Knockout

by K. A. Holt

  Will that be too much

  for her?

  Am I asking too much

  from her?

  I’m home now

  with Mom

  on the couch

  quiet.

  She already said yes, I won’t let her say no.

  I’ll go find Dad

  and pull a yes out of his hairy throat.

  I’m standing on his porch,

  the sun just coming up.

  Timothy was asleep when I left,

  Mom in the shower.

  I knock once

  then take the key

  from under the mat,

  let myself in.

  Dad?

  He’s asleep so

  I make myself toast.

  I sit at the table.

  When the coffeepot comes to life

  it smells really good.

  I make myself a cup.

  Why not?

  Levi?

  Dad in his underpants

  standing in the kitchen.

  What are you doing here?

  I’m going to Xaviers.

  I’ve made up my mind.

  And even with the scholarships

  I need uniform money.

  What’s left of tuition.

  You said your new job

  pays really well,

  so you’ll have the money,

  right?

  I don’t understand

  why you can’t help.

  Is it because

  you don’t want to?

  He rubs his hand over his face

  Are you drinking coffee?

  Dad.

  It’s your turn to be a man.

  I stand.

  I hand him the coffee.

  I walk out the door.

  Xaviers called.

  Do I have any questions,

  they want to know.

  Anything they can do to help me out,

  they want to know.

  They need to know

  my answer

  by Friday.

  That’s the one hundred percent

  very last day.

  It’s the last round, Levi.

  Time to

  knock

  it

  out.

  He does not see

  the envelope in front of him.

  At least he doesn’t see it

  right away.

  He looks up slowly

  sweating in the sun

  on the porch

  putting his book down

  on the ground,

  standing up

  from the rocking chair.

  Timothy’s hands,

  they shake like leaves

  in the breeze,

  and we go inside,

  find Mom.

  Read it, he says,

  I can’t do it.

  And Mom takes the envelope,

  rips it open,

  swallows hard,

  holds Timothy’s hand.

  She says all these numbers

  but I don’t know what they mean.

  My ears are not doctor ears.

  Timothy is in a chair now

  at the kitchen table

  his face buried in his hands

  as he listens

  his body still

  until his hands, fists

  move to his ears

  when Mom is finished.

  She kneels beside him,

  and Timothy is crying.

  He turns to sob harder

  right into her shoulder.

  He cries and cries

  and I feel a lump in my own throat.

  He tried

  so hard,

  he studied so hard

  and now . . .

  Mom lifts his head

  puts her hands on his wet face.

  You did it

  she whispers.

  Timothy,

  this is the first day

  so many lives

  of so many babies

  will be saved.

  Dr. Timothy.

  It’s really happening.

  It makes me cry, too

  just a little bit

  to see him so . . .

  happy.

  I’ve never seen him like this.

  I’ve had his journal

  this whole time

  trying to figure out

  what to write

  how to respond

  after he told me I was smart

  after he was so excited

  for me to get in to Xaviers.

  Now I know.

  It’s late.

  The doorbell rings.

  Mom looks up from her book.

  Who in the world?

  I answer the door.

  His shirt is wrinkled

  so is the check

  he puts in my hand.

  You’re right

  he says.

  I need to be a man,

  but Levi,

  you have to understand . . .

  I don’t have much.

  It’s not like I have secret accounts

  overflowing with cash.

  I know, Dad.

  I say.

  You don’t.

  But still,

  you’ve gotten off so easy . . .

  my whole life.

  My chin quivers.

  You left us

  and somehow

  Mom made it work.

  She kept me alive,

  Timothy too,

  and you were gone,

  a ghost,

  and now you’re about

  to ghost us again

  when we need you.

  I get it now.

  I get why Timothy runs from you,

  why Mom can’t look at you.

  He doesn’t say anything,

  just walks away.

  The check’s in my hand,

  and I can’t help but wonder

  will I ever see him again?

  Paperwork signed

  dropped in the mail

  done.

  Xaviers is happening.

  I don’t know what to think.

  It’s really happening.

  Time to tell Tam.

  Get over here

  Tam says

  and she puts a hand

  on each of my cheeks

  her palms flat against my face.

  What are you doing?

  I ask,

  my words flat,

  squished,

  like my cheeks.

  It’s a face hug!

  She laughs.

  Because we aren’t allowed to real hug

  in class.

  Congratulations, Levi,

  I’m going to miss you so much.

  I’ll be home on weekends

  my squished face says,

  and I put my palms against her cheeks

  so I can face hug Tam, too.

  i want to see you, levi

  before i go

  i’m sorry, levi

  i was a jerk

  i will do better

  Dad’s texts tonight.

  Do I believe him

  or not?

  Are we cool?

  Dad’s sitting on his front bumper

  parked in front of the house.

  His eyes look down

  his face is soft

  he looks like a kid.

  Maybe that’s the problem.

  Maybe Dad is the baby.

  In all these years he’s never been a man.

  I don’t know

  I say

  and

  that’s the truth.

  I can accept that

  he says.

  And hey, Levi?

  Can you tell Timothy congrats?

  I heard he passed his test.

  Can I have a hug

  before I go?

  I give him a fake jab,

  a fake right hook,

  then I
grab

  his face

  with both my hands

  and squeeze

  like I’m trying to crack a nut

  A face hug

  I say.

  That’s all you get

  until you come back

  so you better come back.

  I will, Levi.

  I will, son.

  Packing is not fun

  especially when you are only allowed

  two boxes of things

  and one trunk

  of clothes.

  Tam just throws

  stuff in

  not paying attention.

  Her eyes are a little glazed

  so I say

  Hey.

  And she says

  Hey.

  And I say

  Come with me.

  And she says

  OK.

  And we go to my tree.

  We sit quietly

  for a long, long time.

  I saw you kiss Kate’s cheek

  I say

  to the wind.

  Tam’s cheek

  turns pink.

  When?

  At the mascot tryouts.

  Just before she won.

  You made her so happy

  she just flew around the court.

  Tam nods.

  She makes me happy, too.

  Her face turns,

  her hair blows,

  tangles in the leaves.

  You make me happy, too, Levi,

  just . . . in a different way.

  But in my self, my guts, my heart . . .

  There’s always room for two.

  What else can I do?

  I stick out my tongue

  and say

  Kate can have your heart,

  I just need your winks.

  And maybe one day

  for you to teach me

  how to poop in a hole.

  And that’s that.

  We hop out of my tree

  and go home to finish packing.

  And I know

  even though

  things are different . . .

  Tam has my back.

  I am not a lumberjack

  I am not a cool kid

  I am not a chess player

  I disappointed a friend

  I lied to Mom and Dad

  I was mean to Kate

  I was mean to Timothy

  I felt really bad about it all

  I am not a miracle

  I am not invincible

  BUT

  I am smart

  I am funny

  I am Levi

  and I am just so glad

  that

  I

  am

  me

  The drive to Xaviers

  goes fast.

  Trees,

  so many trees

  flying by

  out the window.

  Mom is quiet,

  Timothy, too,

  and I wonder if their brains

  are moving

  as swirly fast

  flying like butterflies

  stinging like bees

  so many thoughts

  so many worries

  so many wonders.

  What will you do?

  The words come out before

  I can catch them.

  Huh?

  Mom is squinting again

  into the sun.

  What do you mean?

  When I’m at Xaviers and

  Timothy is at doctor school . . .

  what will you do?

  Mom.

  What about money?

  You’re not my giving tree, are you?

  You’re not going to be a stump without me

  are you?

  Mom laughs so long

  so hard

  I think she might choke

  then she says

  Levi, sweet Levi

  I am going to read so many books

  and take long baths

  and watch TV I want to watch

  and eat sushi

  and drink too much wine

  and Mom just keeps going,

  this whole long list.

  It sounds like she’s been adding to it

  for about a hundred years.

  These same songs I still love,

  the noise

  the clash

  the swirling beats.

  But

  But

  they seem to mean

  new things

  now

  as we drive away from home.

  The same songs made new,

  just like the same Levi, but new.

  I take out an earbud

  offer it to Timothy

  and we listen together

  head to head,

  song after song,

  the same music as always, and yet . . .

  different now.

  There is a lot of hugging

  and Mom cries a lot

  and Timothy cries a little.

  I try to smile

  my throat suddenly full,

  a lump

  a knot

  pushing up

  making water leak from my own eyes

  and now all the questions

  I didn’t want to ask

  sparring

  with my brain.

  What will it be like

  all by myself?

  Who will make me

  wash my hands?

  What if I get sick?

  What if my grades are bad?

  What if I smash my head?

  How will I make friends?

  What if no one likes me?

  What will I do then?

  I take a puff.

  Mom holds me tight.

  Levi, Levi,

  she whispers in my ear.

  Levi.

  Everything

  everything

  is going to be all right.

  A box by my bed

  has all my stuff

  crammed inside

  but right on top

  I see a blue glint

  and I know exactly

  what it is.

  I open it

  find the first empty page

  and there are his words:

  I run my hands over the page

  feel his words pressed into the paper

  as I look out the window

  a huge tree

  right in front of me

  blowing

  in the breeze

  and I say to myself

  Hey, Xaviers, Levi is in the house,

  and you know what?

  I am going to

  KNOCK

  YOU

  OUT

  How will I impact the world?

  With fast impulses

  and dancing feet.

  A living Levi

  mastering every

  strategy.

  A man’s man

  ladies’ man

  man about town.

  Causing knockout

  after knockout,

  winning round

  after round.

  K.A. HOLT has thrown a lot of punches, but not at any actual people (yet).

  She is a mother of three, a lover of breakfast tacos, and a sucker for poetry of any kind.

  Her most favorite thing in the world, other than embarrassing her kids, is to write books that may or may not embarrass imaginary kids.

  Kari lives in Austin, Texas. She keeps a punching bag on her porch (in case of emergencies).

 

 

 
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