by Sand, A. J.
I had spent hours picturing this moment, but I had no idea how to go about initiating a conversation. With an impulsive thought, I kicked my soccer ball as hard as I could in his direction, and it rolled to a stop right in front of the bench. When he picked it up, the blood flow to my brain was so much of a surge that I got dizzy. This was it. I was going to talk to my father. Then, Kady would invite me to play tag with her friends, and I’d be visiting their house in no time.
Happily ever after and all that shit.
It was clear that Henry was startled when he realized whom the ball belonged to. I jogged closer to him, slowing to cautious steps when he rolled the ball back. Then he smiled. And I smiled, because he saw me. I stopped the ball with my scuffed black Reebok and after I picked it up, I started to say hello, but he was already back on the bench and talking to the woman. A few minutes later, I tried again, intentionally kicking the ball at him, but he called one of the other kids to retrieve it. He didn’t look my way the rest of the time I was out there. He flat-out ignored me. It was the first time and certainly not the last.
The more he ignored me, the more I wanted that moment back. And the more I wanted that moment back, the more obsessive I became, especially when I entered my teens. At the same time, the kids my age were getting better at understanding what an affair was, and what a child whose father wasn’t married to his mother was called. Holy shit, did they run wild with that one. The biracial thing only added fuel to the fire. But I just knew if Henry accepted me, everyone else would, too. I still wanted to know him and I started emulating him as a way to connect us in my own head. Henry was always with women, so I was always with girls. He smoked cigarettes, so I smoked cigarettes…for about a week. I only took my first sip of alcohol, stolen from the 7-Eleven in Renshaw, after I saw him drinking at Murphy’s. I also got aggressive about injecting myself into his life by stopping by the dealership when I knew he was there. But nothing worked. He never went further than a forced greeting. In time, my fascination with him became loathing for myself, a giant question mark floating over my entire identity, my entire existence: why wasn’t he interested in me?
Then I found out about the fights in Perry’s barn when I was fifteen and how he used to fight, too.
And everything changed.
I didn’t like the idea of fighting, but I wanted something—anything—about me to earn his acknowledgement. The first time I climbed into the ring, on a really stupid whim, he stood in the front row. He saw me again that night, and he never took his eyes off me. I got my ass handed to me in the fight, though, and he went right back to looking at me like he always did. Like I wasn’t even there. I went home and cried that night. Not because I had lost the match but because I had lost my father.
For an entire month, I worked as hard as I could, training and learning about all different kinds of fighting styles. MMA, boxing, Jiu-jitsu, kickboxing, Krav Maga. You name it; I studied the moves. Eventually, I got back into that ring, ready to fight for my father’s attention. He wasn’t in the front row this time, though. But I knew he was there, and that belief helped me destroy my opponent that night. With all the years that have passed, the guy I fought is nameless and faceless today. I left him in a bloody heap on the canvas and walked back to the center of the ring in awe that an entire barn full of people, most of whom had dragged my mother’s name through the mud, were now chanting mine in unison. As I looked around, wondering if I was dreaming, I spotted Henry within a group of people, and he was cheering for me, too. Everyone in the place was cheering for me.
From then on, every time I won a fight, every time I left someone battered at my feet, I thought it offered me a chance to shed a piece of my bastard identity. And along with gaining Henry’s approval, I had finally figured out what everyone else wanted from me, too.
But I also realized then that everything came with a price. Love included. And I wanted it. I was willing to pay for it. Even if the currency was someone else’s blood. What I didn’t know was that with fighting came the other cost I would have to pay.
I lost who I really wanted to be.
I'll always be what they made me, what I let them turn me into. I feel like the person I want to be just exists in the shadow of who I am in the cage.
A poisonous mix of contempt and anger brews in my chest, and it drowns out the explosion of cheers as Daniel and I touch gloves.
Ding.
****
I pace the hotel parking lot in impatience, gripping the cell phone at my ear. There’s silence on the other end, but it may as well be shrill shouting. I’m reacting to it the same way: wincing, clenching my teeth, and feeling my heartbeat in my ears.
“So, you guys kissed a bunch of times and…?” Lydia says finally. “What? Did you do that thing with your tongue that always makes me come?”
Holy shit. She’s drinking; I can hear the slight slur in her voice. “C’mon. Let’s not do this. You really want to hear about Drew and me?”
“Don’t fucking say her name on the phone to me!” Lydia shouts after a growl. “Fuck her! But I bet that’s what you want to do anyway, isn’t it? If you haven’t already. Don’t you, Jesse?”
I sigh. “Lyds…”
“Oh my God. Oh my God… You can’t answer because you want to say yes and you know how it’ll sound. Oh God. I bet she’s the one who calls every year on your birthday, too. Oh my God. My brother was right. I told him you were there with some bitch, and he just knew there was something going on between you two.”
As much as it’s shredding my patience, I let the name-calling go because she’s well within her right to be pissed off. “There wasn’t…not initially. And I’ve been calling you, Lyds—”
“So, because I’m wasn’t answering my phone, and I needed time to process this hidden life—”
“This isn’t my goddamn life, Lydia!” My raised voice sails into the night air. To say I’m short-tempered right now would be like calling Jaws a goldfish. I haven’t slept through the night since Nico died a few days ago. My brain just can’t shut anything out, and a dark, quiet room is the perfect environment for my worries to float up to the surface, and then slowly tow me under until I’m smothered beneath all the things I can’t escape. Even when I manage to fall asleep, I’ve been having this dream where I’m in the cage again with Nico, and after he dies, he turns into Kerr, Arturo and José, before finally morphing into HJ. I cradle my little brother in my arms and hear his voice in my head. Look at what you’ve done. How can you save me?
“Nothing I did gave you an excuse to do anything with another woman!” Lydia yells back. “Nothing. I don’t know what to think or feel right now. God. I never thought you’d do this, Jesse…”
“I could say the same. I dropped a lot on you, truthfully, but I never thought you’d react the way you did to my past, either. A past I was finished with years ago. All of a sudden you’re acting like I’m some goddamn stranger…glorifying fighting one minute and being scared the next.”
“Don’t turn this around on me.”
“I’m just telling you how I feel. I didn’t say the two things are related, Lyds.”
She gasps then lets out a flat laugh. “Whoa. Wait. So you didn’t cheat because you were mad at me? Is that what you’re saying? Because in a sick way I could almost deal with some kind of revenge fuck with that slut. I get it. You used to bang her. Men like old, reliable pussy.”
“Lydia—”
“And I have been weird about the whole thing. But would you have done this even if I had been completely supportive? Is that the real truth? Do you still have feelings for her?” The sound of her voice breaking lasers straight through my heart. “Are you…are you in love with her? Have you been in love with her this whole time?”
I can’t deny my connection and attraction to Drew. I can’t say it ever went away, and I have opened the door for her to draw that conclusion. “I’m really sorry, Lydia—”
“I hope she gives you herpes or whatever else sluts have.”<
br />
“I’m really sorry for hurting you,” I say, trying again.
“Fuck your sorry,” she says in a tearful voice. “And fuck you, Jesse.” After Lydia hangs up, guilt and loss swamp me. I’m tempted to call her back to apologize again, because I hate that she’s in pain right now. I love Lydia, even though she wouldn’t have believed me if I had said so out loud. I know it’s the end of something great, but if I’m being honest with myself, how available was my heart really in the first place if deep down I’ve still been holding on to Drew?
Sighing, I walk back to the hotel and go to Drew’s room. Inside, Miguel is sitting on her bed, and he looks away from the television to give me a quick nod. She’s on the other side of the room, shoving her clothes into her bag, and the seams are begging for mercy. Her cell phone is wedged between her shoulder and ear, an anxious look darkening her face when she notices me. She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
“Yeah…tomorrow afternoon. I don’t have the itinerary in front of me.” Her muffled voice emits out. I suspect she’s talking to Buck and my chest simmers with jealousy. “I’ll let you know for sure when I’m at the airport, before my flight. I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Because I just don’t. Yeah. Okay. Bye.” She’s still wearing a nervous expression when she opens the door and walks back to her bag, but it withers into a smile as we lock eyes.
“You should let us take you to the airport, Drew,” I say as I hold the zipper teeth on her bag together so that she can zip it closed. It’s stuffed with souvenirs and random sidewalk sale wares. You can always count on a woman to buy too much shit whenever she travels. “I’d feel much better driving you.”
“Me too,” Miguel adds.
“It’s fifteen minutes away!” Drew moans and rolls her eyes. “The desk clerk called a reputable cab service, and we’re scheduled for a nine a.m. pickup. I’ll be fine! I’m ready to stay in and read tonight, and make up my own dialogue to melodramatic Spanish soaps. Girl night in! Jesse, you need to recuperate and relax. It’s been a tough few days. Go out, you two. Don’t worry about me, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Not the way we’re going out,” I say, trying to fix a believable smile on my face, even though I’m not really in the partying mood. “Get those shots going, Mig, we’re cabbing it tonight.”
“Fuck yeah!” Miguel yells, because he came here with several bottles of vodka.
Drew looks at her watch. “What time were you guys thinking about heading out?”
“Another hour or so,” I say.
“Can I steal you for some of it?” she asks with a hopeful smile as she takes my hand. She leads me out of the room, and eventually out of the hotel. We join the people crossing the streets in droves and head to the Zócalo, the massive public square a short walk away. Though the plaza itself is dark, the ornate colonial buildings and imposing cathedral that surround it are bathed in warm golden light. The echo of a drumbeat pops in the air as an Aztec dance troupe, wearing feathered headdresses and colorful loincloths, performs for a large group of tourists. Smaller clusters of people pepper the stone tiles, sitting under street lamps and taking in the city scene.
We walk straight across the court, past the giant flagpole in the middle, and sit on a low concrete wall facing the square, just outside of the Catedral Metropolitana. Most of the plaza clears out once the performance is over, and a comfortable hush descends over the place.
“I wish we’d had more time to do stuff like this,” I say as Drew leans on me, and I curl my arm over her shoulders.
“What? Sit and stare at people?”
I laugh. “Kinda. I mean, more time to appreciate the country—see the ruins and all the history here…” I point my chin at the Palacio Nacional on our left, which stretches the entire length of one side of the square, its red stone façade glowing bright. “This place is nothing but architecture porn.”
“It’s breathtaking, and how cool is it that someday you’re going to be designing places like this that people will absolutely fall in love with?”
“Well, the places I want to design will be unique for each person who falls in love with it. I only want to design homes. Mom always made ours so great…I want to do that for someone.”
Sitting up, Drew drops her hand on mine, and there’s a pensive look on her face when she turns to me. “I used to dream about coming to beautiful places with you.”
“Oh yeah? Like where?”
“All over…Rome. Paris. Munich. Beautiful, faraway cities that were lit like this at night.” She turns her eyes back to the Zócalo. “I guess all the places you’re going with Lydia…”
“I wouldn’t bank on that trip happening anymore. I told her what happened between us. It’s over.”
Her head whips in my direction again, a glint of shock in her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry, Jess…”
“You didn’t do anything.”
A skeptical look slashes through her surprise. “I wanted everything that happened just as much as you did. I’m no innocent party.”
“But I’m the one in the relationship with Lydia. Was in.”
“You’ve just had your life upended so much already. Are you sure ending the relationship is what you want? Sandrine’s right; we don’t belong here. You don’t want to make a long-term decision in a short-term situation. You have to go back, you know. ”
I shrug. “Yeah, but who knows when that’ll be, anyway…”
“I hate that you’ll be here even longer now, but what you did for Christiana was really kind. Have you heard from her since?”
“Yeah. She’s called a few times. She wants to wire money to start paying me back for contributing to the funeral fund. I told her I’m not going to keep answering her calls if she keeps promising to pay me back. She’s having a goddamn baby, on her own. I’m tempted to send her more money.” I can’t be certain but part of me believes that if I had died during the fight, they would’ve helped Drew the best they could. And another part of me feels complicit in Nico’s death for even being in that cage with him, for creating the opportunity for him to endanger himself. It’s an irrational thought, I know, because Nico would’ve been there regardless, but I can’t escape the mental replay of what happened. I can’t shed the feeling that I should have done more to help him.
“I love that about you. But you have to think about yourself now. You can’t help everybody. Get this done as quickly as you can from now on. And please be safe.” Drew throws her arms around my neck and hugs me. “I’m gonna miss you, Chance.”
She’s leaving and you have to let her go, I tell myself, but a tremble of sorrow shakes my chest as I press my nose to her shoulder. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” Her cheek flattens on mine and her lips touch my ear. “I don’t know if we can go through something like this together and go back to the silence. Four years was enough. Whatever pushed us there, I don’t want it to happen again…”
“We never got around to talking about that…” I say.
“Yeah, and I’ve enjoyed reconnecting with you, but the past…it’s not water under the bridge for me,” she confesses as she sits back, her face imprinted with hurt.
“I didn’t expect it to be, so once this is really over, we should talk.”
Drew breaks into a grin. “A long talk. A long overdue talk. And then we should keep on talking. No matter what happens.” Can I really get to a place where I’ll be comfortable that she’s Mrs. Bucky Webber? I don’t have a choice, because she’s right. I don’t want to lose contact again, either, no matter how much it’ll kill me. I just have to try really hard to make it work.
“Deal. It’s a deal.” My cell phone buzzes and I pull it from my pocket. “It’s Miguel. He’s asking if I’m ready to head out.”
“It is getting late, and I’m not done packing. Don’t you dare make a comment about my gender and overly stuffed luggage,” Drew says, playfully wagging her finger in my face.
I smile but I’m trying not to choke on the dread in my throat that burns like bile, as I help her up. She’ll be home tomorrow. Gone. And under the muted moonlight, she’s already ghostly, already fading. I take her hand and we walk back across the plaza, its borders still draped in soothing yellow light. I feel serenity here, even while surrounded by a bustling city filled to the brim with people. I see why Drew wants to come to places like this. And Bucky will be the one to take her. This is it for us. It’s done.
I stop us near the flagpole. “What is it?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
“I want to kiss you. I’m going to kiss you,” I say.
I know it’s inappropriate.
I really don’t give a shit.
The need is a buzz of electricity in my bloodstream, a pinch in my chest. Her face smolders into a look of desire when I grip her waist and pull her closer to me. Our lips touch and Drew’s hand closes around a fistful of my shirt. She parts her lips with a soft breath, and I groan when my tongue snakes in, tangling with hers. The taste of her mouth awakens a feverish urge that has me pressing myself harder against her, moving us until her back hits the flagpole. Her teeth close around my bottom lip and her legs quake as my fingers trail up the inseam of her shorts and then up her stomach. I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about her coming. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want her.
Ripping her fingers down my back, Drew releases a moan that echoes inside me. My blood runs hot, my body demanding more of what I can’t have.
High-pitched giggles press out from the far end of the plaza, and I end the kiss as weak, reluctant restraint forces me to take my hands off her. In the instant, my brain clears and I remember we’re still outside. But it’s my conscience that tries to eat away my lust. This is just plain wrong. Buck was my good friend once, especially when there were so few.
Dammit, I want his girl.
She was mine first.
Sliding my hand up to the base of her throat, I flatten her against the flagpole as her arms come around my waist, and we kiss again with the same amount of unrelenting need—rough, raw, swollen lips and desperate probing tongues. I’m clutching her hair and she keeps me so tight against her body, neither of us is really able to catch our breaths.