Six years ago…
The old, burglar bar door to the gym rattled when I banged my fist on it, not protecting shit. It was ducked between a local bar and an alleyway that smelled like piss, dew and oil in the heart of the city, but off-putting to the outsiders.
Junkies were laid out back, some huddled over fires in barrels to keep warm, and there were others hiding to show them getting that fix. The world moving by. Some of them happy, others cracked out, miserable and mumbling as they passed by. The other world wouldn’t come here. You’re forewarned and if you stepped back here, you sign your own tickets out.
I pulled the homemade flyer from my hoodie and stared at it. I almost regretted coming. I shouldn’t even be doing this shit but needed the bread. I had a girl at the crib that had expensive habits. On top of that, I was recently released from doing a bid and getting back on my feet.
My boy City and I was going to meet with the plug later to get something up off him, but I was short. So, instead of hitting a nigga over the head and ending back up in jail, I turned to what I was good at. This shit was the furthest thing on my mind; landed in my lap after I squabbled with a nigga from ‘round the way.
A cat ran across the dumpster, crashing into glass bottles and a trashcan sitting nearby, making me look up. I tucked my hand in my hoodie, gripping my pistol. Wasn’t about to get caught lacking. These parts were a quick come up or put down depending how you play it.
“Yo’,” a bouncer answered. The dim light flashing behind him gave you a peek into the junky shit in the small hall.
I held up the flyer.
He didn’t say nothing. Just walked away.
The busy city moved along behind me. I got back into my head thinking that maybe they weren’t trying to fuck with me or it’s a scam. What the fuck was I doing?
I was getting ready to dip when the door opened again.
“Come on,” the bouncer called out.
The hallway was so tight, you had to turn to comfortably get in that mothafucka. Then, on top of that, the bouncer was large as fuck; you could hear his footsteps. We passed bathrooms that looked like some shit out of a scary movie.
Cobwebs were in the ceiling.
The smell of smoke hit me as soon as I rounded the corner of the small, packed gym. My eyes dragged across the old, dim and stale place that smelled like sweat and smoke. The place where dreams either come to live or die.
Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” sent static through the weak overhead speakers.
It’s been years since I came here; not long enough if you asked me. Hadn’t stepped foot in this mothafucka since that fucked up day. A day that changed my life.
My Pops was murdered right out back in cold blood. I held him as he took his last breath. Imagine watching your ole’ man die on you, and you live to tell the story. That’s some fucked up shit.
These grounds had our blood on it, took part of my identity. Giving birth to a mothafuckin’ monster. Helped my Pops career. Then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a picture of my ole’ man that I hadn’t seen since a kid.
Andre “The Giant” Kirkland.
My chest tightened as I stared up at the picture that was one of many. He should’ve still been here. He left not realizing I had to deal with this life shit without him. I fucking missed him.
“You ready?” the ref asked, breaking me away from my thoughts.
I lifted my head, removing my hood. The crowd was quiet as they watched me step into the ring. I removed my hoodie and the whispers started.
“Who’s he?”
They didn’t need to know who I was. And if they did, it wasn’t stopping me from coming here to handle my shit. Money was the motive, and I wasn’t leaving without it.
My opponent stood in the corner doing rhythm work.
They taped me up before handing me a pair of old boxing gloves. The material was cracked, faded colors and too big. I strapped tightly for protection.
He pointed at me, imaginarily slicing his throat. I didn’t respond. Talking shit was weak. Threats without action remits consequences.
I rolled my shoulders and pounded my fists together when the ref called us to the center. I stepped over the peeling mat and took my place.
“We want a clean fight. That’s it.” He stepped back and someone clapped before the crowd stomped their feet, shouting. I turned around in time to see him swinging.
