Shadowboxer

by Jessica L. Webb

Ali stood abruptly. “That’s a good idea,” she said with no inflection in her tone. “Thank you for your time, Constable Shreve. Good night, Jordan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Ali met Jordan’s eyes, but her expression gave away very little. It was the closure of a board meeting, ending on strength. Jordan watched her walk away, no hint of vulnerability or concern. No hint of connection.

  “I messed up, didn’t I?” Rachel said, looking contrite.

  “No, not at all.”

  “You were going to stay and I just—”

  Jordan held up a hand to stop her. That potential future felt like fiction. Ali was tough and capable, self-assured and confident. She had a condo and a life in Chicago. Degrees on her wall, conference calls to Southeast Asia, frequent flyer miles. Jordan had a run-down gym that permanently smelled like sweat. Volatile street kids. A barely mended family. She had nothing to offer Ali except an apology for their past, and she’d already given her that.

  Jordan put the hurt aside until she could be in her own space. She looked away from the empty hallway, then back at Rachel.

  “I’ll take that drive home now, please.”

  Chapter Seven

  The streets had gone quiet; the movement or protest or whatever it was had gone farther underground. Jordan kept an eye out, but Halifax seemed as busy and unconcerned as usual. Nothing about her gym or her routes to the university and work seemed out of place or threatening. Oddly, the kids had gone quiet, too. The gym was still loud, music reverberating from the cross-hatched metal rafters, but the kids seemed wary.

  A few had approached her the day after the incident on the street. Their concern warmed Jordan’s heart. But their sidelong glances at each other, the cursed mutterings and whispered threats made Jordan uneasy. She reassured them she was okay, tried to convince them she was not in danger and they had no need to worry. They looked unconvinced as they drifted off to their circuits. She had hoped the weekend would settle things. It didn’t. Concern and quiet seemed to permeate their space.

  Work demanded her presence, school demanded her focus, and the kids demanded her heart and time. Ali demanded nothing. They texted every day, just a few words, checking in after their shared dark night on the street. Their conversation was stilted and polite at the gym. Jordan could find no fault with it. They were friendly, but it felt like Ali had drawn a line, and Jordan would respect that. She could not pretend it didn’t hurt.

  Jordan was opening up the gym after work on Wednesday afternoon when a text came through from Madi.

  She’s gone?

  Ali had left the day before for Chicago. Business, Ali had said in a text. Jordan sensed she’d needed to escape. She couldn’t blame her.

  Ali back Friday, Jordan texted back as she entered the gym. She opened the electrical panel inside the door and flipped the four switches. Overhead lights buzzed and hummed as they came on. The sound was familiar, but Jordan felt like something was off. She held still and listened. The gym was cold and the air was a little stale. Nothing seemed out of place, though. She shook off the feeling and walked through the gym.

  The change rooms were empty, the floor still showing rusted squares where the old lockers had been. Jordan had torn out those lockers not long after she’d started the program, replacing them with open cubbies her brother Jake had made. She’d discovered a small group of kids were dealing marijuana out of her gym. Police had been called, they’d been banned from the program, the lockers had been removed, and now every few months Jordan had the K-9 drug unit use her gym for training. She always made sure the kids were around for that.

  Jordan pushed open as many of the old windows as she could in the building, hoping to get some of the cold, late October air in before the kids arrived. She still had the feeling something wasn’t quite right but she had no evidence to support it. Her phone chimed again.

  U okay?

  Madi hadn’t taken the news that Jordan and Ali had been targeted after her poetry reading very well. She’d paled and cursed, demanded answers, and then gone quiet.

  All is well, grasshopper, Jordan texted. Get your butt down here and help me set up. Five minute bouts tonight.

  Jordan wanted to shake things up a little tonight. She was tired of silence. The lack of news from Rachel, the uneasy quiet of her kids, Madi’s flatness, all made Jordan want to scream. Worst of all was not hearing from Ali. Fourteen years of silence, and now all Jordan wanted was a text. She felt pathetic.

  Jordan heard the metal door scrape open as Madi walked in. She looked the same, dark jeans and a black hoodie. Black boots laced up over her calves. She was all toughness, her Madi.

  “Five-minute bouts?” Madi said by way of greeting. Her eyes looked brighter than they had recently. “Aces.”

  “You want to fight?”

  “Hell, yeah. I’m in.”

  “Good,” Jordan said. “Grab the markers from the office, we’ll set up a fight schedule.” Madi pulled her key from her pocket and headed up the metal steps. Only Jordan and Sean had keys to the outside doors, but she’d gifted Madi with her own key to the equipment room and office. It was a symbol of trust, a symbol of partnership as she mentored Madi as a boxing manager. Madi was excelling at the role. She had always looked out for her friends, but the manager’s job gave her a focus for her worry.

  Jordan began getting equipment from the back room. The kids always wanted bouts and matches, but Jordan had been relentless in her training schedule. You practiced, you ran circuits, you worked out. Most of fighting was training. Glory was in conditioning your body and preparing your mind, not swinging wildly at an opponent when you weren’t ready.

  Tonight felt like a good night to shake things up. Pull the kids out of their mood. Force them to focus, build them up, pump them up.

  Kids started trickling in, and the noise increased as they took in the long tables of gear and Madi on a step stool creating the fight schedule. Jordan had to yell at them to change and get warmed up. No one was going in the ring without warming up. But she was smiling. Things were feeling back to normal.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  Jordan was pulling out the bin of mouthguards and antibacterial mouthwash when Sean walked in.

  “Hey yourself. You sure you don’t mind coming in tonight?”

  “Macy’s home tonight, and I’ve been studying all day. I need a break, man. It’s this or go for a swim in the harbour.”

  Jordan laughed. Sean worked part-time, studied part-time, and parented full-time. “Well, I appreciate it. It’s five-minute bout night. You can keep an eye on the main ring, and I’ll set up the second. We’ll start off with a demonstration. That work?”

  “Aye, boss. It does.” Sean grinned and walked off.

  Once most of the kids had arrived, Rupert led the group through a high-energy and very odd workout set to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” The kids were laughing and rolling their eyes, most at least half-heartedly participating with the warm-up. Seamus was here tonight, obviously dragged along by some friends. He seemed no worse for wear from his run-in with the police at the recycling bin tower incident. She made a mental note to try and check in with him tonight, if she had a chance.

  It was a ridiculously busy night for Jordan. She had a second, smaller ring set up on the far side of the gym so the kids wouldn’t have to wait so long for their turn. After her demonstration fight with Sean, Jordan bounded between the two rings, ensuring the fights were fair and, above all, safe.

  Nearing the end of the night, the train derailed. Most kids had already had their matches. Jordan was trying to corral them into cheering or running circuits, but she had a losing battle on her hands as kids milled about, waiting for the last few fights to be over and the food to come out. Jordan was focused on the fight in the front of her, calling out instructions to the girls in the centre of the ring, when she heard a shout from the ring behind her.

  The anger in the tone alerted her, not cheerful jibes or victorious yells. She turned quickly, thinking ma
ybe one of the fights had gotten out of hand, but the two boxers in Sean’s ring were standing with their gloved hands down by their sides, watching something in the crowd. Sean was already getting out of the ring, and Jordan jumped down from the mats, dodging through the teenagers who were pushing in toward the centre of the action.

  Jordan finally broke through the crowd in time to see Madi yelling in someone’s face. Jordan recognized Philip, someone Madi had dated a few years ago. He was scowling down at Madi, not touching her but not backing away either. Sean inserted himself into the space between them, putting a hand to each of their shoulders and forcing them back. He’d refereed enough fights to know separating only one fighter almost always led to an escalation. Philip and Madi both resisted and Jordan stepped into the small, cleared circle.

  “Hey! Both of you take a step back.”

  Philip smirked and Madi swore, but they both eased back. Sean stayed where he was, looking to Jordan for direction.

  “What just happened here?” Jordan said.

  “She’s fucking crazy.”

  “Fuck you.”

  That had accomplished all of nothing. Jordan took a breath.

  “Philip, try again. This time without insults.”

  Philip threw up his hands. “I was just watching the fight and talking to my friends and this—” Philip seemed to catch the look from Jordan and switched tactics. “And suddenly Madi’s all up in my face yelling. For nothing.”

  Jordan doubted that.

  “Madi? What’s up?”

  “He was talking shit. I told him to stop. He didn’t.”

  “Facts are facts, shorty,” Philip said in the pumped-up teenage boy tone that always grated on Jordan’s nerves.

  “Like the fact that you’re a tiny-pricked asshole,” Madi said, her voice low and menacing.

  The crowd around them reacted with laughter and jeers. Trusting Sean to keep them separated, Jordan turned and addressed the other teens.

  “Enough, guys. Back off and be quiet. Give them a chance to work this out.”

  Before Jordan had time to try and help the two furious teens in front of her do exactly that, Philip took his last shot.

  “You don’t even fight for yourself. You just latch on to people who fight for you. Jordan, Sierra, your dad, Helena and the—”

  Jordan was ready to jump in and shut Philip down with his targeted barbs when Madi cut him off.

  “Fuck you, Philip. You’re incapable of opening your mouth without shit coming out. I’m done.”

  Madi turned and left, her face stony. Jordan wished she could stop Madi so they could get to the bottom of what had prompted this fight and find a resolution. But she needed to allow Madi to retreat and save face. With these kids, social currency and influence was paramount.

  The crowd was buzzing, and Philip was beginning to strut, like he’d just won an argument. Jordan needed to bring this under control, fast. She stepped in toward Philip and lowered her voice so only the teen could hear.

  “Targeting weakness in the ring makes you a winner. But make it personal outside of the ring and you run the very real risk of becoming an asshole.”

  Philip snorted and shook his head. Jordan couldn’t expect contriteness this soon after a confrontation. She’d just have to hope he’d hear it eventually.

  Jordan eased back and addressed the large group. “Who wants to read out the shit rule?”

  Some kids laughed and a few rolled their eyes as Jordan walked toward the crooked list of painted words above the equipment room door. She wanted to draw everyone’s attention away from whatever had happened with Madi and Philip, and she needed to remind them she was here, whatever else was going on.

  “Come on, it’s the favourite rule. Someone read it out for me.”

  A handful of kids called out the rule in sing-song voices. “Don’t bring your shit into the ring. Find someone to talk to.”

  “Right,” Jordan said. “You’ve all got shit going on, I know. Bring it to the gym and sweat it out, bring it to me and talk it out. But before you get in the ring, before you take on a fight, you have to put it away.” The group was quiet. They looked at Jordan but also stole glances at each other. Something was definitely up. “Anything you guys want to tell me?”

  More silence and Jordan waited it out, covering her impatience and concern with the illusion of calm.

  “Does being hungry count?” Rupert said, breaking the silence as well as the tension. Jordan recognized that whatever was going on, they weren’t going to let her know what it was now.

  “If I’m not mistaken, there’s only one bout left in each ring. Then food. Boxers, go prepare yourselves.” Jordan tossed her keys to Rupert. “Go grab the food from the fridge. And there’s a grocery bag with cookies. That comes directly to me.”

  The teens whooped and hollered at the mention of cookies. Jordan tried to drown out the noise, tried to push away her exhaustion and the feeling of having failed. She wanted to find Madi. She wanted quiet. She wanted to sink into her couch and hide from a world that was too much off-centre. But she didn’t. She carried the energy for these kids, pushing them forward, keeping their focus, maintaining this connection. When things broke down, Jordan wanted them to walk away remembering how it was repaired. Every single time.

  The last two bouts finished up with no incident. Jordan kept her eyes on the kids, kept her ears tuned to the crowd, and kept her senses open to the shifts in mood. Things finally seemed calmer. As the kids descended on the food table, Jordan caught sight of Madi. She was having an intense conversation with Raya at the door. Raya looked upset; Madi looked glacial. Jordan watched as Raya reached for Madi. Madi took Raya’s hand, held it, then stepped back. This was Madi in retreat. Quieter maybe than it would have been in years past. Calmer. But definite. Madi looked up once before she left and searched the crowd. She found Jordan, nodded once, and left.

  Jordan was spent by the time the gym was cleaned up and the kids were gone. She dragged herself up to her apartment and collapsed on her couch, burying her face in a soft pillow she kept exactly for these days. Eyes squeezed shut in a sad attempt to keep the hurts of the world at bay, Jordan’s stress brought every worry to the surface. Jordan knew she should text someone, journal, find something to eat. Anything to prevent herself from sinking any lower. But she just couldn’t.

  Her phone signaled a text. Jordan grabbed it off the coffee table. It was Ali.

  Hey, Jordan.

  Jordan flipped onto her back and texted back.

  Hey. How’s Chicago?

  Exactly the same. How’s Halifax?

  Jordan wondered what to say. She wanted Ali to be the one she talked to tonight. Lay everything out and sort through the contents of her thoughts and her heart. But she and Ali weren’t quite there yet. Maybe they never would be.

  Dunno, Jordan texted back. I moved to Fiji. Much warmer.

  Ali texted back a laughing emoji and Jordan grinned at her phone, her mood lifting. She waited as Ali texted more.

  I owe you an apology.

  What for?

  Running away.

  Jordan didn’t quite know what to say to that. She aimed for a neutral response.

  Is that what you did?

  Basically. I did need to be at the office a few days. But my departure was abrupt and I’m sorry for that.

  Would they ever stop apologizing to each other? It didn’t seem possible.

  I think you’ve got a few more abrupt departures before you make up for mine. So you’re good.

  Jordan sent the last text with her heart pounding. It was an agonizing wait for Ali’s response.

  Ha! I’ll remember that.

  Jordan grinned at her phone, alone in her apartment, as she and Ali said goodnight. A shitty day made better by a few texts with Ali. Jordan knew what this meant. She was falling for Ali again. Maybe it wasn’t just their past. It was Ali’s ability to really see Jordan’s kids. The way she saw Madi’s heart. The way she allowed Jordan to see Ali’s uncerta
inty about herself.

  Jordan lay on her couch looking up at the ceiling and smiling foolishly. She wanted to name the frisson of happiness that pulsed through her body. Or she could just let it be, knowing Ali was coming home in a few days. Jordan could look into the future and maybe, just maybe, see happiness.

  Chapter Eight

  Jordan—Eighteen

  Eighteen and Jordan is convinced her heart cannot possibly contain everything it wants to feel for Ali. They are lying in Ali’s bed, the huge house quiet and empty. Their breathing has finally slowed, from the nearly frantic gasps for air as they had touched and kissed, both demanding and claiming release, to the easing, gentle laughter as they’d smiled and shifted to hold each other. Now Ali is asleep and Jordan nearly there. Their foreheads are touching, and they’re breathing the same pocket of air, fingers entwined. Sex with Ali is a joy Jordan is not sure she can contain. But this unexpected peace afterward, the trust of Ali falling asleep in her arms for the first time, makes Jordan feel as if there’s a possibility warm times could last forever.

  They wake early, still wrapped around each other. Dawn sunlight in Ali’s hair makes Jordan want to find the words to describe how beautiful she is. But there’s a shyness in this morning light, an awareness this huge bedroom with the long window seats, posters covering the striped wallpaper, gym bag and cleats thrown into a corner is very much Ali’s space. Ali wants nothing to do with shyness as she pushes back the cover and jumps out of bed, her naked body glorious and strong. She pulls Jordan with her, excitement in her smile and voice, in the way she teases Jordan as they stumble down the stairs into the kitchen.

  Jordan can feel the tug of fantasy, pretending to be adults in this huge house on a Saturday morning with the sun so bright it makes every surface in the kitchen gleam. Ali seems to feel it, too, and they grin and pour cereal into matching bowls and sit side by side on stools at the breakfast bar. Ali pours Jordan a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. The bright sweetness matches the morning, and Jordan laughs into the sunshine and holds her girlfriend’s hand.