The Laughter of Strangers (27 page)

Addressed to the stranger, this is, in my humble opinion, the perfect fight.

ROUND ONE

We feel each other out—the first thing any boxer does is figure out the rhythm of his opponent. I lead with the jab while ‘James’ leans and warms up with some fancy evasive footwork. I win this round because of the jab.

‘James’ barely lands any more than a dozen punches.

ROUND TWO

‘James’ figures out my fight rhythm. He knows that I’ll switch from right to southpaw when I want to land powershots. He keeps on the defensive and I will become quite frustrated if I don’t do something to keep this from happening but it doesn’t happen in this round.

‘James’ wins the round based on number of punches landed. Most of mine are jabs and hooks to the body, which ‘James’ brushes off with countering hooks of his own to my face, which I leave wide open.

ROUND THREE

I lead with straights to the face. ‘James’ feels the pressure from consistent left straights to the face. He defends against most but the sudden pressure keeps him slightly confused.

This is unexpected.

I have to rely on the unexpected. The score is close, real close.

‘James’ stays competitive with an uppercut landed perfectly, which stuns me a minute left in the round.

Continue to apply pressure.

I win the round, just barely.

ROUND FOUR

The previous round was really close so I get a little anxious. Of course I get anxious. That’s exactly what ‘James’ wants. This is where he sends me to the canvas, knockdown number one of five.

For it to be a perfect fight, I feel it’s necessary to include the number five.

I get back up after the three count. My right knee touched the canvas. It’s a flash knockdown using a textbook counterpunch to my one-two jab combination (neither punch landed).

‘James’ doesn’t capitalize on the knockdown.

We keep trading punches. I trade not because it’s smart but because it makes a statement to the strangers in the crowd, the thousands, the millions watching:

I am not afraid.

I am not afraid of his clear skill and edge in both power and age. I will fight this fight like we both die by round twelve. Nothing to lose.

Though his footwork overshadows mine, I weave in and out of a four-punch flurry at the end of the round that unsettles ‘James.’

He wins the round because of the knockdown but I watch him between rounds, shaking my head as if to say—

You have to do better than that. I’m going to touch the canvas every damn round. I’m not staying down. You’ll have to punch me to death if you intend on the win being by KO.

I have been KOed too many times.

This fight, the perfect fight, is not one where I lose by knockout.

Between round four and five Spencer shouts, loud enough for everyone at ringside to hear, about what needs to change.

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HURT HIM!

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HURT HIM!

No. You won’t.

I know what hurts me and what doesn’t.

I know about fear and I’ve faced it.

This is the aftermath, the result.

‘James,’ you get to be the last person that fights me.

It’s a privilege you’ll regret later.

ROUND FIVE

‘Spencer’s’ words confuse ‘James’ and I capitalize by throwing weak flurries of jabs and straights to the face.

He defends but cannot seem to fall back into his groove.

I win the round up until he lands a hook to my stomach, knocking me down to the canvas.

Two of five.

I get back up by the five count and I send my own uppercut, which I had intended on being the “snap punch” I told you about, but it doesn’t work.

The uppercut, though, sends him to his knees for a fraction of a second, enough for the referee to slip between the both of us, calling it a knockdown.

It’s one of those kinds of knockdowns that really isn’t a knockdown but the referee starts counting anyway.

Spencer is pissed and I get a sick thrill out of hearing him shout.

I don’t have a corner in this fight, only the cutman I paid and the two others who make sure I stay hydrated and awake.

In this fight, I am my own trainer.

It’s a draw.

The round is split down the middle, some favoring ‘James’ some favoring ‘me.’

ROUND SIX

I take the round off, being as defensive as I can.

I’m old. I can’t go the distance without taking at least one round off.

I show the world that I have a great defense. More importantly, I show ‘James’ that I can be defensive too.

A boxer-puncher is the real wildcard.

Remember that.

Cocky and confident until he sends me down to the canvas with the same uppercut.

Three of five.

I get up after the five count. I’m fine but the referee whispers in my ear, “You get knocked down again and I’ll be forced to stop the fight.”

He won’t stop the fight.

Empty threat.

‘James’ wins the round.

ROUND SEVEN

I win this round. ‘James’ doesn’t take the round off; I steal the round from him. We trade punches for three-fourths of the round. He hits me with a great hook that nearly takes the wind out of me but I counter with a hook to the side of his face. It scares him. Proof that he’s a young fighter:

The blind shots cultivate fear.

I’d say that the majority of shots that hurt me are the ones I can see coming but cannot evade. Blind shots are convenient blackouts.

I wish I could get a punch to the face every night. Maybe then I’d be able to sleep. That is, if it wasn’t unhealthy to take knockout-inducing shots to the face every night. Anyway—

The last ten seconds are mine.

‘James’ knows that he’ll win if he knocks me down again so he becomes a bit predictable. I use that as an opportunity to crack his “perfect” defense.

It starts with two blocked jabs but then I send an uppercut, same uppercut he’s used against me all throughout the fight, and it causes him to drop his gloves. Arms at his sides, stunned, cracked, I send eight shots to the stomach followed by another uppercut to the chin, before he can bring himself to defend again. Bell, end of round.

My round not his.

ROUND EIGHT

It’s bad for me but I expect it going in.

Spencer motivates ‘James’ into taking me out this round.

YOU GOT TO END IT NOW.

NOT NEXT ROUND. NOW!

And he tries.

He really tries.

Four of five—

To the canvas I go, same uppercut. The referee brings the fight doctor out due to the cut just under my right eyebrow.

Blood drips into my eye.

The doctor says that I’m okay.

I narrowly evade having the fight end but the round is obviously ‘James’s.’

ROUND NINE

I have trouble seeing due to the cut but I take the round using sheer force. I fight southpaw the entire round just to aggravate ‘James.’

Mostly jabs and cheap shots to the body.

‘James’ spends most of the round silent and defending. Fighting southpaw confuses him into slowing down.

He’ll get a talking to from Spencer that’s for sure.

My round.

ROUND TEN

I intentionally fight dirty. I need to take another round off, getting pretty gassed. People can tell. The referee is beyond worried.

I let him have this round but I let him know that he can’t hurt me by clinching whenever he attempts more than a single punch.

The crowd boos a little, but even the perfect fight has a number of highs and lows.

This is a tough round to judge.

I get in cheap kidney shots when we clinch.

I bring him to the ropes and fight using rope-a-dope, using the ropes to prop me up as I lean back and launch forward with extra force single jabs to his face. Most of the round, I punch not to the body or face but to his gloves.

I do it because no one does it.

I win the round.

The round I took off to rest.

ROUND ELEVEN

It’s bad. The cut gets worse despite what the cutman does to keep it from getting bigger. ‘James’ focuses on the cut and by the end of the round I am nearly dead on my feet, blood down my chest, the front of his shorts stained with my blood.

His round. No doubt about it.

This went the distance and physically we both have to pay for it.

ROUND TWELVE

He knocks me down at the beginning. Uppercut.

Five of five.

The referee counts instead of calling it.

I get to eight before standing up.

He looks into my eyes and says, “I’m going to let you fight because you got this far. Don’t make me regret it!”

And I don’t. I let fists fly. I dig deep into the tank.

I leave nothing for tomorrow.

This is my last.

His defense avoids eighty percent of my onslaught but everyone is shocked to see the elder of the two fighters taking the last round.

He’ll win the round because he knocked me down, but I win the fight in terms of psychology.

I silence him in the last and as the bell rings, I know that I’ve lost. I needed to lose in order for Willem to rise back to the top.

But even in losing, I know what just happened.

“It is, it really is.”

There you have it, the perfect fight.

In my humble opinion, there is no greater fight I can give.

This is my best performance.

In my best performance, I lose.

You can laugh if you want, strangers.

The laughter of a stranger is not always bad. It gets old and loses all meaning. So let them laugh. It won’t always hurt this bad.

You can wash it in the sorrows that bleed the same bright white from before, but this time it all seems so new when you’re empty handed.

No longer holding onto much of anything.

Just your face, looking back at you in the mirror, waiting to be redefined. Waiting for a description.

We know what a stranger sees…

BUT WHAT ABOUT YOU? WHAT DO YOU SEE?

THE SILENCE

In the silence of the bedroom, I hear myself talking. Not ‘myself’ but myself—who I am now. In the silence, I hear myself saying, “Hey, how are you feeling?” That’s a question I’d ask someone that’s gone twelve rounds but that would mean I can’t be talking to myself because I have twelve rounds to go.

LAST FIGHT

Alongside my last fight there will be a series of lasts—

Last chance to make things right.

Last statement before receding into the world of anonymity. The public doesn’t look for sound bites or blurbs from the fold of people you call life. They look for the notable identities to buoy whatever it is they are trying to sell.

I hear myself talking, and it sounds like me.

It sounds like what I imagined I’d sound like.

It’s not that far off from anything you’d hear Willem saying.

THAT’S BECAUSE

“I know, I know.”

YOU REALLY NEED TO START GETTING USED TO

“Yes, I know.”

YOU SHOULDN’T INTERRUPT PEOPLE

WHEN THEY ARE

“Yes, I know.”

SEE? THAT’S YOUR PROBLEM

“Yeah and what’s my problem?”

YOU THINK YOU KNOW EVERYTHING

I laugh, “I assure you that I don’t have that problem. If anything, I know how to make toast and survive in a fight. Not much else. Wait. No. I got something else. I have ten toes and nine-and-a-half fingers. I lost that tip of my left pinky finger during that, you know…”

I KNOW

“Of course you know because—”

“What are you doing?”

A voice that could only be Sarah’s.

“Oh, hey Sarah.” Looking down at the two dolls in my hands, recalling instantly how odd this must look, dolls, talking to myself, in her room when I’m not supposed to be, “I was… wondering where you went.”

She wanders over, takes one of the dolls from me and says, “You shouldn’t be in here!”

Her tone is scolding more so than angry.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just following the—”

YOU SOUND LIKE A LUNATIC

“Never mind.”

She looks at her doll, “What were you doing in here?”

Doing my best to change the topic of conversation, I ask, “What were you doing out of your room?”

She places both hands on her hips, “What am I, some kind of prisoner?!”

I shake my head, “No, no, just…I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t know!”

SMOOTH, REAL SMOOTH

What else am I going to do? I relent, “Yeah you’re right.”

She exhales deeply, the house shaking at the peak of the sigh, “Whatever…”

I remain seated on the edge of the bed as Sarah wanders over to the mirror and, unsurprisingly, she lacks a reflection.

YOU DON’T FIND IT ODD?

I am the only person within frame.

She turns and looks at me, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. What?”

“It’s just…”

She returns her attention to the mirror, “Oh, this.”

YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT SHE IS,

DON’T BOTHER

“You are probably wondering what it means for you.”

I admit that, yes, it’s a little selfish but…

DON’T SAY ANYTHING

She sets the doll down on the end table next to me.

“You see me right?”

I nod.

“That’s only because you know my dad. You know my name.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t exist to the world out there. This is how we are.” Looks at me, “Get it?”

YES YOU DO