My uncle comes to mind as do names like Matt and Conner and Kaden and Jax, but then it all gets lost in a tangled web because in the end, what did any of them have to do with me and my ability to fight?
“I don’t know,” I mumble to myself.
“Don’t know what?” my mother asks as she joins us by the bale. My mother is smiling. Really smiling. Enjoying Maggie’s brief taste of victory.
“I stopped fighting,” I whisper and my mother’s smile falters as she tilts her head to understand my words.
Like it’s calling me home, I stumble to the bag hanging from the roof. The old man is gone and, from behind me, I can feel my mother’s and father’s stares. My sister still giggles in the distance from her success.
My thumb caresses the bag like I’m greeting a long-lost friend. For three rounds of three minutes, I used to be granted the gift of focusing on one thing and it was the one thing that brought me a sense of pride and a sense of satisfaction...a sense of self.
I’ve spent my entire life idolizing my father. He’s been this god on top of a mountain that I’ve always tried to climb in order to be part of his glory. But my father’s not a god; he’s a man and man, if anything, is fallible.
My father stopped moving forward and in my effort to drag him along, I also lost my way. Forget about everyone else and their issues and their expectations.... If I clear my mind and look deep inside me, I know who I am. I know what I’m capable of.
With a surge of power, I pull up my guard and tap out a combination: two jabs, a cross and a low kick. The moment my shin connects with the bag, I close my eyes as a feeling of home washes over me. The bag flies high in the air and this time I let it swing as the smile pulls on my face. “I’m still a fighter.”
West
Two days and life has returned to normal. I attend the best school, I have the best opportunities, the richest friends, reopened credit card accounts, a swank home and all the food I can eat. It’s what my parents want as my normal, but I have never felt more like a person living in a foreign land than I do now.
It’s Friday and if I’m back to normal that means family dinner night. I’ve avoided my parents and they’ve given me my space. Tonight, for some reason, feels inevitable.
I h
it the last step of the stairs and the doorbell rings. I open it and discover Rachel’s boyfriend, Isaiah, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets. The guy hasn’t changed: shaved head, earrings and tattoos cover his arms.
“Little early, aren’t you?” I take it back; he has changed, and that burn on his arm from when he saved Rachel from the accident proves it. Rachel said she saved him. He saved her. Guess they saved each other.
“Nope.” Isaiah shows every day, but he typically waits until after dinner on Friday.
“He’s coming for dinner.” Rachel’s wheels hum against the floor as she exits the newly created workout room. In a fresh pair of jeans and sweater, she whips around the open front door with a huge I’m-going-to-see-the-guy-I-love grin. “Hi!”
The don’t-fuck-with-me guy sure as hell gives her the same grin back. “Hi.”
I nod my head for Isaiah to enter and I close the door behind us. “Do Mom and Dad know about this?”
A glint strikes her eyes. “No, but you’re going to help me, right?”
Isaiah folds his arms over his chest and the glare says he doesn’t have Rachel’s faith in me. Which he shouldn’t. I’ve done nothing but give him shit since he’s been around my sister. I extend my hand to him. “I can’t promise it’ll be pretty. In fact, I can guarantee it’ll be the equivalent of wearing a sweater in hell.”
Isaiah assesses my outstretched arm, then meets my eyes before accepting my hand. “Didn’t expect anything different.”
“See,” Rachel says behind me as I head to the dining room. “He’s changed.”
I chuckle to myself. That’s right. I have.
My heart stops. Have I?
I spin and Isaiah grabs Rachel’s chair to stop her from running into me. In a second, I’m on my knees in front of her. “Do you think I’m different than who I used to be?”
“What?”
“Am I the same person? Do you think I’m different?”
“No. Yes. Wait. You aren’t the same person. I mean, you are, but you’re different. None of this sounds right.”
I stand. “I’ve got to go.”