The Boxer and the Butterfly

by Sasha Hibbs

  “Where’s my son?”

  I walked over and sat in one of the front row seats, leaving her room to walk in further. I let a few seconds pass as I observed the three long separated siblings take each other in.

  “I have some things to tell you all about Mickey and I need your help,” I said. I really didn’t know how to begin. I played this out in my mind all week long, thinking of what I would say, but now that I was faced with the opportunity, I grew nervous, doubting that I was doing the right thing. But I knew that wasn’t the real reason I was apprehensive. There was a remote part in my brain that didn’t want to tell on Mickey for fear of losing him.

  “If this is about my son, it doesn’t concern these two,” Cecelia said, turning a cold gaze toward both of her brothers.

  “Actually, I think it does. Mickey’s in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble? What have you done, Roberto?” she asked, pointing a sharp finger in Principal Oliverio’s direction.

  “No,” I said quickly. “This isn’t his fault.”

  Cecelia turned quickly toward me. “For the love of God, Autumn. Then what is going on?”

  “For several months Mickey’s been fighting in underground boxing matches.” All three of them stared at me in what looked like stunned silence. “The guy running them owns the old boiler plant in Anmoore. The crowd places bets—”

  “You mean gambling … on my baby … like he’s some kind of street fighter?” she asked, an incredulous look on her face.

  “Yes. The guys he’s fighting are college-aged kids. If he wins, Rich cuts him a share of the profits.”

  “The bruises … his job,” Cecelia said in faint whispers as she was piecing it all together. “He doesn’t have a job at Rex’s Gym, does he?”

  “No,” I answered quietly.

  “He told me he worked there on Friday nights. He’s always been such a good kid,” she said, lowering herself in a seat near me in disbelief. “Why would he lie to me?”

  This was going to be the hard part.

  “He’s been saving money up to pay off your mortgage.”

  “What? Why?” she asked, tears beginning to cloud her eyes. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “He feels responsible for your husband’s death … feels like it’s his fault that you all struggle, and he’s trying to make it up by paying off your house. He wants to take care of you and Jimmy.”

  Principal Oliverio and Mr. Romano remained quiet. There was a grave longing on both their faces as though they wanted to reach out and help. Finally Mr. Romano broke the silence.

  “Cecelia,” he said cautiously. “Mickey is a bright student. He’ll go far. He’s done well enough to qualify for a Promise Scholarship. I suspect he could go even further if he would only apply himself. Won’t you please take the inheritance that’s yours? If you’re struggling, all you’ve ever had to do was reach out to us and say so.”

  Cecelia shot out of her chair. For the first time since I met her, I witnessed the reputed Italian temper Mickey told me about.

  “What do you know about it, Marco?” she said venomously. “You were only a child, but I remember our mother throwing me out on the streets while I was pregnant with Mickey like it was yesterday. All I had were the clothes on my back, a baby in my belly, a fiancé, and a pocket full of dreams. While you and Roberto were living high on the hog, we barely scraped by. And after my husband died and Jimmy was born, all I had was them. Both of you were Mama’s favorites. She hated me. You have no idea what I’ve been through—” she stopped, choking back a sob.

  “Because you wouldn’t let us, sorella del bambino,” Principal Oliverio said with all the sorrow of their past welling up in his gaze. “I’ve never touched a penny of what is rightfully yours.”

  “Rightfully mine?” she said with a sarcastic laugh. “If it were rightfully mine, Mama would’ve left it to me. Instead she divided my inheritance between you two.”

  “Now that’s your damn pride talking,” Principal Oliverio said. “Marco and I are not our mother and you know that. How many times have I tried to reach out to you, Cecelia? You know I have no children. You placed your son in my school deliberately to hurt me. He could’ve gone to Bridgeport. Instead, you spitefully enrolled him here where I have to see him day in and day out, all the while you’ve made it clear you don’t want me to approach him, have any kind of relationship with him. He’s my nephew and you’ve poisoned him against the brothers that despite your loathing of us, love you and your boys. Mama’s dead, Cecelia. Why won’t you let her bitterness die with her?”

  Cecelia’s eyes flared with anger. I thought it tragically ironic that in the end, she was acting like the unforgiving mother she’d felt so wounded by. Were we always doomed to repeat the failures of our parents? This was a vicious cycle, a chain that needed broken. Before Cecelia launched into another squabble, I stood up.

  “Tonight’s fight is against a guy who’s a senior in college and he’s never lost a fight. Me, Daniel, and Mickey went to scout him out a few months ago and it was brutal. Mickey’s never lost a fight either, and he’s good at what he does, but he won’t win this one.”

  I had three sets of eyes on me instantly.

  “This is all my fault. How could a mother not see what her son was really doing? Stupid, stupid, stupid mistake,” Cecelia said.

  “I know he’d want to go to college, but he doesn’t want to abandon you or Jimmy. He feels like it’s his responsibility to take care of you both,” I said gently.

  “I’m his mother. It’s my job to take care of him.” She sank back in the seat, her shoulders slumping wearily. “I’ve been so blind. Such a fool. It’s hard … hard to let go of the past. But in not doing so, I’ve hurt my baby.”

  My heart broke as I watched her finally let lose the sobs she’d been masking behind her anger. Principal Oliverio approached her cautiously, kneeling down and gingerly embracing her. I held my breath until she slowly wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his shoulder and cried. I imagined her tears were like those of my father’s. They were long kept in check by past hurt, by the inability to let go of the sins committed against her and the fear of forgiveness. Because sometimes it was easier to hate even if it was misplaced, than it was to love. Mr. Romano joined in their moment. He walked over and Principal Oliverio and Cecelia stood, still clinging onto each other, except now, the three of them embraced. This was what needed to happen all along. They needed to have a mutual concern and love to set aside their differences. It was Mickey. It had always been Mickey.

  “We have to stop him,” I said. I didn’t want to ruin their moment. They needed each other. But the clock was ticking. Mickey would be warming up now. In fifteen minutes, he’d be in the ring with an apathetic, neurotic boxer six years older and fifteen pounds heavier than him.

  “Fratelli,” she said, breaking away, squeezing their hands. “Come with me?”

  “Let’s go get him,” Principal Oliverio said.

  We all piled into Principal Oliverio’s SUV. While they talked amongst themselves, I gazed out the window, mentally counting down the time as we drove to the boiler plant. Principal Oliverio, Mr. Romano, and Cecelia had a long road of healing ahead of them. One evening couldn’t account for years gone by. But I held hope, because of Mickey, that I finally bridged that gap. It only remained to see how Mickey would gage this intervention.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “Mickey’s girl! What’s up? You’re just in—” Cam’s words hung in the air as Cecelia and her brothers came up behind me into his view. “Oh, shit.”

  Cam went to grab his cell phone out of his pocket, presumably to tip Rich off.

  “Stop, Cam,” I said, waving him off. “We’re here to get Mickey. Let us in and there won’t be any trouble.”

  Cam looked like he was contemplating his choices, calculating each outcome.

  “I’ll have the police here, shut this operation down so fast, they won’t have enough cells to house you opportunist
s for taking advantage of my nephew like this. I can’t begin to fathom the charges. Exploitation, gambling—” Principal Oliverio said.

  “Okay, okay,” Cam said, holding his hands up in surrender. “But Rich is going to be pissed.”

  “Do you think I give a damn about this piece-of-garbage Rich, being pissed?” Cecelia said through gritted teeth, her temper flaring. “You take me to my son now.”

  “I meant no offense. It’s not that simple. Rich has a whole lotta moolah invested in this particular match. I doubt your son has ten grand to pay off his slot. Never mind the scouts here to see Leo, the endorsements … If there’s not a fight here tonight, it’ll take more than cash to compensate Rich for his losses.”

  Mr. Romano brushed past me, standing toe to toe with Cam. “There’ll be a fight.”

  A few seconds went by as Cam and Mr. Romano sized each other up.

  “Who are you?” Cam asked, his face scrunched up. “Hold up, man. I know you … You’re—”

  “Marco Romano,” he answered.

  “Holy shit. No way … You were that Golden Gloves winner from a few years ago that turned down a shot at being on the Olympic team to—”

  “Teach,” Mr. Romano said.

  I felt my jaw go slack. I didn’t think I heard him correctly, but as I waited for a denial that never came, I tried to shake my astonishment at this new piece of information. I had never looked at Mr. Romano as anything other than my English teacher. He had such a passion for it, but as I looked at him with this new knowledge, I could see a muscular stout build masked behind a button-down shirt and khakis.

  Cecelia looked over her shoulder at me. “Mickey reminds me of his father, so much, but it would seem there are some things he inherited from my side of the family.”

  “I think this will work,” Cam said. “Come on.”

  We followed Cam down the familiar steps that led to the fighting hall. I wondered what Mickey’s family was thinking as we descended the steps. I remembered the first time I came to watch Mickey. I thought about how out of my element I felt. I remembered the noise, the crowd, the thrill that could go along with this. But I doubted his mom and uncles were preoccupied with anything other than getting Mickey out of this mess and finally laying to rest old lies, former sins and past heartache.

  We reached the outer ring as Cam pointed Cecelia and Principal Oliverio to where I knew Mickey would be emerging from any minute.

  “You,” he said to Mr. Romano. “Come with me. I’m taking you to Rich.”

  “Go,” Mr. Romano said to us.

  Principal Oliverio gave a nod of acknowledgment and Cecelia gave a hug of gratitude to Mr. Romano.

  “He’s in there,” I said, pointing again toward the same curtain Cam did. Cecelia and Principal Oliverio didn’t hesitate to go toward the curtain, but I stopped, a tremble working its way up through my body. Behind that curtain was the boy whose dreams were going to be ripped out from underneath him in a matter of seconds, and I would be the Judas to do it. Regardless of how much I wanted to hide behind his mom and uncle, unlike Judas, I took courage and ran in front of them. This was my doing, and while it was the right thing to do, I knew Mickey. I’d spent the last several months memorizing every detail of his person. I knew his secrets, his inner demons, and he’d confided in me like no other. I’d seen him at his best, his worst, and in this dark hour of tribulation, even if he abandoned me in the end, I wouldn’t leave him.

  I threw the curtain back. Daniel was in the corner, his eyes instantly narrowing at me. Mickey’s face lit up, his gaze flooded with relief that I made it soon replaced by a rollercoaster of emotions as Cecelia and Principal Oliverio emerged from behind me. I watched the dawning realization that I’d betrayed him flash in his heated gaze, the few seconds it took him to process that it was real and the equal amounts of confusion and anger that fell like a dark shadow over his face.

  “Mickey—” I started, but Daniel cut me off.

  “I told him you were exactly like the rest of those rich pricks, that you’d turn on him in the end.”

  “This thing you’re doing,” Cecelia said, moving herself closer to Mickey. “It’s over. I’ll have no son of mine fighting like this. And for money? Mickey Costello … I am your mother. It is my job and always has been to take care of you and your brother. We are going home.”

  “No, Mama,” he said shaking his head in disbelief. “No.”

  “Yes, figlio.”

  “Why is he here?” Mickey said, jutting his chin out at Principal Oliverio.

  “I’ve been a fool, my dear, sweet figlio. Had I not, you wouldn’t have felt like it was your responsibility to take care of me and Jimmy. You’ve been such a grownup since your father died. And I’ve robbed you of that, your childhood, because I turned a blind eye and clung onto misplaced hatred. I won’t let it eat at you like it has me all these years.”

  “How can you say that? Your family threw you out, Mama. Took your inheritance—”

  “No, Mickey,” Cecelia said, cupping Mickey’s face gently. “That’s not true. I let you believe that for my own selfish reasons, because I was so hurt.”

  He jerked out of her grasp. “No! Don’t say that. That’s not true. No, no, no!”

  “We want to help you, son,” Principal Oliverio said, stepping closer to Mickey.

  “I’m not your damn son! My father died, Uncle Roberto,” he said, the look of a cornered animal in his eyes.

  “You’re right. I’m not your father. I don’t want to be. All I’ve ever wanted is to help you, your brother, and your mother. Let me do that.”

  “I’ve spent last year fighting my way to the top, to help our family, Mama,” Mickey said, his voice now a calm whisper. “And now, now you decide to tell me that all this time … I can’t … no,” he said, turning his back to us.

  “I’m sorry, Mickey. You’re my son and I love you. You are the child of my heart, my protector, my little fighter. But you can’t fight this one.”

  “Oh yeah, Mama? Tell me, then,” he said, turning around, the calmness dissipating. “Who is?”

  I’d heard the referee make the first round call so many times, but never from behind the curtain. His voice came to life, booming like thunder announcing Leo the Lion and Former Golden Glove winner, Marco Romano. Mickey’s face turned pale. He dropped in defeat on a bench tucked in the corner. As the whistle blew, something of his fury rekindled. He glanced up, his gaze flicking from his uncle, to his mother, and finally resting on me. He sprang to his feet as the fighting commenced outside. Tears welled up in my eyes as he kicked the bench, punched the wall behind him time and time again, his mother screaming at him, pleading for him to stop, but all in vain.

  Watching him took me back to a not so distant past where I witnessed him rain his anger and fury down in the small rickety shed behind his mother’s house. I’d made long-suppressed feelings resurface when I took him to that river. Once the exhaustion of expelling his demons took over, I cradled him in my arms, whispering words of comfort and making promises in the dark.

  Once again I made that walk. I approached him from behind, his shoulders slumped, his breathing labored. I gently laid my hand on his shoulder. He stood there, his back facing me for a few seconds. I wondered if he, too, wanted to cling onto the past. Or maybe he felt that if he turned around, he’d be looking into the face of an uncertain future. He put me out of my suspense as he finally turned to face me.

  I saw a look in his gaze that broke my heart completely. I’d finally broken him. He cupped my face in both his hands. Blood welled to the surface of his knuckles. The same inexperienced hands that gently made love to me, now bore into my flesh as he applied enough pressure to let me know what he was capable of. I wasn’t afraid. Mickey would never hurt me, not physically. I’d talked him down from the ledge that night and I could do it again. Our love was strong enough. I had to cling onto that hope, but it dwindled as his gaze held something toward me I’d never seen in them before: hatred.

 
I was losing him. I could see it as the wave of disgust ebbed and flowed in his icy-cold glare. For a fraction of a second, a grain in an hourglass, I thought when he leaned into me, he was going to kiss me. But there would be no gentle kisses, his lips soft against mine. There would be no strong arms to hold me when I fell apart.

  Before releasing my face as though it burned him, he whispered against my ear, “Deep down, I always knew you were too good to be true. You were a dream I had, but my butterfly turned into a snake in the grass. Gabriel was a fool to forgive Bathsheba. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  Through my tears, the deep anguish that threatened to spill over in my voice, I managed to whisper, “I love you, Mickey.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Cecelia tried getting me to stay so they could take me home. I left my car at the school. I assured her I had a ride. Among the chaos, I slipped away quietly. I couldn’t remain under the cold hostile glare of eyes that had held so much love for me prior to my intervention. I had to get away from Mickey. That’s what he wanted anyway, and I didn’t want him to see me cry. I was dying inside. My Dad and I were making progress, but like Mickey’s family, those things take time. I didn’t want to call my dad to come get me in the state I was in. I wanted my mother, and she was too far away and couldn’t help me. I called the next best person who could fill that void: Mary.

  Her bowling league was done for the night. She’d be right over to get me. I waited, leaning up against an old brick wall. For the intensity of what transpired below, it was eerily quiet outside. I slid down the cool brick wall as the paved lot bit into me. I drew my knees in, resting my head across my folded arms. There was no one to see my tears so I let them fall.

  Through the numbness, I heard Mary pull up beside me. She rolled the passenger side window down. “Come on, honey.”

  I did as instructed. Once I buckled up I asked her, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

  “Of course. I already called your father and asked.”