Fighter

I smelled him before I saw him, thick and bitter-sweet.  His movements were slow, a leg that slid easily behind him, a warped shadow.  His hair was like pondweed, wild and brash, mucky black coils that covered his eyes.

He was thrown into the cell next to mine, and he sank into a corner, falling asleep easily as if he were on a feather bed.  He was used to this - the cold, motionless dark.  I thought: He knows nothing else. 

He was lucky, then.

I watched him for a long time (what else was there to do?).  And my eyes were heavy, but I wouldn’t give in – not yet.  I still had until morning.  Try to stay awake.

At some point, I left my cell and there was a baseball field and a dirty ball, my brother chasing me beneath the beckoning sun, music, hot dogs, long weeds against wire fences.  

Sarah.

When I awoke, there was the usual pinching in the chest, the morphing of then into now.  There was a sound, like dripping faucet.   Mind playing tricks?

He was watching, caught me by surprise.   

“What’re you here for?” he asked.  

I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk.  There’d been others.  They came and they went.  What was the point?

“Could be worse,” he said.   “At least there’s food.  Shelter.”

Stupid.  

“They call me Nero,” he said.  “Do you have a name?” 

Yes, I have a name!  Ralph!  And my brother was Jack!  And I had a beautiful life – a two-story house with a wrap-around porch, and miles of green, fragrant grass!  I had Sarah!

“You don’t have to answer,” he said, moving closer.  

He didn’t fear me.  Everyone feared me.  

“But it might help pass the time.”  

No time left.

For a few moments we stared, neither of us yielding.  He was taking me in.  The scars.  The eye that barely opened.  Finally, he asked, “What happened?”

Dare I tell? - about the years of fighting? - the men and their wagers?  Why waste my last bit of time on that?

“I hear you were good,” he said.  “One of the best.  A real warrior.”  

Dammit.  

“Sounds thrilling.”

Not thrilling.  Thrilling was Sarah in the open sea.  Thrilling was Jack’s eyes each time he saw me.  

“Your eyes,” I said, “Are younger than your years.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t’ think it’s naivety.  Perhaps it’s hope,” I said, retreating into a shadow, “Hope stays longer than it should.”

“What else is there?”

I was torn between pacifying him and slapping him in the face.  “This place will change you.  The streets are better.”

“You been on the streets?”

Full moon through cracked windows.  Rain, washing away yesterday’s blood.    

“No.  But streets lead to other streets.  Here, there are only walls.”

He moved to the corner to relieve himself.  Slow, careful movements.  He’ll die in here.  

“It’s winter out there,” he said.  “Snow.”

“And I miss it,” I said.  “What I wouldn’t give to lay in the snow.”

He seemed to understand that.

“What happened to your leg?” I asked.

“Stupid, drunk kid behind the wheel.  I nearly got away.”

“Really,” I said, “Tough break.”

“Yeah.  Lost all feeling in my leg.  Slowed me down.  But only on the outside.”

“Geez.” 

For a moment we were both quiet, engrossed in our worlds of demons and lovers.   

“Tell me,” he said, “about the fights.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“But I do.”

“Look – it’s over for me.  I don’t wanna go back there.”

He coughed, regurgitating something.  “Are you scared?” he asked.  “Of dying?”

I thought of Jack, bright-eyed and waiting for me, a vibrant arch of glorious color rising against a moist, gray sky.  

“Nah,” I said.  “It’s time.  There’s nothing else.” 

But there was something else.  Sarah. 

It seemed like ages ago her long fingers were running through my hair.  She liked to whistle when she cooked.  She like to dance in the kitchen.  With me.  

“Soon,” I said, “the strangers will come -  piercing into the quiet like a roaring train.”

“Oh?”

“I won’t be here for that.  But you should know not to trust them.”

“Ah.  Let them come.”

“I get it.  Sounds better than waiting for the days to pass.  But it’ll burn worse than a soldering pipe.  When they come.  And when they leave.”

His eyes followed a roach that crawled into a hole.  He didn’t understand.  He had nothing to lose.  

“Why are you here?” he asked.

The sirens, pounding and closing in.  Jack, dead at my feet. 

 “I’m dangerous, they say.”

Men, scattering.  All of us, caught. 

“You’re not?”

Jack, cold and still.  Someone pulling me away.  Someone strong.  But I was stronger.  The things we’re capable of.  

“As dangerous as you, I’m sure.  When provoked.”

The shuffling of keys in the distance.  Doors opening and closing.

“It’s time,” I said.  

I tried to stay calm and think of Jack’s face.   But all I could hear was Sarah’s voice calling my name from beyond the woods.  I wanted to go to her.  I wanted to tell her I was okay, that Jack and I were together.  Because I knew she would worry, wouldn’t stop until she found us.  But she wouldn’t find us.  Because the men had been watching for a while.  They waited for the right time.   

 “Tell me,” he said, “About a happy time.”  And I knew he was trying to soothe me.  The dirty fellow with the rotting teeth.

“There was a girl,” I said.  “A woman named Sarah.  God, I loved her.”

He smiled.  

“Couldn’t imagine loving anything more.  Her salty morning breath.  Her arms around my neck.  We used to take long walks at sunset by the river.  Was just the two of us for a while, until my brother needed a place to stay.”

“Sounds nice,” he said.  “I wish I would’ve known something like that.”

“Oh, it makes everything worth it.  When I think of her, it all disappears.  Like a clean slate.  Even the day I lost Jack.  She gives me that.  For a moment.”

“Jack?”

“My brother.  They made me fight him.  Bet on me, of course - ‘cuz I was bigger.”  

There came a whimper, and for a moment I didn’t realize it was from me.  

“I didn’t want to – couldn’t possibly!  But, they gave me no choice.”  Red-hot pipes.  “Only one winner, one to come out alive.”

Silence.

“Jack was already hurt anyway.  He wasn’t gonna make it.  He told me to do it.  He said: Your terms.  

Nero closed his eyes, a shaky breath.  The footsteps were close.

“What’s your name?” he asked.  

“Ralph.”

His head lifted for a moment, his eyes wider- and I almost imagined a younger version of him.  

“It’s nice to meet you, Ralph,” he said. 

I nodded, changing my thoughts to Sarah.  

An old radio on a smooth white counter.  Her laughter, like a kookaburra – reaching for me, pulling me close.  Dance with me, Ralph…

“May you sleep easy,” Nero said.  “And wake beside your brother.”

The man in blue was there unlocking my cell.  No expression.  Just a job. 

“Remember,” Nero said, as I was being led out.  “Your terms.”

When the doors opened at noon, a woman walked in.  Soft eyes.  White sweater.  She barely noticed the pungent smell.  She’d been in places like this before. 

She walked through the narrow halls, searching – always searching, and running her fingers against the cool bars.  

That same morning, her husband said: It’s time to let go.

And she knew he was right.  But how?

In the back, they were older.  Eight years.  Twelve.  A dark paw poking out of a cage. 

“Poor guy,” she said to the man in blue.  “What happened to his leg?”

“Not sure.  Maybe a car.”

There was a sign on the cage.  Male.  Poodle-mix.

“How long as he been here?”

“Came in last night.  A stray.”

Another cage was being cleared out.  Stained, checkered bed.  Rubber bone. 

“Adopted?” she asked.

The man shook his head.   “Pit-bull.” 

He placed an empty water bowl into a bag.  “Damn vicious dogs.”

Her heart sank.  Not true.  

The curly-haired dog pushed his nose against the bars.  Weary eyes.  In need of a bath.

“How old is he?” she asked.

The man shrugged.  “Don’t know.  Maybe eight.”

“Will he get adopted?”

“Probably not – the deformity and all.  Folks like the cute ones.  The puppies.”

She thought of Ralph.  He’d been her first, wrapped in a shiny red bow, followed her everywhere.  She used to dream he’d find his way home. That she’d open the screen door one day and he’d be sitting on the porch. 

Then her mind would shift, and she’d imagine it was a bear attack.  And that poor Jack – barely with her a month - tried to help.  Ralph was always the brave one, the curious one. He would have gotten into trouble. Jack would have followed.   

She hated thinking like that.  It was unbearable.  No, she thought, someone found them.  A nice family took them in.  

She bent down and reached her hand into the cage.  The matted fur was sticky, but she didn’t mind.  “Hello,” she said.  “I’m Sarah.  Do you like to dance?”