The Perfect Comeback

by Kacey Shea

  This is total bullshit. I’m exhausted, and was prepared to spend a peaceful night catching Zs before getting up in a few hours to do it all again. Now there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to quiet my mind enough to pass out. For a brief second I consider the easy way out, a sleeping pill to take the edge off, but I shake my head. I refuse to go there. Instead, I stomp into my bedroom, strip off my clothes and change into a pair of sweats, and grab my headphones on the way out the door. If I can’t sleep, I can run.

  My body reverberates with the rhythm of my steps and music blasts in my ears, urging me to go faster, push harder. This is my solace. The place where I find peace. While most of the city sleeps, I chase total exhaustion, leaving behind the nightmares that threaten to shake my stability. It’s always that way with him. My mistake was letting him in. An error I’ve repeated my entire life. You’d think after thirty-two years I’d learn my lesson. I’m sure a shrink would have a blast with me, but I’ll never know. It’s bad enough these thoughts clutter my mind. There’s no way I’ll share them with another human being.

  It’s almost two when I return to my apartment. With only a few hours before I have to open the gym, I rush through my shower and don’t waste another second. My body succumbs to the fatigue I forced upon it and I’m out within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

  My eyelids flutter open though my body feels like a dead weight. Why am I awake? It’s still dark and Mom doesn’t wake me up until after the sun bursts into my room between the missing slat on the blinds.

  Scuffling. Whispers. Then a whimper of pain, like the squeal the alley cats make when my friend Randal and I set out food only to coax them close enough to pull at their tails. The sound wipes the lingering sleep from my mind and I sit up in bed.

  “Please. Just go, Rich. You’ll wake him.” My mother’s begging reaches my ears and instantly I know exactly who’s in the other room with her. I’m only thirteen years old and he’s still bigger than me, but after last time I swore I wouldn’t be afraid and cower in my room. Not while he beat the crap out of the woman I love most in the world.

  Fear pricks my gut as more scuffling and a muffled scream come from behind the door. I know what comes next. I won’t stand for it. Not anymore. I’d rather he hit me. My lungs pull in a deep breath for strength and I yank open my bedroom door. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, the light from the television casting a green and blue hue over the rest of our apartment. Panic surges in my throat when my eyes find my mom. His hand is around her throat. She’s pinned to the wall by his strength. His other hand is somewhere between their bodies and I blanch at the thought of it. Some kids are grossed out by the idea of their parents having sex. If only I could be so lucky. Those children don’t know what it’s like to have their dad visit in the dark of night to steal pieces of their mother, taking her without her consent every damn time. Following the act with more violence.

  But enough is enough. I’m not a child anymore; I haven’t been for a while. Grabbing the bat I left propped against my nightstand, I grip the heavy wood, holding it between my fingers the way coach showed us just last week. The way he swore would earn us a home run.

  “Get off of her! Get off my mom!” I scream, cock the bat back, and whack him as hard as I can.

  “Matthew, don’t!” my mother yells as the bat connects with the flesh of his lower back in a fierce thunk and his hand loosens from her throat. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and for a second I think this is it. I’ve won. He won’t be able to hurt her after a hit like that to the kidney. Except instead of crumpling to the ground, he whips around and shoves my mother out of the way so she slams against the edge of the couch.

  “You’re a big man now? Ya wanna go?”

  “Please, Rich. Don’t. Matthew, go back to your room and lock the door.”

  “No, Mom. I won’t.” My arms shake and my fingers clench around the bat so hard I can’t even feel the wood anymore. He’s bigger than I am. Stronger, too.

  “Ya coddle this boy. He wants to play tough guy? Let ’im. Come’ere, ya little shit. I’ll teach ya a lesson. Ya think ya can tell yer ol’ pop what to do? Then come make me.”

  “Rich! Stop!”

  I wake with a start, my pulse racing from the aftermath of a dream of my mother. I don’t dream often, or at least wake up with a memory, but whenever I do it’s always of her. Gone too early, the loss of her gentle nature and steadfast love is one I’ll never truly get over. I only hope to honor her life with the way I live my own. Even as a grown man it’s moments like this I miss her most.

  I shouldn’t have lost my cool with my father. I know better. I know my limits, too. If last night wasn’t a reminder of the need to respect those boundaries, then my dream only helps drive home the concept. We can’t co-exist. It’s better we don’t attempt it.

  Clearing my head with my simple morning routine, I’m on my bike to open the gym and teach a few morning classes before I get lost in the memories of my earlier life. I block it out and focus on what needs to be done, which includes taking a trip to Xavier’s neighborhood as soon as my front desk help gets in and I’ve taught an hour of cardio kickboxing.

  The early morning crowd boasts fitness fanatics. Not many others are willing to wake before sunrise and the morning commute in order to get their sweat on. As of late my little brother is in attendance. He wasn’t interested in fighting when he was younger, but since finishing up his MBA he’s become one of my regulars. He doesn’t like the hand to hand combat, but goes to town on the bags. He’s looking good, too. Bulking up where he was always extra skinny. I think he’s just vain enough to keep coming back for more. That, and he’s been a huge supporter of my dream to build up this gym. We’re nothing alike really, even our skin tone is completely opposite, but we’re bound together by an asshole of a father and somehow that’s all we ever needed.

  Shouting orders over an old mix of Linkin Park and the pounding of bags is usually enough to bring my mind alive, my own body anxious for a turn at the work, but I’m forcing myself today. My mind is still muddled from the visit from my pop and the dream I awoke to.

  I lead everyone through cool-down stretches and wrap the class up. My brother leans against the wall, heaving air in and out of his lungs as he unwraps his hands. After saying good-bye to my other students, I make my way over to check on him.

  “You okay?” Danny pants out as soon as he catches sight of my approach.

  “I was gonna ask you that same question.” My brow rises as I take in his inability to take a full breath. “Rough night?”

  His smile pulls wide. Pushing off the wall, he stretches his arms over his head while drops of sweat shimmer against where the florescent lights hit his mocha skin. “A gentleman never kisses and tells . . .”

  “God.” I shake my head and his smirk only grows wider. “You better be talking about that girlfriend of yours or you ain’t no gentleman.”

  “Of course I am. I really like her, Matt. I think I’m in love.”

  “Must be the reason for that stupid smile even though you couldn’t last two full rounds with the punching bag today.” I chuckle and shake my head again, clasping him on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Danny.”

  Even if Nikki’s a bit high maintenance for my tastes, if she’s who he wants, then that’s all that matters. She’s beautiful in that overdone way–tons of makeup, perfect hair, fancy clothes, and at first I’m sure that’s what attracted my little brother. But for as long as they’ve been dating, there must be more under her superficial exterior for him to stick around.

  “Thanks, Matt. Maybe you can meet up with us for happy hour one of these weeks. I’d like for you to get to know her. She’s important to me. So are you.”

  Even though I’m looking at my grown up adult brother, all I see is the eight-year-old version of him glancing up at me with those big brown eyes before I drove off in my mom’s broke down ’77 Olds. Our parents put us through the wringer, and he’s always looked to me for vali
dation. Where they couldn’t provide that, I’ve tried to take on the role.

  “Yeah, I’d like that. The next few weeks are pretty crazy. I’m working at Zig’s on the weekends, and starting Monday I’ll be painting for Uncle Jimmy . . . the entire tenth floor at some highrise downtown.”

  “Good.” He nods, understanding how much that means to me, but apology clouds his gaze. “I know you have a lot going on right now. Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No. If it’s important to you, we’ll make it work. Let me see how next week goes and we’ll set something up. Let me take you both out. Maybe somewhere cheap, though.” I wink to make light of my financial woes and his smile returns. It’s sad enough to be laughable. Ten years his senior and I can’t afford to take my brother and his girl out for a proper meal. He doesn’t care, I know this, but it still makes me feel as if I suck at adulthood.

  “We always end up at Zig’s anyway.” He laughs and shakes his head. “That’s why I’m draggin’ ass today. We were there last night after work. Dollar pints from ten to eleven.”

  I shake my head and his comments alleviate my guilt. At least I don’t spend my nights wasting money on cheap beer. “If you were in my advanced group, I’d make you run sprints for that.”

  “That right there is why I’m not the fighter in the family.”

  “Touché.” The front door jingles with the bell and I glance up as Sarah, one of my part-time employees, steps inside. She leaves to set her bag inside the back office and I clasp my brother on the back to give him a pat. “Better class tomorrow. I’ve got to head out, gonna run downtown to check in on one of my fighters. Stay away from the beer tonight. Won’t hurt as bad tomorrow.”

  He laughs and rubs his belly. “Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Matt.”

  I check in with Sarah, grab Xavier’s address from the office, and tug on a sweatshirt before heading out to my bike. Zooming through the morning traffic, I’m always thankful for my motorcycle in the city. Depending on where I’m going, I often opt for the train, but when the full rush hour is in full effect it’s nice to slide between the grid of vehicles on my two wheels.

  I’ve only been by Xavier’s one other time. It was the night he graduated high school and his mother invited me over for a home cooked meal to celebrate. She’s a hardworking woman, a single mother, but despite all the challenges life’s thrown her way she’s raised a damn good son. Xavier’s got talent, drive, but more than that . . . integrity, which makes his absence at practice the past two days baffling.

  The store fronts begin to change the closer I get to their apartment building. No more trendy eateries or chain clothing retailers, but instead there’s a plethora of places to cash your paycheck or trade in gold. I pull my bike up onto the curb near an empty parking spot and hope I don’t get ticketed. Several men sit near the front of the apartment and watch my every move. I don’t belong here but they aren’t looking to start trouble with me, rather just insuring I’m not here to cause problems in their hood. Keeping my head down, I hold my helmet in my hand and take the steps two at a time until I’m inside and riding the elevator that smells faintly of urine and old cigarette butts.

  Knocking at the door marked 818, I wait patiently in hope that he’s even home. I tried to call yesterday, but the cell number I had was shut down. After a few minutes I try again and almost give up when the lock clicks and the handle twists. Xavier’s mother peeks through the two-inch gap, the chain inside still attached, and her eyes widen at the sight of me. “Mr. Haywood. We weren’t expecting you.”

  “Sorry. I hope it’s a good time. I wanted to check in on Xavier.”

  Her brow furrows with the downturn of her lips. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, and I’m not feeling well.”

  “Please. Chantel, I’m worried about him. He’s never missed a practice—”

  She must hear something in my plea because she doesn’t even let me finish before the door shuts so she can unlock the chain and move aside. They have a small place, a one-bedroom apartment, and I don’t have to look around to find him. “Shit.” The word leaves my mouth before I can hold it back. Xavier reclines on the couch, laying on his side as he lifts his head to attempt to meet my stare. Except I’m not even sure he can see me from beneath the shiners that have his eyelids swollen shut.

  “What happened?” I ask but Chantel’s frown transforms into a scowl when it falls on her son.

  “Good luck gettin’ him to tell you. He hasn’t told me a thing and I know he didn’t trip down no stairs. I’ll give you two some space to talk.” She grabs her purse from the kitchen counter and turns back to glance at us both. “Need to get some things at the corner market anyway. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Mom, you shouldn’t be—” Xavier winces as he pushes up on one elbow to sit upright.

  “Don’t. I can buy myself a bag o’ groceries. I’m not that far . . .” She stops and shakes her head. “Don’t get into any more trouble while I’m out. You do that for me?”

  Xavier glares but nods before she steps out in the hall. I give him a minute to collect his thoughts. Speak up. Say something. But he just sits there staring at the wall and working his jaw back and forth.

  I pull over a chair from the kitchen, spin it around to straddle the seat and rest my chin on the back. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

  “Not really,” he mumbles at the ground.

  “Thought so.”

  He chances a glance at me, drumming his fingers over the knee of his sweat pants. His knuckles are spattered with fresh scabs. “You didn’t need to come here.”

  I nod, meeting his gaze before exhaling a deep breath. “Funny, because I think I did. You’re one of my top guys, Xavier, and you’ve got a big fight coming up. When you miss two days of training with no call, no heads up, I start to worry.”

  “Sorry, Coach.”

  “I don’t want an apology. I need an explanation. What the hell happened?” I’m patient in my tone, careful not to push too hard and have him tell me nothing, but this is ridiculous. Watching him resituate himself on the couch only proves how much pain he’s in.

  “I got my ass handed to me.” He shrugs with the obvious.

  “How many?”

  “Huh?”

  I hold his gaze. “How many were there? I know you can handle yourself just fine. You got jumped?”

  His eyes dart back to the floor. “Five.”

  “Shit. Anything broken?” I can’t believe he’s not in the ICU after something like that.

  He shakes his head, opening and closing his fists slowly as if to check their range of motion. “Just bruised up a little. I’ll be back in the gym next week.”

  We sit here across from each other, a silent standoff of wills. I can tell he doesn’t want me to know any more. If he did, he would have come by the gym, called, or spilled more details by now. He’s hiding something.

  “Hell yes, you will.” My tone is harsh and I don’t hold back. “You know why? Because you’ve worked damn hard for the opportunity, Xavier. Now is not the time to fuck it up.”

  “I know, I know . . .” He leans forward to cradle his forehead in his hands.

  “So, I’ll ask again. What happened?”

  The silence stretches between us and I wonder if he’ll even answer when he glances up to whisper the words. “I needed some money.”

  “Damn it, Xavier.” I shake my head and contemplate what he’s done. How he’s possibly messed up his chances of a good career . . . or worse, how he could be ineligible to fight. He knows better than to get involved with anything illegal. His older brother is paying the price for his own sins in a penitentiary for the next ten years. “Don’t tell me you’re running—”

  His gaze snaps up to glare. “No! I would never. Not after Isaiah . . .”

  “So, you got jumped, then? Why? By who?”

  He groans and shakes his head. “Look, it’s more complicated than that. Hear me out, C
oach. I had to do something. I needed the money. If there was any other way . . .”

  “No amount of money is worth that!” I point to his face, shaking my head. “You’ll be lucky if you can even train next week. Do you know how badly this sets us back? How much of a disadvantage you now have walking into your fight?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll make it up. It’s not as bad as it looks, promise. They had to do it. I was late on the payback. They can’t go giving me a pass just because my mom . . . Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna do everything you say. Win the fight, and everything’s gonna work out.”

  It’s only now that I notice the weariness in his eyes, the fall of his chest and shoulders, the type of pain that doesn’t come from battle scars, but rather from life.

  “Xavier, what do you need money for? Is everything—”

  “She’s sick, okay?” he interrupts with a snap and my gut falls. He sighs, shaking his head before meeting my gaze. “My mom. She’s sick, and her job ain’t got no medical. Not the kind she needs. They refused her at the clinic because she makes too much.”

  “So you borrowed money.”

  “Yeah, I did. The docs said with the chemo she’s got a fighting chance. But we couldn’t wait. There’s no way I could make that money. Not without selling or breaking the law and I ain’t doing that.”

  “Is she gonna be okay?” The inside of my mouth goes dry and I have to swallow several times so I won’t throw up. It’s all too familiar. I don’t want this kid to lose his mother, not when she’s his biggest fan. Not after everything she’s done to get him to this point.

  He gives a curt nod and glances back at the ground. “Won’t know until the first round is done. She started last week. She’s tired, Coach. I told her to quit work. It’s not like they’re helping any. But she doesn’t want me taking on any more hours myself. She knows this fight’s what I’ve been working for. So, I don’t have the option of losing. I’ll be back next week and I’ll do whatever you tell me. I’ll train as hard as you want, because I have to win that fight. I have to pay back the loan, and I have to get myself a contract with the UFC so I can take care of my mom. She’s everything.”