Don't Read in the Closet volume one

by Various Authors

  And there was more. He dragged it out, forced himself to face it, his worst fear. He’d always known he could give up the boxing, do something else. He boxed with the door open, free to walk through and into another life. If he got hit too many more times, if the damage to his brain became permanent, he’d lose the possibility of a different future. If he damaged his brain, his chances to do anything else besides box would disappear. And then he’d be boxing with the door slammed shut, no other future, no choice but to continue until he was too punch drunk to fight, until they took everything away from him. He’d seen it a hundred times with other boxers who couldn’t walk away. Would he feel the same way about it, when he couldn’t choose another path?

  Jesse dug through his wallet, pulled out the card Evan had given him with the cell phone number scrawled on the back. When Evan picked up, he said, “You didn’t name that cat something asinine like Pink Patty-Pants, did you? If you did, I’m not coming back to therapy.”

  “Pink Patty-Pants? No, his name is George.”

  “You named your cat after George Foreman?”

  “Who?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Jesse, I’m sorry. I don’t have any business turning away from you like that. I mean, you’re a patient. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I’m not just a patient. You’re allowed to disapprove of a friend. You can even act like an asshole to a friend, but not all the time. You get one free pass.”

  “I’m happy you’re not just a patient. I’m actually thinking of moving you from the friend category to the hot boyfriend slot.”

  “Really. You have just one hot boyfriend slot, right?”

  “Right. So, you aren’t mad at me anymore? You want to have phone sex?”

  “No thanks. I’ll hold out for the real thing.”

  “Are you coming to PT tomorrow?”

  “I’m going to swing by, and I want you to go for a drive with me. I want to show you something.”

  “Okay. Listen, thanks for calling me. I was trying to figure out how to call you without getting into your medical records to find your phone number.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Evan.”

  Jesse swung by the Rehab Hospital, and Evan was waiting out front, hands in the pockets of his jeans, listening to some cranky old man in a bathrobe fuss at him, banging away at the concrete with his cane. Jesse laughed when he saw the relief in Evan’s face. He climbed into the car and fastened his seat belt. “Jesus, get me out of here! He was telling me about all the ways doctors had screwed him up over his lifetime, and we were only up to 1987.”

  Jesse looked at him, felt the way the air in the car seemed to change, like something in this man’s Qi caused his own to sit up and take notice. Not that he was completely sold on this idea of Qi, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that when Evan sat next to him, something electrical seemed to happen to his body. Something electrical, something hard started softening in his chest, like warm caramel, some beautiful clarity filled his head. It scared him a little. “I’m happy to see you.”

  Evan reached over, squeezed his thigh, left his hand there. “I’m happy to see you, too. Where are we going?”

  “I’m gonna show you where I’m from. Show you why I boxed my way out.”

  Evan studied him. “I don’t want you to think I’m passing judgment on you, Jesse. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

  “I know you don’t get it. You don’t get why I do it still. I saw the look on your face last night when you were watching the match. I’m not brutal, Evan. I’m just… hungry.”

  Evan was chewing on his bottom lip. “I don’t really understand what it means to be a world champion. Of anything. I can’t imagine the focus, the concentration it took for you to keep your eye on that ring all this time. Seems like you’ve given up what I would call a normal life. And it is a big deal to be the champion of the world, the responsibility and the pressure. I’m trying to understand.”

  He hesitated. Jesse put his hand over Evan’s, still sitting on his thigh, and laced their fingers together. “But?”

  “But boxing? I did some reading last night after I got home. You know eighty percent of boxers have brain damage that affects their cognitive ability? All the major medical associations in the world have called for a ban on the sport.”

  “Boxing’s been an Olympic sport since 688 BC. That’s a long time for a sport to survive in the world. We aren’t just a bunch of thugs slugging it out.”

  “I know, Jesse. I do, really. It’s just… I never cared before. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a boxing match. But now it’s different. It’s personal. I know you. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want to think about you hurting anyone else.”

  “Most people in my life just want me to win.”

  The landscape outside the car was changing from urban to urban blight, block after block of old buildings with their windows boarded with plywood, scrawled graffiti and broken glass, the corners held by hard-faced boys wearing their gang colors on their sleeves, menacing as predators in the jungle. Evan kept hold of his hand, watched out of the window.

  They turned down Second Street and Jesse pulled the car over, pointed to a boxy red-brick tenement on the corner. There was spray paint on the door, a gang’s tag, and the windows were covered with rusting steel grilles. On the second floor, one window was broken, the hole patched with duct tape.

  “See that window with the duct tape? That’s where I lived with my mom until she died. We shared it with another woman, Patsy, and her two kids. I was little then, five or six. I stayed with an aunt for a year after that, but then they put me in foster care.”

  “Who were you close to when you were little?”

  “I loved my mom so much. I didn’t believe she was dead for years after she was killed. I kept pretending she’d been kidnapped, and she was going to come get me and take me out of there.”

  “How’d she die?”

  “Drive-by shooting. She was at the bus stop, coming to get me from day-care.” He looked around, smelled that bitter, burnt smell coming from the streets. It had always smelled like despair, though when he was a kid, Jesse couldn’t have given it a name. He recognized it, though. It smelled like his childhood.

  “I know in my head I’m not from here anymore. I’ll never come back here. I won’t end up walking these streets. But I can still feel it in my stomach, Evan. It’s like the possibility of this place sits in my belly, and I have to fight my way out of it. Over and over and over.”

  Evan took Jesse’s hand, pressed it against his chest. “Maybe if you went to bed with someone you loved every night, and woke up with someone you loved in the morning, you wouldn’t feel like you had to do it all alone.”

  “I don’t know what that’s like, depending on another person. Spending all your love on somebody who could get shot at the bus stop.”

  “I don’t know either, Jesse. I’ve just been playing around, trying not to get hurt, and I’ve never been that scared, or lost. But don’t you think it might be worth it? Don’t you think we could give it a try?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’ve got a surprise for you,” Evan said. Jesse was driving one handed, his fingers laced through Evan’s. It made him feel a little strange, like this was a skill he should have mastered when he was seventeen. “I’m gonna take you to my favorite place tonight, since you showed me yours last night. It’s a dojo, with several different masters, but my Qigong teacher does an advanced class there. I asked him if he would look at you. You don’t mind, do you? I’m not convinced we’re doing everything we need to do for your balance. The Chinese way is different, but in some ways complimentary—it looks at different parameters than Western medicine.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “He’ll probably have you do the class, check your form. I’ve been bragging about how good you are, so don’t embarrass me.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  The dojo was in an unimpressive stri
p mall, with a plain beige door, but inside the air was cool and still, with the whisper of sandalwood and lemons. The practice room was paneled in golden brown wood with a polished dark floor.

  Evan pulled him back to the locker rooms. “I got you something. I think I guessed your size right.” He pulled a bag out of his locker, handed it over. Jesse pulled out a pair of wide-legged pants made out of heavy black silk, and a jacket that was the same color, only thinner. “You don’t mind if I indulge myself and watch you get dressed, do you? Just a little fantasy of mine.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Jesse said, loving the feel of the silk in his hands. “I suppose porn star is a good follow-on career if I keep falling on my ass. You can tell me if you think I’ll make the grade.”

  He reached down for the hem of his tee-shirt, pulled it up over his head at about half speed, flexed his muscles just a bit so Evan could enjoy the show. He tossed him the shirt, and laughed when Evan put it up to his face and did a little deep breathing. The jeans were unsnapped, pushed slowly down his hips, and Evan’s pretty blue eyes were huge and glazed with lust by the time Jesse kicked the jeans off, and Evan bent over to pick them up off the floor.

  “Oh, my God. Can we play master and slave?”

  “Sure,” Jesse said, stepping into the silk workout pants. “I’m the master.”

  “That goes without saying. And that’s a yes on a career in porn, though I have to say I think there are other options. I’ll start a list.”

  “You do that. Let me know what you figure out.”

  Evan changed into his pants, a match to Jesse’s only in ivory silk, and slipped the jacket on. He led Jesse into the dojo and they took their place at the back of the room. The class was filling up, with eight other students. When the teacher walked to the front of the room, they all bowed. They started a routine without speaking, and Jesse watched Evan and followed his moves. Evan was powerful, too, but in a different way, quieter. Jesse studied him a bit, wondering how to describe it. “You seem like you’re more powerful when you’re moving than when you’re still.”

  The teacher was behind them, and he put a hand on Jesse’s lower back, moved his position just a bit. “Moving is when you need to be strong. Feel the Qi moving up your spine, into your shoulders and chest. Your strength, it is shaped like a lily.” He moved his hands, sketching out the shape of a lily in the air, narrow at the base, widening between his cupped hands.

  He moved to other students, and Jesse glanced at Evan, who was trying not to laugh. “Yes, the force is strong in this one, Obi-Wan.”

  After the class, Evan waited for the other students to leave, then he brought Jesse to the teacher. He was wiry and strong, maybe fifty. Jesse thought he was Chinese, but he wasn’t sure. “I’ve seen you fight,” the man said, surprising Jesse. “I wondered then if you would ever learn to master your Qi. You’re almost too powerful, your life energy whips around like a weapon barely under your control.” He looked up. “Evan, will you wait for us?” Evan nodded, but looked a little anxious, glanced at Jesse from under his eyelashes.

  Jesse followed the teacher to a room behind the practice area. It looked like a small treatment area, with a table covered in paper, just like at Evan’s PT room. “And what can I do for the heavyweight boxing champion of the world?”

  Jesse studied him for a moment, wondering why he didn’t say what he always said—help me win. Help me keep my title. I want to fight better. I want to fight stronger. “How do I know when it’s time to walk away?” The man leaned back against the table, and Jesse studied him. “You look familiar to me. Have we met before?”

  The man shook his head. “No. My name is Shan.” Jesse watched him a moment longer, looked around the room. The row of medals was unobtrusive, hanging above his desk, but Jesse recognized them. He had two like them at home.

  “You’re an Olympian.”

  “Yes. At one time, I was an Olympic gymnast. I know how it feels to be the world champion at my chosen sport. And I know what it means to leave it behind, as we all must. Before I answer your question, I wonder if I can examine you?”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “If you would move onto that table behind you.”

  Jesse sat on the table, swung his legs over until he was lying flat on his back. Shan ran his hands over Jesse’s body from about an inch above his skin. “Turn over now.” He spent longer on Jesse’s back and neck, then he delicately put his hands over Jesse’s head. Jesse could feel his hands, though he didn’t touch the skin, but the heat, the electricity, was strong. Shan sighed, stood back, and Jesse rolled over and sat up.

  “You can keep fighting,” Shan said. “But there is risk. The next injury will be dangerous. It may change you forever, in ways you cannot fix. But in your heart you know this already.”

  “What I’m doing with Evan, will it help my brain to heal?”

  “Yes, certainly. And it will help you fight, which you also care about. But you’re thinking now about the next step. The rest of your life. Something about him, it’s changed you.”

  “I’m in training for a title fight. I shouldn’t be, but, yeah, I’m thinking about the next step. And I’m not going to lay this around his neck.” Jesse rubbed absently over his chest. “Something’s changed in me. I don’t want it like I used to. The possibilities of a different life are haunting me.”

  “You wonder if you’re leaving the best parts of yourself behind. But everything you care about, everything that makes you unique, you keep. That hunger you feel, I felt it, too. But you feel that hunger now for something else. Something besides the kindness and charm of Evan, and what he could bring to your life. You have to learn to look at yourself in the mirror.” Jesse stared at him, and Shan smiled at him. “You were very good during class. How long have you been practicing that routine?”

  “About a week, no, three days. I need to work on it more.”

  “Huh. I look forward to knowing what your next step will be, my friend. Tell Evan you are welcome here any time.”

  Jesse held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  Evan was waiting for him in the locker room, and Jesse winked, pulled open the locker and got his jeans. “He said I could come back.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Evan, I’m not going home with you tonight. There’s something I need to take care of.”

  Evan studied him, chewed on his bottom lip. “Are you pissed off at me?”

  Jesse reached out, tugged him into his arms, spent a long moment smelling his hair, the sweat on the back of his neck. “No, of course not.” Jesse stopped, suddenly unsure of himself. “Will you wait for me?”

  “You don’t want me with you when you fight?”

  “No, I don’t. Evan… please. I need to take care of this alone.”

  Evan looked up at him, his beautiful blue eyes bright as the stars in the night sky. “I’ll wait. For as long as you want me.”

  Jesse opened the door of his condo, cursed a little bit under his breath at the emptiness. Why did he send Evan home? His place looked lonelier than usual, deserted, like an expensive hotel room. How would George like this place? He stood in the shower, thinking two could easily fit under the spray of hot water, imagining Evan’s smooth, cool skin sliding against his own. What had the man said? Something about his hunger. Oh, he was hungry for Evan, no question about that. But there was more. It would be too easy to lean into Evan’s strong arms, slide into sleep wrapped around him and bury himself. He needed to do this alone. Because he was hungry for something else, and he’d never said it out loud, not even to himself. Never let himself dream of anything but boxing. Could he look at himself in the mirror, say it out loud? Drag his most secret dream out into the light?

  It scared him. He might fail. Maybe he wasn’t good enough, smart enough. This would be a kind of competition he’d never dealt with before. Did he have the guts to try?

  He crawled between the sheets, stared at the phone for five minutes, willing it to ring. Evan must have b
een reading his mind from across town. “Hey. You asleep?”

  “Not yet. I was waiting for you to call and tell me good night.”

  “How long do you think this waiting is going to be? Until we can sleep together?”

  Jesse felt the laughter bubbling up from his chest. He rolled over, looked at the clock. “We’ll, it’s been about two hours so far.”

  “Wow. That long?”

  “I’m not trying to torture you. Actually, I’m looking forward to the day you climb between my sheets. I hope it won’t be too far into my future.”

  “I’m going to wash mine. The sheets, I mean. Make up the bed so I’ll be ready. Make George sleep on his fake-fur cat bed.”

  “You up for pizza and beer tomorrow night? Now you’ve got me hooked on pizza, it’ll be your fault if I get fat.”

  “I’ll give you a good workout at PT, then you can have a beer without feeling guilty.”

  “Done. I’ll see you at four.”

  “Good night, Jesse.”

  Jesse woke and went for a run, was at the gym working out with the speed bag when Corry came in. He loved the speed bag, the rhythm, the smooth heat in his shoulders. It was like moving meditation. “Hey, Jesse! How’s it hanging?”

  “You got a minute, Corry?”

  “Sure.” Jesse pulled a towel from the wrack, wrapped it around his neck and followed Corry to the office. “How’s the PT? The falling?”

  “The PT’s good. I’m still falling. It doesn’t seem like things have changed. How’s Bo?”

  “Not so good. The kid’s taking it hard. He hates to lose worse than you. He’s got dizziness, headaches. The doc said he’s got a concussion, and he can’t box until the headaches stop. What else can we do? About you falling, I mean?”

  “Corry, I’m going to cancel the fight.”