3. Keyshawn
A year later
Left. Right.
Right. Left.
Duck. Bob.
Left. Right.
Right. Right.
The combinations flowed through my body in quick bursts. Every punch of the glove fueled me to go even harder than before. Sweat slid from my pores in thick streams as I exerted all my energy into every jab of my hands.
“You’re punching too wild, Krash. Slow down.” Coach Larry pushed me back, and my defensive stance fell.
“What do you mean?” I asked as I swiped the sweat with my arm.
“You’re not anticipating your opponent’s moves. You’re throwing punches, but you’re not protecting yourself at the same time. Slow down and calculate your moves.”
A breath blew from between my lips. “Man, I ain’t trying to hear all of that right now.”
“If you’re not trying to perfect your craft, you have no business being in my gym.”
“I don’t need this shit.”
“Come here.” Coach Larry motioned with his hand for me to return to the spot I’d just stepped away from. I didn’t move. “I’m not going to repeat myself, Krash.”
My feet slid like bricks back over to him. I crossed my arms.
“I get you got a lot of anger in your system. Boxing can be the outlet for you to release that pain, but you have to do it smart . Turn your anger into victory and power.”
He started to speak my language. I’d been coming to the gym for a few months. I’d overheard some dudes talking about the gym during my morning runs and had been coming ever since. At first, I just wanted to hit shit, but after a few sessions with Coach Larry, he’d become the father figure I never had.
“Thanks, Coach.”
“You’ve made a lot of improvement over the last couple of months. Don’t regress,” he advised.
I nodded quickly. “You’re right. I just have a lot on my mind right now.”
“Take your anger out on a punching bag and not during training. You have the potential to be great. Don’t lose that drive in you.”
“I’m trying. Hopefully, once I’m away from my living situation, I’ll be able to focus better.”
“I know you said things are rough. If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
The boxing gym had been my home away from hell all summer. From opening to closing, I was on the premises. On the weekends, I worked reception and checked people in and out of the gym as well as rented out equipment as necessary. The job kept money in my pockets, and the gym kept my hands off my father. The gut feeling in my stomach told me the lessons with Coach Larry would come in handy one day.
After I left the gym, I headed home. The lights were on in the living room, so I braced myself for the drunk bastard who awaited me. I sat in my car for over an hour, watching videos on my phone to mentally withdraw from my home abuse. I pushed open the door, and the stench of gin greeted my nose immediately.
“Where have you been, boy?” His voice slurred as his bloodshot eyes zeroed in on me.
“Work.”
“You’re a liar.” The tone of his voice was one no father should ever address their child in. It was laced with hate and intoxication, a combination that never garnered positive outcomes.
“Okay,” I replied. I didn’t have the energy to argue with him today. I wanted to relax and enjoy the rest of my Saturday before school came back around Monday morning.
As I made a motion to move down the hall, he stood up and staggered over to me. My gaze was bored, monotonous eyes locked onto a pitiful excuse of a father.
“You think you’re better than me, boy?” He slurred as he wagged his finger in my face.
“Yes.” I baited him.
“You ain’t nothin’ but a bastard child too fucked up for even his mother to stay around and raise,” he insulted.
“Okay.” I tried to step around him, but he grabbed my arm.
My body tensed and jerked away from him as I spun on my heels to glare at him. “Don’t ever put your hands on me again.”
His drunken smirk stretched across his face. The stench of alcohol intensified as he puffed out his chest. “You think you’re a man now?”
“I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be.” I sneered. My teeth gritted together as I balled my hands into tight fists.
“Prove it,” he demanded. His hands pushed against my chest, causing me to stumble.
The gym bag was discarded as I steadied my footing and glared at him. No seventeen-year-old child should ever be put in a situation like this. No child should ever have to lift their hands to defend themselves from a parent’s wrath. However, my current reality was I had to do what I had to do to make sure he never got the idea to fight me again.
My shoulders square and feet planted, I lifted my hands and jabbed him in the mouth. He stumbled back and held his jaw as blood pooled between his teeth and bottom lip.
“Your ass is grass,” he warned as he lunged at me.
His drunk ass looked a fool charging at me. I sidestepped him and punched him in the ribs twice. My heartbeat was an erratic thump in my ears as I fought my father for the first time. I was no longer a dormant body. I had finally gathered the courage to defend myself against years of abuse, both physical and mental.
Sweat coated my skin as I held my own against the drunkard. The end of the fight came when I punched him in his nose and knocked him on his ass. As I gazed down at his slumped figure, I could feel my eyes burn with tears. I blinked rapidly. No! He doesn’t get to make me cry. I’m stronger than him. I’m stronger than this.
I disappeared into my room and collapsed onto the bed. My body quaked as the adrenaline quickly evaporated from my body.
Pain.
Sorrow.
Exhaustion.
All these emotions coursed through my body until I had no strength to do anything but welcome sleep. As my eyes began to drift close, my bedroom door was pushed open. The force caused the door handle to put a hole in the wall. I sat up immediately. My eyes locked in on the deranged look in my father’s orbs.
“You lost your mind, boy.” He snarled.
“No! I finally showed you I’m not the scared little boy you’ve been abusing for years! I can hold my own now. You better find something else to do because you won’t ever get the chance to hurt me physically again!” My voice was weak. The scared and desperate tone revealed how broken the situation had made me.
“Is that so?”
The sinister appearance of my father sent a chill down my spine. He disappeared down the hall. I waited on pins and needles for what felt like hours before I finally relaxed in bed. I assumed he’d passed out in his room.
I was wrong.
Very… very… very wrong.
When he returned, he had a revolver in his hand. His eyes were deranged, but my body was frozen into place. My eyes remained on the silver weapon as I replayed my life.
There was hardly anything positive to hold on to. The only person I worried about was Bernice. If I died today, would she be okay?
Bang!
My body moved on autopilot. One minute, my life flashed before my eyes, and the next, I stood on Bernice’s porch. The knocks on the door sounded foreign as I waited on shaky knees.
“Krash?” Her mother’s gentle voice greeted me when the door opened. “Oh my God! What happened?”
She pulled me into the house to examine my body. The blood soaked into the fabric of my clothes while my skin burned from the thick fluid scattered all over me.
“H-He killed himself…” Once the words left my body, I broke. Every piece of armor on me fell to the ground as my knees buckled and my chest tightened. I gasped as the pain shot through my body like the bullet that pierced through my father’s skull. I would never forget the scene as his brains scattered across the room.
Mrs. James pulled me into a tight embrace. The love of a mother was a foreign concept to me. Other than my grandmother, I’d never known what it felt like to be loved by a maternal being.
“Mrs. James… I have… I have no one.” The confession punched me in my gut. All my bravado flew out the window as I sobbed. The gut-wrenching cries filled the air.
My vision blurred as I clung to her shirt. “I have no one. My father is dead.” I repeated the phrases as reality set in. I was an orphan. I was a bastard. I was nobody.
“What’s going on?” Mr. James spoke from somewhere in the house. I couldn’t place his position in the room because my sobs were too loud to do anything but clutch my chest and shake in the arms of my best friend’s mother.
In the moment, I was the lost and scared kid I’d held in for so long. As I wiped the tears from my face and finally took in a deep breath, I realized my biggest burden had been lifted. He was dead, and I was free from his abuse.
I explained to Bernice’s parents what I’d endured over the years. I explained to them just how bad my home life was. They both looked at me with sincere gazes. Their kind eyes were the reassurance I needed to get through the hard parts of the story.
“Please don’t call the cops,” I begged.
“We have to call the cops to come get his body,” Mr. James explained.
Fear crept back into my heart. “I don’t want to be put into the system. I don’t want to become a foster kid. I… I’ll be eighteen in a few months… Please…”
As I begged, Bernice emerged from upstairs. Her eyes met mine, and several emotions coursed through me at once. Embarrassment. Shame. Fear. Guilt. The strongest feeling, however, was relief. Bernice’s presence relieved me.
Her gentle hands found me as she pulled me into a tight embrace. Her scent… her scent of lavender and jasmine filled my nostrils and soothed the rapid beat of my heart.
An insecure part of me feared she’d see me at my most vulnerable and laugh, but she never did. She didn’t ask any questions or say anything. Instead, she rubbed my back and held me.
“I’m here for you,” she announced.
“We’re all here for you, Krash,” Mrs. James added.
“We have a guest room upstairs. Once you’ve talked to the police, we can bring your clothes, and you can stay here for as long as you need.”
“I… I appreciate y’all so much.”
“You’re my best friend. You’re family. We’ve got your back like you’ve had mine since the first day we met. I love you, Krash.”
“I love you too, Bern.”
Bernice was my peace.
She was my soulmate.
She was my heart in human form.
I’d die for Bernice if I had to.
God, I know I’m going to marry this girl one day. Please, make me the man she deserves.