem right and I just sat there and pondered my bulletin board. I don't know how long I had been looking into space when Trina broke me out of it.
"Hey, genius," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Claudia's planning a full review of your charts this week.
You might want to get started soon." She did that thing with her eyebrows, raising them up and making a face. It was a face that let me know she knew the potential trouble I was in.
"What else is new?" I said.
"That's it, good attitude. Go ahead and get your ass fired." She headed back to her desk.
I took a less than half-assed stab at the paperwork and got through Fred's and Martha's. I did some old chart stuff on the Abermans, Sheila, and Eli. I picked up Sparky's and looked at it for a little while, then realized it was quitting time. I decided to give the gym another shot. It had been almost a week, my head hadn't been throbbing a lot, and I wasn't hearing a bunch of shit about being wobbling or repeating myself. To be honest with you, if I'm tired or under-caffeinated I tend to be kind of stupid.
I wrapped my hands in front of the mirror when I felt someone watching me. Smitty was in the doorway to his office chewing gum and staring at me. He didn't say anything, but he didn't break his stare. When I started to warm up, he took a couple of steps closer and watched me as he stood there with his arms folded.
I just shook things out, throwing jabs, and an occasional left and began to circle the ring. Jab, jab, left, slip, move to my right. Jab, jab, jab, stutter, step, move to my left, flurry with a series of uppercuts to the body, spin to my right. It was how I loosened up every single day and it did a couple of things. It got me loose, but it also ingrained in me automatic patterns that, hopefully, my nervous system would respond to when split-second things happened in the ring. It wasn't unlike what I did when I trained in karate and we'd do katas for hours and hours. It programmed the nervous system to do things without the delay of consciousness. Guys drifted into the gym little by little. Angel, the 116pound guy with a dozen fights, and seven or eight wins was there. Fat Joe, a guy who didn't ever get in the ring, but who hit the bags, grunted and scowled, was there, not doing much. I think Fat Joe liked telling people he went to the boxing gym. Larry, the middleweight, came in, probably high, and started right in on the speed bag. He did three or four rounds there and then left.
Tashaun, the 200 pounder, came in and wrapped his hands. I was on the heavy bag and checking him out at the same time. He shadow boxed and I caught him glancing over at me once in awhile, but he pretended not to. Unconscious and semiconscious stuff is going on constantly in a gym, especially when someone comes in who's a potential sparring partner. Eyes dart around, evaluations are silently made, weaknesses are explored, and a mental game no one ever admits to is begun from the moment a fighter crosses the threshold. No one talks about it, no one wants to get caught doing it, and no one ever, ever admits to it. When the coach suggests two guys work in the gym both guys will act like they didn't even know the other guy was there and they'll shrug like the sparring partner is an inanimate object. Smitty came out of his office looking at me again. I knew he was evaluating me and he knew I knew but neither of us spoke. It was my first day back in this gym and he probably didn't know anything about Ravenwood, so it was about the time he would let a guy get back in the ring. That is, if he felt the guy was okay.
"Tashaun and Duff. You want to work?" I'd been waiting for the call.
Both Tay and I gave muted affirmative shrugs and got our gear on. Smitty helped each of us with the gloves, and he took a long look into my eyes without saying anything. I held his look for a while before it creeped me out a bit. I turned away and started to dance a bit in effort to look like I was loosening up, but it was mostly to break his stare.
The bell rang. Smitty stood on the ring apron, which was a bit unusual for him. He called out instructions to both of us at different times. Sometimes he'd bark one word 'guard', which meant get your hands up. Other times, 'recoil', which meant bring your hands back after throwing. 'Work and get out' when we tied up and 'Hook off that jab' were his standards. Tashaun was a pro, with six fights and a four and two record. He had won the state amateur championship, but he got sloppy with his training habits and had kind of under performed. He caught me with a hook that landed a bit high on my headgear. I felt it, and it had some steam on it, but it didn't land flush and it didn't do any damage.
Honestly, I felt a little relieved to take one and not have it do anything weird to my head. I feinted Tay to the body, jabbed to the head, and caught him with the cross that followed it. My timing felt good. The bell rang. Mostly uneventful give and take sparring round, but it left me loose and a little excited. The second went the same, and Tay tired. I feinted, coming in with a stutter step, and he went slightly back on his heels. I caught him with a combination. A nice move and it showed the differences in our experience. The whole thing probably occurred in less than two seconds, b
ut it had about five components to it. I maneuvered Tay into the center of the ring, I jabbed, I stutter stepped like I was going to jab again, then I stepped in with three punches. It wasn't an accident; it was the game within a game that goes on all the time in boxing. Tay landed a thudding right and I partially blocked it, but part of it caught me in the face straight on. I felt the throb, but it wasn't bad and something I probably wouldn't even have noticed if I wasn't looking for it. That round ended and the next one went pretty much the same, only with less action. The rule of thumb in the boxing jungle is in a sparring session like this one where there's no important fight coming up, you don't take it to your partner when they're tired. You can step it up a bit and give enough action so the guy knows he needs to work on his stamina, but you don't punish him with it. Again, not said, probably not even in some guys' consciousness, but it's one of those rules of the gym.
"Time" Smitty called. "All right boys, that's enough. Tay you probably ought to get in here more often and get out on the road if you want to fight." Tay breathed heavy and he nodded knowingly without saying much. He knew he was a little out of shape.
"Not bad, Duff," Smitty looked at me. "Still, not turning over the hook," a criticism Smitty had said to me every time I sparred here for a decade and a half. "How'd you feel tonight?" Smitty's way of checking in about my head.
"Good… Good, Smit." I still breathed heavy. "I wanted to get off with the jab more, but Tay's movement kept me from it." That was the answer that my head felt fine. Smitty held his eyes on me a little longer, evaluating me. After a second, he nodded and helped us both off with our gloves. He headed over to Angel with the mitts and I headed to the medical center to give Karl a lift home.
17
I felt satisfied with how things went and more tired than I usually am after three rounds of work and my head throbbed a bit, but it wasn't a big deal. It was well worth the feeling I had from getting in the ring. It's hard to explain to someone who has never done it. It feels like a cleansing-like you just did something important. I'm sure it has something to do with exertion, which you get from all exercise. It also probably has something to do with the relief you feel from not getting hurt and having it over. Although those two together don't add up to the entirety of it. I think it has something to do with facing your demons. Facing what scares you the most and keeping on even when you don't have to. I know a very small percentage of the population is willing to do what we fighters do in the ring. To me anyway, that gives a person some rank. It's not the only way an individual gets rank, but it sure is one way. People who face what they're afraid of, I believe, are people of the strongest character.
