Shadowboxer

by Jessica L. Webb

  She’s fifteen, too young to drive her mom to the hospital. The wait for Jake to get there is long, and her fear flame leaps higher and burns hotter when Jordan’s mom tells her she has to stay home with her dad. They argue, Jordan following her mom around the house as she packs seemingly random things into her purse. A clementine, a pen, packets of sugar. For no reason she can understand, this makes Jordan furious and she yells, a long list of hurts and accusations that burn their way up her throat. Jordan’s mom is silent as she pulls individual tissues from the box and folds them into a pile before tucking them into her purse next to the clementine.

  And just as silently, her mother leaves when Jake arrives. They drive away, and Jordan sits on the porch and listens to the TV in the background, hoping her dad doesn’t move. She prays and hurts and squeezes her head in her hands when the rage and fear get too big. She plans her route to the hospital six different ways, argues with her mom in her head as to why she should be there. She shies away from the emptiness in her chest, holds on to the flame instead. It’s safer.

  The phone rings. The heat of the house is oppressive as Jordan walks back inside. The presence of her father is a burden, the sound of the comedy reruns an awful backdrop as she answers the phone.

  Then Jordan is only cold. She is glacial and immovable, and the cold is so deep it seems warmth has never existed inside her before. Steven is gone. She hears Jake’s voice, shaking like it never has, saying Steven died of his injuries. Steven is gone and Jake is shaky and in that moment, Jordan extends the tendrils of ice even deeper, anchoring herself to the immovable cold.

  * * *

  Thursday afternoon, and Madi was pissed.

  Jordan worked with two kids who were new to the program, but she kept an eye on Madi, who stalked around the gym in her street clothes, drawing kids away from their workouts and warm-ups, making some of the teens laugh and others scowl. Ali had tried to engage her when she’d first come in, but Jordan had watched as Ali had obviously taken the temperature of the situation and given Madi some space. Madi had been completely ignoring Ali now for close to an hour.

  Ali had paired up with Rupert and Sierra, taking pointers from the two boxers on how to use the heavy bag that hung from a stand. Madi noticed. Jordan could tell she noticed. Madi hadn’t behaved like this in a long time. When a fight nearly broke out near the ring, Madi laughing in the middle of it, Jordan decided she had to step in. As she walked over, hands in the pockets of her loose shorts, Jordan reminded herself to keep her frustration in check. Madi was looking for a fight. She absolutely would not get it from Jordan.

  “Hey, Madi. You got a second?”

  Madi looked up from where she was kneading the shoulders of one of the boxers waiting for their turn to spar. Raya had short, dark hair and had been a regular at the gym for the last year. Madi had referred to her as a fuck buddy once. But not someone you’d want to be in a relationship with.

  “Let me finish getting Raya warmed up for the ring.”

  Raya grinned at Madi and shifted herself a little closer. Madi smiled back, but her smile was empty, devoid of any warmth or connection. Jordan wondered just what the hell Madi was doing.

  “Come find me when you’re ready,” Jordan said, making sure her voice did not betray her irritation. Or her worry.

  Jordan surveyed the gym and asked Sean to keep an eye on everything while she went up to get the post-workout snack from her apartment. She was juggling a tray of vegetables and an oversized bag of pretzels on her way down the narrow outside stairs when she saw Madi waiting for her at the bottom. Jordan silently handed her the bag of pretzels.

  “You wanted something?” Madi said as they walked around the building and back into the gym.

  “Just to check in,” Jordan said. The music had switched to cool-down; a slow electronica beat now permeated the gym space. “You seem off today.”

  “You don’t like my behaviour, is that what you’re saying? Am I not focused enough for you?”

  Jordan pushed the tray of vegetables onto the back table and removed the lid. Madi pulled a giant bowl off a shelf and poured the pretzels into it.

  “No, that’s not it. You just seem out of sorts. I wanted to know if you’re okay.”

  Madi said nothing, folding the bag into half and then quarters. Then she tossed it into the garbage can and looked up at Jordan. Still the blankness, though maybe also a little bit of calm.

  “It’s just a day. Like any other fucking day.”

  Which meant it wasn’t.

  “You nervous about your performance tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Something happen at work? With your aunt?”

  Madi snorted. “I love twenty questions. No and no.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s nothing, Jordan. Okay? Nothing.”

  Madi pissed was a sight to behold. Jordan had been on the receiving end too many times to be concerned by it.

  “Last question, I swear. Which makes it only six, by my count.”

  Madi almost cracked a smile. She turned it into a grimace. “Fuck it. Go ahead.”

  “Is it nothing or nothing you want to talk about?”

  Madi looked around the room, casually giving the finger to a group in the corner making rude gestures as they went through their cool-down routine.

  “I’ll take door number two, Professor McAddie. Now, should we feed these ingrates or what?”

  “Ingrates, huh? It’s like you’ve been to school or something, Professor Battiste.”

  This time Madi did smile. It vanished quickly, replaced by a look of pure vulnerability before Madi covered it with forced indifference. The change was so rapid, Jordan could barely keep up. Caring about Madi meant riding a roller coaster.

  “You coming tonight?” Madi said, not meeting Jordan’s eyes.

  “Definitely. I’m planning to be there by nine. Cay is coming, too.”

  Madi blew out a breath and nodded. Jordan saw her glance over at Ali, then quickly away.

  “We should move before the stampede begins,” Madi said.

  “I haven’t said anything to Ali, you know.”

  “Oh.”

  “I can. I just thought you might want to invite her yourself.”

  Another quick glance at Ali.

  “I…” Madi hesitated. Then she clamped her mouth shut.

  “It’s okay to care what she thinks.”

  Madi scowled. “Great. An impromptu therapy session.”

  Jordan threw up her hands. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stop.”

  Madi fidgeted with the ends of her ponytail. Her body was agitated, unsure. A state that Jordan knew Madi hated.

  “Fuck it.”

  Madi pushed away from the table and walked over to where Ali was stretching alongside Rupert and Sierra. Ali smiled as Madi approached, and Jordan’s heart pounded just a little harder in her chest as Ali welcomed her into her space. No hint of defensiveness or concern at Madi’s prickly behaviour. Just welcome and acceptance. Exactly what Madi needed.

  Their conversation was short, and Madi’s expression was only a little defensive as she spoke. Then her shoulders relaxed when Ali smiled again and pulled out her phone. They seemed to exchange information, then Madi turned and walked away. Ali searched for Jordan, and when she saw her looking, smiled and gave a discreet thumbs-up. Jordan smiled back, a happiness so complete she could not feel its edges.

  “It’s done,” Madi said. “I’ve got you a date tonight. You can thank me later.” She snagged some pretzels and kept walking. “I’ve got to go get ready. See you tonight.”

  Jordan laughed as Madi sauntered out. The world, for now, seemed to have righted itself.

  * * *

  The entrance to the bar was long and narrow, but the crowd was happy and the music was loud as Jordan and Ali joined the loose lineup around the bar to order drinks. Once they had cold pint glasses in hand, they wound their way around the happy drinkers to the wider back room. It was quieter here, and the
tables and chairs were all oriented around a very small stage. Ali was staring at the tall canvases that lined one of the walls, haunting silhouettes in poses of defiance, seduction, and sorrow. Jordan touched Ali’s arm to get her attention, the backs of her fingers sliding along the soft folds of her black shirt just long enough for Jordan to feel the sensation in her stomach. Long enough for Ali to look down, too long for Jordan to pass it off as a casual touch. Jordan swallowed.

  “I see Cay up near the front. We’ll join her, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course.”

  Jordan breathed a little easier as they sat at the small table with Cay. The addition of another person, especially one as outgoing as Cay, shifted the dynamic enough to give Jordan some space. As Cay and Ali talked about city life and Ali’s favourite places to eat in Chicago, Jordan listened to the beating of her heart over the pulse of music and voices. It wasn’t rapid or out of synch around Ali. Not always, anyway. It was simply noticeable, a function of her body she took for granted, a life dependency she relied on and gave so little thought to. Until Ali was around. What was her heart trying to tell her? A message about righting past wrongs, closing off a broken part of their history, maybe. Or, infinitely more frightening, a message to pay attention to the connection of today. And the possibilities for the future.

  Jordan took a sip of her beer, the bright flavour saving her once again from her careening thoughts.

  “But is it home?”

  Cay’s question to Ali caught Jordan off guard. She recognized the tone of her voice. Part curiosity, part pointed query. Aimed at the heart.

  “It’s home for now,” Ali said. She sounded reflective but not uncomfortable, Jordan decided. Cay said nothing, and Jordan knew she was letting the silence prompt a deeper answer. “It’s a home base more than a home, I guess. But it’s not a place to put down roots, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Cay nodded and waited, but Ali took a sip of her beer and glanced at Jordan, who simply smiled reassuringly. “I wonder what it means to put down roots.” When Ali didn’t answer, Cay spoke again quickly. “Forgive my intrusion. I guess I’m asking a broader question. It’s something we think about with our youth. What home means, what connection means, what a solid foundation looks like. Many of them have a home base. Most of them are seeking home. Comfort and connection. Something that ties you to the people and the place around you.”

  Ali spun her beer slowly in a circle but kept her eyes on Cay.

  “Are you trying to be that for your kids? Or are you trying to find that for your kids?”

  Cay gave a shocked and delighted laugh at Ali’s question.

  “Jordan McAddie, where have you been hiding this treasure? She’s been here one week and can ask the question no Ministry rep with their heads shoved up their funding formulas would ever think to ask. An excellent question. The answer is both. For some people, it is the finding. For some, it is the giving. Jordan and I have always worked for both.”

  “I can see that,” Ali said. “At the gym. I can see that…influence.”

  Ali shook her head, like that wasn’t the word she wanted. But the rest of their conversation was halted as a large man in dark jeans, a bright white shirt, and a rainbow bow tie took the mic and welcomed everyone to the October poetry slam. The light dimmed in the room and the chatter died along with it. The sound of the revelers in the bar area made them seem somehow secreted away. The spotlight drew everyone’s attention as the MC introduced the first performer.

  Jordan had known nothing of spoken word poetry before Madi. But from the first time she’d heard it, she’d loved how the words and the voice gave power to each other. Tonight was no different. The performers spoke hard truths along with gut-wrenching confessions and comedy on the fallacies of the human condition. Some of the poets were young, some old, some nervous, some defiant. None were gentle.

  Jordan stole glances at Ali, wondering what she thought of all this. Her eyes were riveted to the stage. She laughed and looked thoughtful and calculating as she listened and drank her beer. When the MC introduced Madi, Ali looked at Jordan. She seemed nervous. Jordan loved her for it in that instant.

  “There’s our girl,” Cay muttered. They were a table of nervous wrecks. Jordan turned more fully in her chair as the MC helped Madi adjust the mic to her small height. Madi looked calm, and her pale face took on a surreal glow in the spotlight. As the MC walked off stage, Madi shook her arms out in a gesture Jordan recognized as one of her own. Then she approached the mic and started to speak.

  “It’s my turn. No one has used those words, but I can feel the pressure of them. I can feel their expectation, the congratulatory looks they give each other when they think I am not looking. I could be their best success story. I have the chance to make my way through the adult world with the tools they’ve worked so hard to give me. I have the chance to make them all proud.

  “But I am no different than yesterday or three years ago. I am not convinced I have learned more. I’m stunted, maybe—like my growth. A childhood of neglect. So, I feel no different than when I was ten and argued with my foster mom so relentlessly she backhanded me hard enough to see stars. Stars like the best part of overnight camp they sent me to every year. Stars like the meds they gave me at twelve that turned my day into a galaxy. Stars like the pinpoints of light in the boxing ring when I fight.

  “My nineteenth birthday stripped away every soft place to land, every harness and tether they attached to me as a Crown ward. Every safety line I once fought against, feeling leashed, a feral dog snapping at its rescuers. I would laugh now at the irony, but I might start crying. I might never stop.

  “What kind of inefficiency is it to spend hours and years and resources making me understand and trust the system only to yank it away on my nineteenth birthday? What kind of cruelty? The people are there, and that hasn’t changed. But I see their caseload, I feel the weight of their jobs with an empathy and guilt I can’t admit. They have to turn me over. It’s someone else’s turn to benefit from their strength and love. My bitterness is big enough to consume me. I pretend it isn’t. But in the quiet moments inside a head that is never quiet, I nurture my demons of bitterness and abandonment.”

  Jordan ached, a hurt so profound she felt heavy and brittle all at once. She had never understood how Madi carried her pain, her uncertainty, the depth to which she felt everything. The poetry helped, the therapy helped, the stability of home with her aunt helped. Jordan and Cay helped. But none of it seemed like enough.

  “You two okay?” Ali said.

  Jordan heard the noise as patrons stood to grab another drink during the intermission. She looked over at Cay, who was staring at the now empty stage, evidence of tears on her cheeks.

  “Cay?” Jordan needed to see what Cay was feeling, to know how to process this.

  Cay finally glanced back at Jordan, a shock of sorrow blended into the lines of her face. She seemed haunted. Ali gently touched first Cay’s arm, then Jordan’s.

  “I’m going to leave you two to talk for a moment. I’ll get us some more drinks. Cay? What are you having?”

  Cay blinked, then touched a tissue to the tears on her cheeks.

  “Just a club soda. Thanks, love.”

  Ali gave Jordan a sympathetic smile and stood, squeezing Jordan’s shoulder lightly on the way by.

  Jordan wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I can’t tell if we’ve succeeded or failed,” Cay said. “There seems to be no middle ground.”

  “There rarely is with Madi,” Jordan said.

  Cay smiled at that. “That is a truth to remember.”

  “I think,” Jordan hesitated and tried to order her thoughts, “I think that was her fear talking. She uses poetry to talk about being scared.”

  “Madi hates being scared.”

  “Exactly.”

  Neither of them seemed to want to circle back to Cay’s original thought. Success or failure? To celebrate or cry?

  “May I sit for a mome
nt?”

  Jordan barely recognized Helena in dark jeans and a purple sweater. She’d never seen her outside of work hours. And Helena always seemed to have work hours.

  “Yes, of course,” Cay said.

  Helena pulled back Ali’s chair and sat. Jordan thought she saw evidence of tears. Her heart ached a little more. Pain on pain, a long line of worry, never-ending doubt.

  “You make a difference in her life,” Helena said. Her voice was light, and Jordan had to strain to hear. “You have centred Madigan in your fight for Madigan. You have built her voice and her advocacy. She has more tools, as she called them, than most of the young adults I see in my service. She has been fortunate.”

  Jordan felt the tears in her throat. She wanted so badly to believe she had done right by Madi. By all her kids. But especially Madigan Battiste.

  Cay cleared her throat. “Thank you, Helena. We were just sitting here wondering if Madi’s performance meant we had succeeded or failed.”

  Helena took Cay’s hand and reached for Jordan’s. They sat linked like that until Helena spoke again, her eyes shining with fervour. “The system fails. Those that prop up the system are failing. But you two, I have always felt a kinship—”

  Ali returned just then. She walked to the front of the table with the three drinks clutched in her hands. She smiled at Helena, open and inviting. Jordan watched as Helena’s face went from passionate to blank in a heartbeat. Helena pushed back her chair and stood.

  “I did not realize I was intruding.”

  “You’re not,” Ali said. “It looks like I am. But we can grab another chair.”

  Helena stood in her spot, the awkwardness of the moment obviously overwhelming her. She seemed to be in two places at once, and Jordan felt the need to rescue her. Jordan stood.

  “Helena, this is Ali Clarke.”

  Ali gave that same warm smile and stuck out her hand. Helena shook it.