by Sarah Deming
Gravity steadied her hand against the back of the passenger seat as she poured the savory broth over the mashed plantains, took two big bites, and passed the dish to Honor.
As with everything she did, Auntie Rosa added her own artistic flair to her mofongo, mixing in fresh herbs along with both fried pork rinds and garlic shrimp. She refused to reveal the secrets of the broth to anyone, but Melsy had caught her straining out the solids once and said she saw a turkey wing in there alongside the traditional marrowbones.
“Why she drive like that?” Honor asked, passing Truth the mofongo.
Now that they had hit top speed on the BQE, Auntie Rosa had her window rolled down and was driving with her head stuck all the way out, like a dog. There were little pinging sounds as her hairpins fell out and hit the side of the Ark.
Rosa pulled her head back in and said, “When I’m very tired, the force of the wind helps keep my eyes open.”
Honor went a little pale, but Truth said, “I love it! It’s like a video game!”
Gravity told them not to worry. Auntie Rosa had never fallen asleep at the wheel.
“Give them pamphlets,” Rosa yelled.
Melsy reached in the glove compartment for two of Auntie Rosa’s famous self-published pamphlets on how to avoid getting traffic tickets. She had made some money off them in the nineties.
“The science of it is called SCAB,” Rosa explained as she wove in and out of traffic. “There’s four important steps to SCAB. The first is Stickers.” She pointed to the small badge on the dashboard that said “NYPD Benevolent Association.” “I’ve got two more on the bumper. My niece gets them from that cop who runs her gym.”
Honor made a face. “We hate cops.”
“Black lives matter,” said Truth, raising a fist.
Melsy raised one too.
“Everyone hates cops,” said Auntie Rosa, whose Facebook page was approximately twenty-five percent cat videos, twenty-five percent family photos, and fifty percent videos of unarmed people of color getting tased by police.
“Well, I wouldn’t say everyone,” Gravity mumbled. If it weren’t for Mr. Rizzo, she never would have become a boxer. Neither would a lot of other kids at their gym.
“Your Officer Rizzo is the exception that proves the rule,” said Auntie Rosa. “I want everyone in this car to understand one thing, especially you, Ty Ty. There’s a time and a place for pride, and it’s not when you’re dealing with the NYPD. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Auntie,” Tyler said.
“Now, step two of my patented system is Cry.”
Melsy pulled down the sun visor of the Ark’s passenger seat to show the bottle of eyedrops hidden there.
“Keep the lid off the bottle,” Rosa explained. “You need to be weeping profusely when the cop approaches the vehicle. Step three is Apologize. Make sure you say ‘Officer’ a lot. It’s very submissive and cops love that shit. If you do the first three steps right, you probably won’t even need step four: Beg.”
Rosa’s voice trembled realistically as she whined, “Officer, p-p-please don’t give me a ticket. I p-p-promise I’ve learned my lesson.”
Gravity felt uncomfortable. She could tell Truth and Honor did too; they were looking out the window at the passing houses of Crown Heights. It was hard to watch a grown woman grovel, even to an imaginary cop.
“You can make shit up,” Rosa added. “Like, say your man will beat you if you come home with a ticket.”
“But that doesn’t work with female cops,” Melsy cautioned.
“Female cops are a challenge,” Rosa agreed. “The safest bet is to play the single mom card.” She indicated the faded baby photo of Melsy taped to the Ark’s dash. “Tell them you’re raising your kid on your own, can’t pay for Pampers, blah blah blah. Most of them are single moms too, because who wants to be married to a lady cop, am I right?”
“True,” said Honor.
With a screech, Rosa made a hard right turn onto Avenue D. She brought the Ark to rest in front of Flatbush Gardens.
“Is this right?” she asked.
“This is good,” they said in unison.
Gravity opened the door and they all tumbled out of the Ark with relief. She rubbed her neck as the twins retrieved their bags and thanked Rosa.
“It was educational,” said Truth.
“And delicious,” said Honor.
The twins had tied their headgear to the outside of their duffel bags like bragging rights. Gravity hugged them and made them promise to pass through Cops ’n Kids for sparring, and they made her promise to come by Smiley’s to train with them and Tiffany. Gravity watched them walk off, side by side.
She polished off the mofongo while they drove to Coney Island. That was when Melsy told her the news. She said it so casually that it went in one of Gravity’s ears and out the other.
“Wait a minute. What did you just say?”
“D-Minus. He’s going to Rio.”
“What do you mean?”
Melsy explained what he had told her over cheesecake at Junior’s. Genya and Monster had gone to Memphis, where they had both lost at the US Men’s Trials, but D-Minus—never one to take no for an answer—had done what the St. Lucian twins had done. His parents were both born in Haiti. Mr. Rizzo had helped him apply to the Haitian federation for permission to be their bantamweight representative.
Gravity had to explain to Melsy that this did not mean he was automatically going to the Olympics. Like Gravity, he now had to qualify by placing in the top of his weight at the World Qualifiers, which for the men would be in Azerbaijan. It would be difficult, but he still had a fighting chance.
Gravity’s joy for him was so great that nothing could kill it, not even the thought of him and Melsy eating cheesecake together, or the sight of her mother sprawled out on their sofa back home with her latest disgusting hookup, who looked like a homeless lumberjack. They were drinking vodka with Coke and watching porn, which they did not even bother to turn off when Gravity and Ty walked in.
“Oh look,” said the lumberjack. “It’s the boxer!”
Gravity told Tyler to go to his room.
“Do you mind turning the volume down?” she asked them. “We have school in the morning.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. She hit the volume control with one polished toenail, turning it down imperceptibly.
“Did any mail come for me, Mom?”
Her mother yawned. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
Gravity went to the recycling bin, but there was nothing inside it except a few cardboard boxes.
What the fuck was up with USA Boxing? She had just won them a Continental gold! They owed her four thousand dollars by now. She pulled out her phone and sent another email, cc’ing Bonnie this time.
“Don’t beat us up!” said the lumberjack, which was the stupidest joke in the world.
Gravity whistled to herself as she turned the corner onto the little alley that led to Cops ’n Kids, her new Continental gold medal swinging from her chest. There was nothing like taking time off from the gym to make you miss it. Every detail of the street looked sweet to her, from the litter gathered by the curb to the cans of gourmet cat food Coach had left congealing by the dumpster.
It was chilly, but the air had a whiff of spring. The feral tabby had had three kittens. One of them, a tuxedo, was friendlier than the rest. He skittered alongside Gravity, meowing until she bent to pet him, then ran away and disappeared beneath the dumpster.
Monster was leaning against the gym door, a camera around his neck, talking on his cell phone. She waved to him and he motioned for her to hold still.
“I’ll call you back,” he said.
He hung up the phone and took her picture.
“You look great in that light, with your medal on and the dumpster behind you.”
He reached out to adjust Gravity’s hat and smoothed her hair down. “Think about winning that gold out there in Canada.”
Gravity thought about Ariana’s arrogance, about Carmen saying she would have to step up her game.
“No! Not so serious!” Monster said. “All right, think about sex.”
Gravity laughed. When she’d left Lefty’s that morning, he’d said he’d be by the gym later.
“That’s better,” Monster said.
He took a few more shots, went and adjusted some of the trash that was spilling out of the dumpster into a shape he liked better, and snapped a few more. Gravity smiled into the lens.
“I heard about Trials, Kimani. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Andre says it’s for the best. He’s lining up a pro debut.”
“Really? When?”
“Who knows. I wish I could just take photos all the time.”
He scrolled through the pictures, saying, “You look great. Hold on a sec.” He plugged a little box into the camera. It hummed and flashed and printed out a tiny Polaroid. Monster waved it back and forth in the air and handed it to Gravity.
It was in black-and-white. Gravity was smiling, hiking her gym bag up one shoulder and gazing at the sky. Her skin looked soft against the cold black metal of the dumpster. In the background, the tuxedo kitten had slid halfway out of a cardboard box and was peering at her with shining eyes.
“Wow,” Gravity said. “It looks like a movie.”
Monster said they would shoot some more later on. “A reporter is inside from the Daily News. They’re doing a piece on the gym and on you and D both trying to qualify for Rio.”
“Cool, thanks!”
Press wasn’t uncommon at Cops ’n Kids, but this was the first time she was part of the story, and that put her in an excellent mood. She couldn’t wait to see Coach again and give him the red-and-white Boxing Canada hoodie she had gotten him in Cornwall. But as soon as she got inside and caught a glimpse of him, she could tell he was in a foul mood.
He was rolling toward the back corner of the gym, muttering under his breath. Boca sat on the apron of the larger ring with Andre, holding court for the reporter, who held his phone in front of the three of them to record everything. Various members of the Bocacrew were circling around, Snapchatting the interview.
Coach came to a halt in the opposite corner, as far away from Boca as he could get while still being in the same gym. Gravity tried to surprise him with a hug, but he stiffened at her approach and barked, “Where have you been?”
Gravity grinned. It was Wednesday. She had only taken two days off to be with Lefty and catch up on sleep. Everything about the gym today felt sweet, even Coach’s grumpiness.
She bent to kiss his wrinkly old cheek and said, “I missed you.”
He grunted. “Gym’s been open all week.”
“I just needed a couple days off, but I’m back! And I did my roadwork this morning.”
“Bah,” he said. “What do you want, a medal or a monument?” He waved a hand across the gym at the big blue ring, where D-Minus was shadowboxing. “Gear up. You’re going in with D and Boo Boo.”
“I don’t feel like sparring today,” she said.
He lifted his eyebrows and fixed her with a bloodshot glare.
“I don’t,” she said weakly. “It’s my first day back. I’m tired.”
With a speed that belied his age, Coach shot out a hand and snatched the Polaroid from her grasp.
“Hey! Monster gave me that!”
“You’ll get it back after you spar. This is a gym, not a modeling studio. Gear up and get your fat, lazy ass in the ring.” He rolled away from her toward the PLASMAFuel vending machine.
“I am not lazy!” she grumbled as she stalked off to the locker room.
She wasn’t about to say she wasn’t fat, because then he might make her get on the scale, and she didn’t want to know her current weight. Her ass and boobs felt pretty big.
She stopped to say hello to D-Minus. He had on a cup and sparring gloves, trunks made out of a Haitian flag, and a creepy mask like out of the Purge movies.
“Mazel tov,” she told him. “Melsy told me your good news.”
“Thanks,” he said, baring his mouthpiece in a smile.
It was hard to interpret his mood because of the Purge mask. The smile could have been a sign that he was happy about his positive career news and therefore ready to forgive her for dating Lefty and thinking that he lost to Tiger Biggs. Or it could have been an evil smile because he knew they were going to spar and was looking forward to humiliating her.
“Hurry!” Coach bellowed.
Gravity headed to the girls’ room. Svetlana was already in there, taking her time getting changed. They hugged and Gravity quickly peeled off her jeans.
Svetlana said, “Coach Thomas is in a bad mood. You…you weren’t here Monday….”
“I know.” Gravity pulled on a tank top Lefty had given her that said “$outhpaw: All Is Fair in Love and War.” If her photo wound up in the Daily News, that would give his music free publicity.
“I gotta hurry,” she said, aware that her friend wanted to talk but not wanting to get into anything and give Coach the excuse to get even madder.
Back on the gym floor, Monster had set up lights, and everyone had gathered around the ring to watch. Coach laced her into the sparring gloves and waved her into the ring. She barely had time to get her mouthpiece in before D-Minus rushed her, his mask replaced with headgear and his smile now clearly of the evil variety.
After the first brutal body shot, he walked her to the ropes and whispered in her ear, “What’s my name?”
She wouldn’t say it.
To be fair, she couldn’t say anything, because all the oxygen felt like it had been surgically removed from her body. D held her to him long enough for her to recover, then whirled her off the ropes and thrust her back into the center of the ring, where he could have more fun.
His jabs were like strokes of a whip to the point of her nose, the cheekbone, the chin, the solar plexus. Gravity gritted her teeth and stared through the involuntary tears.
“Why you crying?” he asked, loud enough for the whole gym to hear. It got a few chuckles.
She kept her hands high and her eyes on his shoulders because that made it marginally harder for him to sucker her with feints. Whenever she could, she jabbed. Not out of much hope of landing, but just to show that she was still trying.
There was only so far D-Minus could reasonably go. To actually beat a girl up would have looked bad. He walked the line, hurting her in private little ways. At one point, he spun her into the corner and threw an uppercut to her ass, right where the sciatic nerve connected. Her entire leg zinged with pain and then went numb.
She looked outside the ropes for Coach, but he had rolled off to the bathroom, so she grabbed on to D-Minus and did a sweep with her good leg, dragging him onto the ground.
All the gym rats whooped with delight.
“Yo, Gravity’s on some judo shit!” cried Boo Boo.
Everyone watching called out the names of their favorite pro wrestling moves while Gravity and D-Minus rolled around on the canvas. D wound up on top in the mount and tapped her softly in the face with his open glove, pretending to ground and pound.
“Say my name!” he yelled.
Gravity felt a delicious ferocity rise up inside her. D-Minus looked adorable perched there on top of her belly, but he had no idea how to fight on the ground. Gravity’s old shotokan sensei had a blue belt in Brazilian jiu jitsu, and he had taught her a thing or two, because he said all girls should have one submission move in their pocket for self-defense.
She went limp for a second to feign fatigue. When she popped her hips, D-Minus shot up off her, looking even cuter in his surprise. She spread her legs and put him in
the guard, hooking her ankles together around his waist.
Genya yelled, “Yo, D. Watch out for the arm bar!”
Too late. She scissored one leg around his neck and arched, stretching his elbow joint.
“Ow!” he howled. “Yo, what the fuck?”
She spat out her mouthpiece and said, “Tap out.”
“Yo, D, tap!” yelled Genya.
Gravity pressed her boot to the canvas. She felt his elbow start to hyperextend.
“You better quit, bro!” yelled Boo Boo.
“Say you quit,” she said through clenched teeth.
D-Minus groaned in pain. He said, “Fuck you!”
“Enough!” roared Coach, who had come out of the bathroom and was zooming toward the ring at top speed.
Gravity rolled off to the side, irritated. She’d have to work more on her triangle so next time she could choke him out.
Monster made them pose in front of the ropes with their arms around each other, smiling.
D whispered in her ear, “How’d those body shots feel?”
She whispered back, “How’s your elbow feel?”
He replied, loud enough for everyone to hear, “All I’m saying is, that’s the weakest I ever seen you box. You and your ugly boyfriend musta gone twelve rounds this morning.”
All the gym rats snickered.
Gravity blushed. She still hadn’t figured out what D’s beef was with Lefty. She said, “I coulda broken your arm if I wanted.”
D reached below his chin to unbuckle his headgear and pulled it off. He smiled at her. It was the first kind of smile now, his sunny smile, no meanness in it anywhere. He hugged Gravity loosely around the neck, pulling her sweaty body into his, and when his lips reached her ear, he whispered, “It was worth it to get between your legs.”
That was the picture that made the Daily News: Gravity looking at D, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, sweaty tendrils of hair escaping from her headgear like a lion’s mane. D was eyeing her sideways, his arm draped lazily across the back of her neck. The light gleamed off his shaved head, and his brown eyes shone with laughter.