“You think so? I love you like a brother Gage, but your the one who needs to bring it. It’s been a long shitty week, my friend. Meaning, I have no problem sweeping my floors with your face.”
God, it feels good to comply with my needs. To tease and taunt, knowing you are working your opponent's adrenaline as much as he is yours.
“Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual, even brothers kick each other's ass. You want to fight like a real man; then we should take off these gloves. There’s nothing like the feeling of flesh against flesh. Trust me, I bashed in many enemy's skulls with these bare hands. I crushed a few throats while I was at it. Made sure they never forgot who they were fucking with before I finished them off.”
“You bragging now, soldier boy?”
“Nah, just reminding you who you're about to get into the ring with. No rules, motherfucker. The first one down means lights out.”
I internally cringe, hearing him go on about forgetting. Recalling the way I felt when I laid down, and the technician strapped me in, then slowly glided me back into the narrow tube of the MRI machine. The entire time I was in there, all I thought about was how could I ever forget about Eden when she lives in my soul. Even the claustrophobia, the grinding noise to my ears, or the music they played couldn’t block out how scared I was that there’d come a time I’d forget the years spent with her.
And here I am about to have another soon when deep down I know the outcome will be the same as the last. Then again, maybe Eden is wrong and the doctor will tell me I’m able to box again.
“Where you were trained for hand to hand combat, I kept on with the feeling of ropes against my back, the slight sponginess of the apron, and seeing your enemy a few feet away thinking he’s capable of smashing in your face. Which we both know you are not capable of doing. So, that said, I think I’ll pass and stick with my gloves.”
Damn, it feels good to get riled up.
I need inside the ring now more than ever. Need to ditch and weave. Need to feel the flex of muscles, and the sting when it connects to the flesh.
I am desperate to get my gear on and my head where it needs to be so I can block out what waits for me when I go home.
Emptiness.
Fuck my wife for thinking she can leave me.
“That’s what I thought, but you are wrong about the ass-whipping. Don’t put on the headgear, and I’ll take my aggression out on your pretty-boy face. Gloves or no gloves.” He says this as he continues to tape his hands.
I shake my head, a low chuckle escaping.
“You know if I recall, you didn’t talk shit about gloves and headgear back in the day the only time you knocked me on my ass. You danced in the ring like some girl, kissing your gloves and thanking them for helping you take down the champ. There’s a difference between boxing and fighting asshole. You forget that or what?”
“Difference doesn’t matter; either way, you are going down. Hurry up, old man; I need to hit the sheets. Stupid ass that you are to thinking you have what it takes to get in the ring with a kid ten years younger. Jacob would have demolished you.” He goads, pushing my mind a little closer to giving Natalie the green-light without knowing it.
“Now that remark is cause for a TKO. You good without the cages on our headgear, or will you get into trouble with your superior if you show up with a shiner? Is he going to get up in your face and tell you to drop and give him twenty?” I tease about the last, stopping mid-wrap and unsnapping the protective cage. The urge to feel a little pain sounds good about now.
Tossing the shield onto the floor without waiting for Gage to answer, I finish securing the tape around my left hand, pausing briefly as I stare at my wedding band.
The only time I take it off is when I’m in the ring. When Eden and I were first married, she’d slip it on a gold chain and wear it during the match. She’d tell me how she’d kiss it and squeeze it in her hand when I’d get backed into the ropes and take a beating. As I slip it off now and place it on the chair, the white line from the difference in skin tone fades as I imagine not wearing it anymore. It only fuels my anger that Eden has taken our disagreement this far.
Every minute she’s away, she’s breaking our promises to one another. It makes her a dirty dog like me. She ran away instead of facing our problem. She took off to have time for herself and leave me worrying.
Resentful. I have every right to feel it.
I rip the tape off again with my teeth, and place my gear on, secure it and slide my hands into my gloves, and forget the fact my wife left me as I pick up my mouthguard.
I need the escape from what’s going to happen when I walk into an empty house. I need to pretend to hear the roar of the crowd, the sensation of being punched in the jaw, the explosion of my lip. I need to draw and feel the dripping of blood.
I need this for myself, to prove that above all else I have what it takes to train beyond the realms of strength.
Boxing is a mind game at its best, and I’ll be damned if I don’t keep on proving that mine can take a punch and stay in the game.
It’s one of the reasons why I’ve been sparring. That plus, I wanted that match as much as I need to breathe.
“Naw, the government might have my loyalty, but they don’t own me. As long as you don’t break my hands, then I’m good old-timer. And I can do more than twenty.”
Loyalty. Where was mine?
It’s in the middle of a tug-of-war between the two things I can’t live without. I’m in a place I never thought I’d be. It’s a question I never thought about while confessing to Natalie how much I missed boxing. It’s a question I never asked myself. It should go without question that my loyalty is with my wife, and yet when the raised platform comes into view, I can’t deny loyalty lies within those ropes.
I take a deep breath as I hear Gage approach behind me and continue with our pre-match smack talk.
It’s light compared to a real match, need it all the same.
“You keep calling me old, and I’ll break your legs. I don’t know what you're trying to get at anyway when you’ve got a few years on me. Your pushing forty, man.” I’m pretty sure I know where he’s going with bringing up how old I am. Even more confident, Gage will clarify. He’s trying to get into my head, which is what I need to steamroll me into a higher bracket of pissed the fuck off.
Leaping up, I slip under the ropes, and start bouncing back and forth on my toes, pushing that blood flow through my legs to warm them up.
“You know just what I mean. I’m talking about your dumb idea of boxing Jacob. I had my bet on him, brother. You have ten years on the guy. He’s got a smart mouth where you have the glare. There’s no comparison when he runs his mouth twenty-four seven. Words stick motherfucker. Not to mention, he’s been quoted by every announcer that he can get into his opponent’s head quicker than you did. You outweigh him by a few, you might be bulked, which don’t mean shit, but you haven’t had the proper training in years. He’d kick your ass.”
“Fuck off,” I smirk as I shove my mouthguard in and lean back against the ropes to stretch out my arms, and press forward until I feel the muscles in my upper arms pull tight. I roll my neck — exhilaration twitching my hands.
“Are you trying to get in my head by telling me I wouldn’t stand a chance going toe to toe with Jacob because he’s younger? If that’s all you’ve got, then I guess you’ll be hitting those sheets earlier than you thought. You're going down.”