by Fields, MJ
I swallow during his pause. His words are hard to hear, even if they’re everything I think.
“Do you even want to be a fighter?” My voice croaks the words, and I allow the absurd idea that his dream is something else run through my mind. I’ve seen him move, though. He was born to do this—just like my dad.
Memphis draws in a deep breath through his nose, standing straighter as his chest fills. He readjusts his feet as he moves toward me slowly, his jaw set and his lips pursed in thought. He glances down to the floor between us. My palms begin to sweat, and I flinch when the medical kit slides from my grip just a little. I catch it, but not without Memphis helping me—his hand covering both of mine.
“A fighter is the only thing I know how to be,” he says, letting one hand fall away from me while the other opens the doorway behind him. “I’m not here because I think the mojo will rub off on me and make me a better fighter. I’m here hoping the spirit of Robert Delaney, who passed away in a cheap motel in Memphis, will find his long-lost son and guide him…just a little.”
His eyes leave mine as he turns to exit the tiny space, but before he can leave the room, I let the medical kit fall from my hands and I grab onto his cold, damp shirt. He turns to me quickly, but before he can speak, I grasp another handful of his shirt in my other hand and lift myself up with my toes, pressing my lips lightly against his. I catch his lips partially opened, and the slight breath from his surprise tickles my mouth. My right hand lets go of his shirt and finds the hard line of his jaw, tense and warm under a single stroke of my thumb. I’m not sure which one of us is trembling, but a vibration is there where my hand rests uneasily along his face. His lips move subtly as I begin to slip away, and just before our touch breaks, his mouth reaches out for mine with one desperate pass of his lower lip against my upper.
His hands cradle my elbows as I leave the tips of my toes and fall back to earth. We both stand under the arch of the doorway, medical supplies spilled on the ground at one side and the glow of outside streaming through the open gym door—where my mother stands motionless. My heart stops; I know she is going to ruin this. It will never be anything more than a stolen moment I leapt at in a storage-room closet.
I was foolish anyhow, to think that I could compete with a ghost. Memphis Delaney was born to fight. I am an inconvenient distraction.
Eight
Memphis
My head is all fucked up. Liv left it that way. Her lips were like sugar, and I’m a boy who has been forbidden sugar for so long. I wish I could figure out why it’s so different with her—why I’m so invested.
Obsessed.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to get from her when I stepped into that tiny space. I was prepared to get decked. I wouldn’t put up a defense; I’d leave my hands at my sides and take the full brunt of it.
And then she kissed me.
She didn’t bother to stay to experience her mom’s reaction. I’m sure if she had, it would have been different than the one I got. She played coy. I’ve never actually seen someone pretend to blush, but Angela did. She giggled and said seeing stolen kisses reminded her of when she was younger and visiting Archie. She was quick to dismiss what she’d seen as anything serious. That much she was very direct about.
“I know you won’t let this little infatuation she has with you get in the way, but if you need me to talk to her, please just let me know. Somethings are easier coming from your mother.”
I smiled and nodded, knowing full well that was the last way Liv wanted any communication delivered. The longer I’m here, in their family web, the uglier the threads that hold them all together seem.
Angela offered to sew me up when Liv ran off, but I’ve seen the scars on Archie’s face. I’m doomed to get a cold or flu in this emergency room, though. I might have been better off with horror-movie stitches from Angela.
The man next to me is wrapped in a blanket that smells of urine. I’ve moved seats four times in the last hour, and every single time someone takes the seat right next to me even though there are dozens of open seats in this waiting room.
“Memphis Delaney?”
Thank you, sweet Jesus! I leap to my feet, wasting no time rushing toward the doorway held open by a woman in pink scrubs.
“Rough waiting room today,” I say, chuckling a little.
She glances at me sideways and smiles on one side.
“It’s hot out. We get a lot of homeless this time of year—it’s usually dehydration.” She starts flipping through pages, stopping on the chart of basic questions I already answered for the triage nurse.
“Stitches, huh? Let me see what we’ve got,” she says, setting the clipboard to the side and scooting her stool close to me so our knees are almost interlocked. Her eyes catch mine; I must react because she smirks and tells me to relax.
“That’s a nasty one. Let me guess…I should see the other guy?” She winks and scoots her chair back, moving toward a cabinet filled with basic supplies that all look like the ones Liv spilled on the floor back at the gym.
“I’m pretty sure I got the worst of it actually,” I say, wishing I had Liv’s phone number now or a way to check on her. I’m not sure who would be worse to call—Leo or Angela?
“Well, he must be a pretty tough guy…unless…a girl kicked your ass?” She unwraps a few things and tilts my chin before she begins cleaning the area near my deepest cut.
I laugh, but am careful not to move my face as she inspects me closer.
“Everyone’s kicking my ass lately, it seems.”
I look at her from the side of my eyes, but she’s focused on my cut. I notice the reflection from the diamond on her finger, and I feel a strange relief—I don’t have to walk the fine line between polite and flirting like I do with Amy at work. I’m also relieved because, for some reason, I feel like flirting wouldn’t be fair to Liv.
Leo was right about her invading all corners of my mind. I can’t even handle a visit to the ER without considering her.
“This is gonna sting at first, but…it will pass…” She tilts her chin down and bites her tongue, pushing the needle through with one hand while her other holds my skin together tightly. It hurts, but I have a high tolerance, so I barely wince. Pain is relative in my world.
“Not my first rodeo with stitches,” I say through the side of my mouth.
“Ah, a professional ass-kickee, huh?” She pushes through again, and I feel it even less.
I chuckle silently, careful not to move my face.
“That’s one way to put it. I would rather people call me champ, though,” I say.
Her face crinkles.
“I box. I’ve got a big fight coming up at the end of the month, actually. This was sort of the result of some tough love,” I say, glancing to her just as she ties off the third and final stitch.
“My older brother used to fight. Amateur stuff, down at that club on Central. Sometimes at the college. You local? Maybe you’ve heard of him…Tommy Vargas?”
I shrug and shake my head.
“I don’t know a lot of people, though. I’ve only been here a little more than a year, and I spend most of my time in a dark gym with a jump rope and a speed bag,” I say.
“Well, like I said, he wasn’t really serious about it,” she says, moving her attention back to the paperwork. I stand while she signs off on a prescription.
“I hope the guy you’re supposed to fight in Vegas isn’t as tough as the guy who did this,” she says, handing me the script. I breathe out a sharp laugh and take it from her.
“Yeah, me too,” I say, keeping to myself the fact that Leo’s in his fifties and a bit of an alcoholic.
She swings the curtain open and I catch her name on her tag—Laura. I’m about to thank her when I hear a recognizable hacking cough a few curtains down.
“Miles?” My brow pinches as I step forward and scan to the right.
“That you, young prince?” I grimace at the familiar response and follow the sound.
“Which one’s y
ou?” I look for signs, or his bag on the ground. I find him three beds down sitting up with an IV in his arm. I glance back at Laura.
“He’s a friend,” I say. She nods and follows me into Miles’s space.
He shadowboxes me when I step closer, and I do it back. His face is pale, and his unshaven cheeks look like they’re sinking in a little more than normal. His hair is combed back, and its damp, which makes me wonder if he finally spent a night in the shelter.
When I first met Miles, I begged him to stay with me. It took me weeks to convince him to just try one night, and he was gone by the time I woke up the next morning. I found him back under his favorite tree.
“You go for a swim or something?” I gesture to his hair and he puts his hand flat on his head and looks up, laughing when he feels it.
“You might say so,” he says, pausing to cough again. “They say I passed out in one of those fountains by the school board building. I must have gotten too hot.”
I look to Laura for confirmation as she reads through Miles’s chart, and she absentmindedly nods to herself as she takes in the report.
“You know, I can get you some water you can keep. I can bring more when I visit, or—”
“Bah, you know those vultures will just take it. I’m fine; I’m fine. I’m not the one who looks like he got his ass kicked,” he spits back through a raspy cough.
Laura laughs with him this time.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve still got three weeks. I’ll be ready; you wait,” I say, taking in the state of my friend’s shoes. I tried to give him a new pair last month, but he refused those too. I guess when you’ve experienced loss like he has, a lot of things don’t seem so important anymore—even survival.
Another nurse pops into our space and urges Laura to step outside to assist her with something. Miles breathes slowly and falls back into the bed with his eyes closed, his head sinking deep into the cool pillow, a smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“Hey, man. You do what these doctors and nurses say, okay? I’ll watch your tree for you. You just get better,” I say, stepping back so I can keep an eye on Laura before she leaves completely.
Miles waves me off, like I knew he would, and I follow Laura just before she continues on to another patient.
“Hey, I’m sorry…but…how long do you guys keep people here in his situation?” She slows her walk away to let me catch up, and when my eyes reach hers, I can tell she hears a lot of sympathy stories and has become hardened to them.
“Mr. Delaney, look—”
“Memphis,” I cut in. She sighs.
We both pause right by the check-in desk. It appears she’s stopped me here on purpose, to show me the waiting room filled with people just like Miles. I mash my lips and breathe out my nose slowly.
“He’s different,” I say, feeling the twist in my gut, because I don’t know that. That room could be filled with people as warm and generous and…and as familiar as this man my heart pretends is my dad, even though he’s not.
“If you want to help him, Memphis, you really should connect him with the human services organizations we have here in the city. They can get him started in the right direction.”
I close my eyes, because I’ve tried that. He isn’t interested. He’s broken from loss. He’s scarred from being forgotten, and he’s genuinely selfless. Miles isn’t a drain on the system; he isn’t asking for anything. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need help.
“Check his foot,” I say, turning to square my shoulders with Laura.
She cocks a brow, glancing over my shoulder at the full house waiting for beds to open up and for triage to rank them as important. The only reason I jumped up in the line was because I was bleeding slightly. Every single person here is needier than me.
“He’s here for dehydration, and he hasn’t presented anything…”
I hold up an open palm.
“I know, it’s just…he’s a veteran. He’s lost his entire family. The man lives in a park littered with trash. People…they just drive by and throw half-filled Styrofoam cups and old chewing gum there, and it’s where he lives.”
She looks behind us, back down the hallway, where my first real friend will be sent back out into the streets in minutes.
“His foot is infected, and he can barely walk. He won’t get help for it, but it puts him in danger. How can he get away if someone tries to assault him? He’s defenseless. The man went to war, and he can’t defend himself. Please…just…”
“I’ll look at his foot,” she stops me mid-plea. “I can’t promise you anything, but if it’s bad enough, maybe we can treat him and give him a safe place for the night.”
A thousand pounds roll down my shoulders. The last time I looked at his foot, I was worried. He’s lost weight. It’s so hot out during the day, I know he’s suffering.
“Thank you, Laura.” I nod, unable to hide my growing smile.
“I’m not promising,” she repeats.
“I know.” I close my eyes lightly and nod, then hold up my discharge paper. “If you ever need to kick someone’s ass, I owe you one.”
She flashes a crooked smile as she walks backward.
“Awe, that wouldn’t be a fair fight.”
I wait an extra second or two as she heads down the hallway, just to make sure she really stops at Miles’s bed. When she slides behind his curtain and draws it closed, I exhale, still not completely rid of the squeezing in my chest that comes along with caring for someone.
I can’t lose Miles.
* * *
Pain pills aren’t an option for me. I can’t afford not to know every single thing going into my body, especially this close to the fight. Alcohol is off the table too. I stop at the market near V’s, and instead, buy a steak. The sun is down now, so it’s cool enough to grill.
With my small bag of groceries tucked into my backpack, I straddle-walk my bike into the alleyway, parking it close to the trailer. My eyes go right to Liv’s window. It’s dark, which means she’s either gone, hiding, or asleep.
My face doesn’t sting as much as the bones hurt underneath. I haven’t really examined the damage yet, so once I get through the door, I drop my grocery bag on the foldout table and slide into the bathroom stall.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I’m sure the glow of the fluorescent bulb isn’t helping, but my face looks like hell. My bottom lip is busted, the dried blood having stained a perfectly straight line dividing it in half. My left eye is slightly swollen, and the deep bruising has become purple. It’s going to take the full three weeks for me to look like I belong in the ring in Vegas.
I’ve been beaten up worse, and the dull ache I feel everywhere doesn’t compare to my first few fights, or the climb up the ranks I had to endure after my eighteenth birthday, when I made the commitment to become a professional. Guys that have paid their dues aren’t real keen on welcoming in the new kid. When you flatten a few badasses in your first sparring rounds, though, you earn a certain respect.
I let that go to my head. That’s what Leo’s point was. I’m still a nobody on the Vegas stage—no matter how many fights I’ve won off the Strip. Fast hands and endurance are buzzwords that won’t mean shit if I lose focus.
Leaning in close, I tuck my chin and turn my head slightly to inspect Laura’s work. Now that I see it all tucked together, I feel stupid having even gone. I probably could have just glued it. It feels vain to care when I take punches for a living.
After I flip out the harsh lights, I grab my steak in one hand, the propane tank in the other and step back out into the alleyway. A good kick of my foot on the side of the small camping grill knocks off the gristle from the last time I used it. I nudge it to a flat piece of ground a few feet away from my RV before squatting and hooking up the gas tank.
It’s body temperature outside. It’s strange how cool that can feel when you’re used to one-eleven inside a humid brick building. The small flame flickers to life, and I unwrap my freshly cut meat and place i
t on the center of the grill before standing and stretching my sore arms into the air.
My eyes just go there—to Liv’s window. What was black on my way in is now dimly lit. I stare at it for almost a minute straight, my mind tricking me several times that I see her moving in the shadows. For a few seconds, I feel like we’re looking at each other and I start to smile like a fool.
Eventually, I look away and move back inside to grab a fork to flip the meat. I check her window again when I come back out, even glancing up a few times as I kneel down and push the steak around the grill. I like the way it sizzles and pops.
“This is stupid,” I whisper to myself, then chuckle.
I flip the meat and rest the fork on the grill handle before standing and patting my hands on my shorts. I’m still a mess from the gym. I haven’t cleaned myself from earlier, and I look like I was found on the side of the road after being tossed from a truck. She kissed me, and I looked just like this.
She kissed me.
It takes me seconds to jog to the front of Leo’s place. I knock lightly at first, uncertainty controlling my hand. I wait for several seconds before I lean to the left to look inside through the kitchen blinds. They’re tilted up, but not completely. I can see a few fast shadows pass, so I grow confident and knock a little louder.
When a few more seconds pass, I rest my hand on the door and lean in to listen. There’s the faint sound of Leo’s television, and nothing else. I rush around the side of the house to the back door that leads into the kitchen. I rap on it a few times, then test the handle. It opens easily. The news is playing from the living room, and the sound is louder inside. A plate with a half-eaten piece of chicken sits on the counter.
“Liv?” I call out in a loud whisper first and my regular voice a second time.
“Liv, you here?”
I get to the bottom of the stairs and take two up when I hear a short cry, like someone stepped on something sharp, and my legs climb even more in the next breath.
“Liv, are you…”
It isn’t Liv. Nobody stepped on anything. They haven’t heard me. I am invisible and unnoticed.