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Jonathan looked like he’d been in a fight, because he had been. The swelling around his eye was still red and raw, but it would soon turn black and blue, then his bruises would look worse than they felt, because for months he’d felt nothing. He was as dead inside his gut as his mother was in her new grave.
It had been three long, dreary months since he had buried Jocelyn Cooke in a crowded Brooklyn, New York cemetery, beside her “Devoted Husband” and his “Loving Father.” He’d only heard about Eric Cooke, who died when he was just a toddler, but what he heard made him believe that his parents had created something special between them. They were both orphans who’d found each other and were determined not to let their past affect their future. They’d clung to a bond only they could fill for one another. Although his mother never said much, he knew from the things she shared that his father had loved her deeply. Now they were reunited in death, but they had both abandoned him. It was his turn to be the orphan, left alone in the world with nothing to hold on to… no family, no friends, no anchor, no hope… nothing. They owed him something more.
On that bleak, windy day, when he turned his back on his parents’ final resting place, he never looked back. Still, he had an uneasy premonition that it wasn’t over yet.
Time plodded by like a weary traveler, but Jonathan couldn’t seem to move past the vapid, empty hole his mother’s death left in his life. It wasn’t just her death that made him ache, it was the truth about her life that hurt. This woman, who he’d loved and trusted unconditionally, was a liar… a bold-faced liar who had been consciously willing to go to her grave with all her deceptions sealed upon her lips.
How could it happen that within twenty years, she had somehow neglected to tell him the most important things about his life? Was it because she thought it would hurt him? More likely, it was because it would hurt her. That only made her a self-centered, deliberate liar, who died knowing there was a web of deceit and unanswered questions that would never be resolved. What had she done to him, and… why? No matter how Jonathan tried, he just couldn’t reconcile himself with not knowing why his mother kept her secrets. Jocelyn had no right to lie to him his entire life, and then die with the truth. Yes, it was her life, but it was his life too.
Knowing what she’d done and not knowing the reason, made his love for her feel hollow. There was no one to confide in, and even if there were, what comfort could they give? The only people who could have comforted him and explained “why,” were both dead.
He had to do something to move on, but nothing seemed important. Although he needed to rest, he couldn’t find refuge in sleep, and time seemed to move at its own elusive pace, so he kept forgetting to eat. Jonathan found himself wandering aimlessly through crowded New York City streets, unnoticed by the throngs of people busy living their lives. He knew one thing for sure, it couldn’t go on like this. He needed to make a plan and get on with his own life. Hardin’s boxing gym had always been the one place where he could think things through. That was the only reason he went to the gym that day. He had intended leaving with a plan of action, not a black eye.
The gym was fairly empty when he got there. He walked toward the lockers, grateful that the few boxers working out didn’t seem to notice him.
“Cooke!” Jonathan turned to see Max Hardin approaching him. “Is that you sneaking in here?”
“Hey Hardin, you big old bull, how are you doing?” The two clasped hands and leaned into a manly half shoulder embrace.
“How’s your mom?”
“She passed.”
“Oh man, I’m sorry to hear that. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah…” Jonathan murmured. “I thought I might get a workout before it gets too crowded. You cut my lock off yet?”
“I should’ve.”
“You wouldn’t cut me off, man. I’m the only one who likes you.”
Hardin’s deep belly laugh echoed like a gong. One of the fighters looked up at them from across the gym. He picked up his cell phone and made a call.
“So, Cooke,” Hardin still had a laugh in his voice, but Jonathan knew he was serious. “You gonna give it a shot?” They both knew that “it,” was training for a title fight. Hardin lowered his voice and leaned in close. “You’ve got some talent there kid, and it’d be a shame not to see how far it could take you.”
He could feel his boxing gloves bulging in his backpack and he knew Hardin was waiting for some kind of response. Once again, he was beginning to wonder whether this should be his next step. He looked Hardin in the eye and flashed a lopsided grin.
“I just want to get a workout.”
He began with the rope, but because he hadn’t skipped in weeks, he started slow. As his feet began to feel loose and nimble again, he quickened his pace. The “slish, slish, slish” of the rope grazing the floorboards enveloped his concentration. His feet moved rhythmically, landing lightly as the rope arched upward. They seemed to have a memory of their own, as they moved to the quickening pace. The one-foot, the double shuffle, the side-slide all came back as he whipped the rope, crossed the rope and pushed the pace as fast as he’d ever done. Jonathan felt invigorated.
He taped his hands and moved on to the speed bag. This was one of the few places where he could really sort things out. Each swing, each contact with that little leather pouch seemed to clear his mind to the task at hand. He made the bag sing as his speed and dexterity found its outlet.
Although he wanted to think of his future, his mind was flooded with thoughts of the past and the questions that would never be answered. He picked up his pace as he tried to reorganize his thoughts, but those questions kept returning. How could he move forward to make a life for himself in this city that seemed to embody every lie his mother had ever told him? How could he ever know the truth Jocelyn died with? He swung faster, hit harder, and punished the bag. Maybe he could fight this demon out of his life. Maybe boxing was it. Jonathan knew in his heart he could do anything he put his mind to, and for one brief moment, he could see the championship belt around his waist.
He was one with the speed bag and his thoughts and didn’t see Carlos Juarez enter the gym with a couple of his boys. The fighter who had made the call joined them. Hardin saw Juarez and knew there was going to be trouble. He watched Carlos and his boys saunter over to Jonathan’s corner.
“Mira cabrón.” Carlos got right into Jonathan’s face and broke his rhythm. “What’re you doing back here?” Jonathan ignored Carlos and tried to pick up his pace again. “You ain’t no fighter. You’s a runner… so why don’t you just go running back to ‘mama?!’” His boys hooted and laughed with him.
Jonathan stopped the bag swinging on its hook and looked Carlos square in the eye. All humor faded with the wordless warning in his steel gray eyes. He turned his back on them and continued his speed bag workout.
“You’s a mama’s boy!”
His jaw twitched as he tried to ignore his tormentor who was in his face again.
“That’s right pendejo!” Carlos egged on. “Run back to mama… again! Then nobody will know the truth is you’re running away from a real fight with a real fighter.” He punctuated his taunt with a shove.
Jonathan missed the speed bag and his fist landed solidly in Carlos’ gut. Carlos immediately swung back as everyone gave them both room to dance around each other. He charged Jonathan and they were locked together, trying to land punches.
“Hey, hey, hey…” Hardin boomed as he pulled the two brash fighters apart, pushing them both roughly in opposite directions. “You want to fight in here, you do it in the ring.”
Jonathan walked away.
“Look at him run,” Carlos taunted. “That wuss runs away from me ‘cause he knows I could whoop him.”
Carlos pranced with a sense of victory. Everyone else watched as Jonathan went for his backpack.
“That’s right! I could whip that skinny black boy with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. Then it’d be settled,” Carlos yelled wildly. “But you keep running back to mama.”
They all watched as Jonathan pulled his precious gloves out of his backpack and got into the ring. Carlos knew what that meant. He stopped prancing and his boys followed him to the ring. The gym lit up with hushed excitement and anticipation as the two fighters prepared themselves, and everyone gathered around to watch.
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