by Sarah Deming
“You are a true champion,” Truth said.
Their demeanor was so completely changed that for a moment Gravity thought they were making fun of her. She looked from twin to twin, but they returned her gaze earnestly.
“Thank you,” she said. “You did good, both of you. You really hung in there.”
Honor nodded gravely. “We underestimated you.”
Truth said, “We were in deep water out there.”
Honor said, “We were at the top of the mountain, and that’s where the eagles are flying.”
Gravity grinned. “If you keep training, I’ll bet you could make it to Tokyo 2020. You’re lucky to be twins. You always have someone to spar!”
“Sit and visit with us,” Honor said, and they dealt her into their game.
They turned out to be from Brooklyn. That was why Gravity had thought, when she first met them, that she had seen them before. They trained at Smiley’s with Tiffany Clarke, one of the few women coaches in New York, but they were born in St. Lucia and had persuaded the country’s boxing federation to let them be its representatives. They were worried they had let St. Lucia down by their performance, but Gravity tried to convince them this was not so.
“St. Lucia is such a beautiful country,” Truth said, gathering up the cards. She handed the deck to Gravity. “Here. Take that as our gift.”
Honor said, “It’s small, but it’s not the size of a thing that matters. I’d rather have a small box with a diamond ring than a big one that is empty inside.”
Gravity pondered that as she walked back to her room, but it only made her think of D-Minus. How he had a heavyweight’s heart packed into a bantamweight frame. She turned her phone back on and went onto his Snapchat. When she saw what he had uploaded, she put a hand against the wall to steady herself.
In the middle of his usual montage of shirtless selfies and sparring clips was a picture of Melsy in her bikini in the Barclays Center. D had written “mood” across it followed by a bunch of heart-eye emojis and flames.
Next was a video. They were in Cops ’n Kids, and they must have asked someone else to film it. Melsy was listening to D talk, her head tilted to catch his voice over the sound of the music and the bell. D had a medicine ball under one arm, and his bare chest gleamed with grease. As Gravity watched, he reached out to touch a lock of Melsy’s hair. Their eyes met. A lazy smile spread from his lips to hers.
Gravity turned the phone off. She laid her palm against the spot where it hurt in her chest, just beneath the left breast. She was with Lefty, so what did she care? D always went for girly-girl types like Melsy.
She didn’t care. It was just pain, and Rick Ross said pain was weakness leaving the body. Maybe Melsy was doing her a favor. Now she would be a better girlfriend to Lefty. She nodded to Kaylee as she flopped onto the bed, curled into a fetal position, and mentally recited more lines from that samurai poem Fatso had taught her:
I have no parents: I make the heaven and earth my parents.
I have no friends: I make my mind my friend.
I have no enemy: I make carelessness my enemy.
I have no armor: I make benevolence and righteousness my armor.
I have no castle: I make immovable mind my castle.
I have no sword: I make absence of self my sword.
She slept as though she had fallen into a deep, dark well. When Kaylee woke her to go to the fights, she sat up in terror, unsure where she was.
“Damn, girl!” Kaylee said.
Gravity pressed her fingers to her temples. “How are you feeling, Kay?”
“Great! Arr! Can’t wait to get me gold!”
Gravity smiled weakly and grabbed a PLASMAFuel gel with caffeine. She sucked it down as they headed to the auditorium.
Kaylee went to warm up for her bout against Canada, and Gravity took the empty spot next to Sacred Jones, who was bopping her head to her music. When Gravity sat down, Sacred pulled out an earbud, called her “little champ,” and asked if she was ready to put on a great show.
“I hope so,” Gravity said.
“You hope so?” Sacred said, recoiling in mock horror. “You better know so. Let’s try that again. Are you ready to put on a show?”
“Hell yeah,” Gravity lied.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Sacred said. “Fake it till you make it.”
Gravity could make out the sound of gospel music coming out of her earbuds. Sacred always looked happy, but tonight she was positively radiating joy at the prospect of finally getting to fight after two nights of sitting in the stands. Gravity couldn’t wait to watch her win. The great thing about cheering for Sacred was that you never feared she would lose. She was 68–1 and on a four-year win streak.
Sacred said, “I see you having a tough time. You and Kaylee both. Weighing in buck naked. What were you doing, running around Canada in sauna suits?”
Gravity looked down at her boots. “Something like that.”
“Listen. This tournament don’t mean shit. This is a learning experience. You can beat that Mexican girl. You got better leverage than her. You just gotta keep punching and never stop.”
Sacred put her earbud back in and kept nodding her head in time to the gospel.
They both rose to scream for Kaylee in the leadoff bout. The Canadian girl was fast and smart and had good angles. They battled for superior foot position through the first two rounds.
“Who’s winning?” Gravity asked Sacred at the top of the third.
Sacred said, “I think Kaylee got it. She’s stronger than that girl.” She broke off to yell, “Hook there, Kay! Hook when she roll right!”
At the final bell, Gravity still did not know who won. To her delight, they gave it to Kaylee.
Soon it was time to root for Aisha, who lost to a tough Brazilian, and Paloma, who boxed circles around the Mexican. Then it was time to get ready, and Gravity glanced over to the opposite side of the auditorium, where Sylvia Rosalba Sánchez was throwing punches in the air. She was orthodox, average-sized for lightweight, and did not look like much when she shadowboxed. It was her conditioning that wore people down.
Sylvia was the first boxer Gravity had ever seen who was fighting in a skirt. It looked unflattering. There had been a whole big thing about skirts in the last Olympics. When AIBA had first announced that women’s boxing would finally be added to the Games, they had proposed that skirts be mandatory, so people would be able to tell the women apart from the men. They had quickly dropped the idea, but Gravity still remembered the angry article Carmen Cruz had written about it in the LA Times. It was where she had learned the word “misogyny.”
Shorty came to get her, his friendly banter and permanent grin now a familiar presence in her corner. Gravity bowed to the judges and knelt down in the corner, pressing her face to the post. She sang the Shema with everything she had.
Please, God, she prayed, and she asked for something she had never asked for before in her prefight prayer: Give me strength.
She wasn’t sure if that was cheating, but she couldn’t help it.
She rose to her feet, hugged Shorty, and met the Mexican at center ring. Sylvia gazed up at her blandly, dark eyes eerily calm in her pale, broad face. Like it was just another day at the office and Gravity was just another unlucky customer. They touched gloves politely. At the bell, they both came out swinging.
The nine minutes that followed were the most grueling of Gravity’s life. Halfway into the first round, she was more tired than she had ever been in any of her twenty-three previous fights. Sylvia was not a particularly hard puncher nor outstanding in any way, but as Gravity parried her unending barrage, she sensed behind it a will that would not give.
Gravity’s lungs burned and her neck ached as they stayed there in the pocket and grimly traded blows. The close range negated her reach advantage,
but she had nothing to spare for side steps or rolls. She bent her knees, leaned in, and kept throwing, and it was like climbing up a mountain that went on and on.
Once, she thought she saw a look of surprise light up Sylvia’s eyes at a particularly brutal looping right. She risked opening up then, to try to get the eight count, but Sylvia caught her with a straight hook and forced her back, and a hot line of pain shot down her spine.
Gravity punched until she could not punch anymore. Then the bell rang, and Sylvia went away. Then it rang again, and Sylvia came back, and Gravity made herself punch some more. At the round breaks, she was too tired to do anything but sit and breathe. Bonnie iced her neck while Shorty rubbed her legs and told her she needed to pick it up.
Twice she spat her mouthpiece to the ground so the ref would break the action. She had learned that trick from D-Minus. But she was afraid to get a point deducted, so after that she bit down and went on punching.
That was when she understood what it really was to have heart. Every second, she had to choose not to lose. She did not know where the strength came from, but it came when she needed it like the answer to her prayer. When the final bell rang, she spat out her mouthpiece one last time, ran to her corner, and puked in the bucket.
Bonnie rubbed her neck, and Shorty rinsed her mouth. She could barely stay standing long enough for the ref to raise her hand.
She forced herself to stay awake to watch Sacred’s beautiful display of the sweet science. The poor Brazilian middleweight had once been a world champion, but Sacred was entirely out of her league. When the bell rang to end the brutal first round, the Brazilian looked back at her corner with the expression of a frightened child. Gravity could almost see the thought bubble over her head saying, “Coach, I wasn’t ready for this.”
She went the distance, though. By bout’s end, her braids were loose and her cheeks and shoulders were covered with marks, but she kept coming forward into Sacred’s punishing combinations.
“Brazilians are tough,” Gravity remarked to Aaliyah, who was sitting beside her, icing her knee.
Aaliyah said, “Women are tough.”
Gravity nodded. She rose to her feet and cheered as they raised Sacred’s hand.
BOXINGFORGIRLS.COM
MY BLOG CAN BEAT UP YOUR BLOG
Carmen Cruz, Independent Journalist
April 10, 2016
US Is Golden at Last Day of Continental Championships
CORNWALL, ONTARIO—The last night of competition at the Continental Championships was a triumphant one for the US women, who captured the Best Team trophy with a total of six gold, two silver, and two bronze medals. Second place went to Brazil, third to our generous Canadian hosts.
Light flyweight Marisol Bonilla of Austin kicked off the action with a graceful victory over Claribel Martinez of Argentina. Bonilla dedicated the medal to her younger brother Alexis, a promising amateur boxer who was tragically murdered last year in a robbery at their family’s home. Bonilla always boxes with his name on her trunks.
California’s Kaylee Miller edged Brazil’s Emilia Matos in a well-matched flyweight final. Miller is boxing strongly and seems in good position to qualify in China.
Heavy-handed bantamweight Clelia Bosco captured the first gold for Brazil in an entertaining slugfest with Argentina’s Carolina Berenbaum.
London medalist Paloma Gonzales continued her domination at featherweight, dissecting Argentina’s Leonela Benavidez.
“That shoulda been me,” said Gonzales, pointing to teammate Delgado, who snatched Gonzales’s spot on the US Olympic team last month at Trials. “But Paloma Gonzales will come back stronger than ever.”
Young Gravity Delgado’s tournament performance here in Cornwall bears out Gonzales’s skepticism. Having barely squeaked by Canada and Mexico, Delgado got a gift this evening in her split decision win over Brazil’s powerful Ariana Leite. Although Delgado landed more punches, Leite’s were the harder and more damaging. Delgado will have to step up her game in China if she wants to qualify for the Summer Games.
Maribel Silva, another heavy-handed Brazilian, took the split decision against Seattle’s Aaliyah Williams in the all-action light welterweight final.
Amanda Ross of Manitoba claimed the first gold medal for our host nation with an easy win over Barbados’s Keri Brathwaite. The Canadian team lifted Ross up on their shoulders and carried her around the ring.
Sacred Jones continued to show the crowd why she is considered by many to be the greatest female boxer ever, with a physical and psychological dismantling of former world champion Susan Marshall of Ontario.
In the moving light heavyweight final, Philadelphia’s Kiki Mailer outpointed Armelle Miville-Deschênes of Montreal. Miville-Deschênes, who is deaf, reads her coach’s lips at the round breaks.
“We just let the refs know,” said Canadian head coach Simone Boulanger, “because she can’t hear them say ‘break’ and she can’t hear the bell.”
The mood of the crowd lightened as American heavyweight Bettina Rosario and Brazil’s Victoria Freitas squeezed between the ropes and faced off like two battleships. The two tired after about 30 seconds. Freitas dug deep and pulled out the win.
Gravity was still seething about Carmen’s blog post when her flight touched down at LaGuardia. As soon as she had cell service, she texted Kaylee and Svetlana to complain and Melsy to make sure she and Auntie Rosa were still picking her up, and to ask if they had room for two more passengers.
Svetlana texted back:
Fuck Carmen she don’t know shit about boxing
Kaylee texted back:
Don’t worry about it, matey. Fuel for the fire.
Melsy texted back:
We’re at Terminal A arrivals with mofongo. You know the ark always has room for two more lol
Gravity multitasked, retrieving her luggage from the overhead compartment and texting Kaylee:
Fuck Carmen! She doesn’t know shit about boxing
She staggered as the luggage hit her face. It was a little hard to move around right now, because her neck was half frozen from the fight with Ariana Leite. Gravity could rotate it to the left, but when she wanted to see anything on the right side, she needed to swivel her whole body like a robot.
Kaylee texted back:
Um, ok, lol!
Gravity texted:
What?
Kaylee forwarded an old text Gravity had sent her:
So glad CC is here!!! She’s the only sportswriter who cares about the women’s game and she always calls it like it is
Gravity glared at her phone. She texted Kaylee back:
You thought i won right?
The phone was silent.
She texted Svetlana:
You thought i won right?
Svetlana texted back:
I’m so sorry g I didn’t watch,,I had a date w Boo,,,but I’m sure you won,,you always win,,,FUCK CARMEN SHES A HATER! plus a string of muscles and boxing gloves and a hand painting a fingernail.
Kaylee still did not reply, so Gravity shouldered her luggage and waited in the jet bridge for the St. Lucian twins, who cheered up immensely when Gravity offered them a ride back to Flatbush. It wasn’t too far out of the way on the drive to Coney Island.
Gravity would have liked to keep staying at her auntie’s, but sleeping on the foldout sofa with Ty hurt her neck. Plus, Auntie Rosa and Melsy deserved some space after all the time they had spent looking after Ty. Once Gravity finally got that fucking stipend check, she would be able to rent a room for the two of them.
They found the Ark at arrivals just as Kaylee’s reply came in:
It doesn’t matter what I think.
Gravity texted:
It matters to me
Kaylee texted:
U and Ariana are the only ones who know who won.
Gravity felt her face flush at that, thinking of the fierce, thick-necked Brazilian who, alone among Gravity’s twenty-four opponents, had seemed immune to her power. When they had raised Gravity’s hand at the end, Ariana had made no protest, but a look of profound contempt had come over her handsome face. All throughout the medal ceremony, Ariana had worn that contempt like armor. Gravity still felt the force of it, and it hurt worse than her neck.
“Easy, easy!” she told Tyler, laughing, as he dashed out of the Ark’s backseat and launched himself at her with full force.
“You good, cuz?” Melsy asked, kissing her cheek.
“Yeah,” Gravity said, waving at her phone. “Just some bullshit.”
“You spend too much time on that thing!” said Auntie Rosa, walking around the Ark to envelop Gravity in her arms.
“I know, Auntie.”
Auntie Rosa must have come right from work, because she smelled like espresso. She pulled back and studied Gravity’s face, then planted a kiss on the tiny red bruise on her left cheekbone from an Ariana Leite right hand.
“My tough little baby. It’s too much!” Auntie Rosa turned to the twins. “Look at you two, so beautiful! I bet your aunties can’t stand to watch either. Why couldn’t you girls play soccer or something?”
The twins laughed.
Gravity said, “Auntie Rosa, this is Truth and Honor. They stay right by Brooklyn College.”
“No problem,” Rosa said. “Just move all the junk out of the way and squeeze in.”
Somehow the Ark was slightly bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. They wedged their bags in the trunk next to the folding chairs and silkscreen supplies, put Tyler up front on Melsy’s lap, and piled into the back. Rosa pumped up the volume on Hot 97 and passed back two Tupperware containers, one with the mofongo and one with the broth. Melsy handed out packets of plastic cutlery.
As Rosa piloted them out of LaGuardia, she interrogated the twins about where they were from, who their family was, if they were dating anyone, if they had ever been to the DR, and their personal history with mofongo. Gravity’s mother always said to forget about solar power, that the world energy crisis could be solved by a generator hooked up to Auntie Rosa’s mouth—when she wasn’t napping, that is.