Behind my eyes

“She was so vibrant, wasn’t she?” I find myself lost in my mind as Dr. J speaks. He knows how to stop me from hating myself. Always so patient – a perfect therapist. A perfect friend. His living room is like home at this point.

“Yeah. Really depended on the day, whether she was gonna scream at you till’ you cried, or hug you till’ you couldn’t breathe. Cancer’s cancer, I guess.” I reply with a broken smile. He sits opposite me in his long dark trench coat. A blue and white ceramic tea set, which seems like a relic, sat on the coffee table in front of him.

“I really don’t want to get too far into that now, though” It’ll be 5 years in a few hours. Sipping his chamomile tea, he smiles with me.

“One thing I do know, Gracelyn, is that she was one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. Just like you.”

I feel a tear behind my eye, begging to escape, but I refuse to be weak, instead letting out a measly “yeah” with another half-grin. “Tea?” he offers. “I’m good, thank you”. Mrs. Jackson always made the best tea. Just like Mom. I know just a sip will take me back. And I don’t want to remember. Not right now.

Rain spits against the single slender window pane, as lightning illuminated the dim-lit lounge.

“Why don’t you take off your jacket, dear?”

My light brown skin glints in the light as my grey hoodie hangs over the top of my left eye. I glance to the side, covering my neck. “That bad last night, huh? Let’s see.” Dr J’s towering frame rose up from his seat, blocking me from the rays of the lightbulb. His wide palm reached for my face. I continue to turn away as he gently removes my hood. His grin turns to a wince as he stares at me.

“Yeah. That bad.” I say sarcastically. I shouldn’t speak to him like that. Not after everything. His fingertips move around my swollen eyebrow which stood out above my blackened eye. He examines the plaster on the bridge of my disfigured nose. He caresses the bandage on my forehead as he shook his head and said nothing.

“How many times, Gracelyn? How many times is it going to end up like this?”

I stared straight in front of me with dead eyes as he stood over me, with a sense of disappointment. A barrage of tears slammed itself against the gate of my eyelids, still persistent as ever, killing me inside.

“Gracelyn…”

“What? What now? Are you gonna tell me to stop again? Because…”

“…You won’t. I know.”

“Really? You know, do you?” I snapped back. Our eyes locked and I saw red.

“Stop pretending to be something you’re not!” My voice rose.

A startled Dr. J steps back and removes his hand from my wounds.

“Oh, so what aren’t I, Gracie?”

“You’re not my dad, okay!” I reply with a stern, direct tone.

Instantly, I regret it. The overbearing silence tears me apart, and I’m back to hating myself. If I ever had anything even remotely close to a Dad, it was definitely him.

“Of course not Gracie, just take it easy is all I’m saying.”

His dark skin was leathery, but shone beneath its surface. I dropped my head in shame as Dr J sat back down on the same couch set he had for all 50 years he’d lived here.

At face value it was nothing special - looked like nothing more than a pile of regret and wasted dreams. Ancient trinkets, archaic cutlery and a seemingly infinite number of books filled cases around the room, acting as pillars of nostalgia. With them, a few portraits of the doctor and his wife hung across the room. Mrs. J never had her own kids of her own, but adopted a family friend’s daughter Nicole at 3 years old, after her Dad left for war and her Mom turned into, what the couple could only call, a fiend. Such a perfect child – perfect skin, perfect hair, a smile that killed every sorrow I felt at any given time. I remember when Mom brought me to visit on Saturdays when I was in elementary – she’d speak to Mrs. J for hours and hours, leaving me and the Doctor to speak about anything and everything that crossed our minds.

Nicole turned 7 last week, I suddenly recall, as I stare at the golden frame with her picture at the centre point of the mantelpiece. Everyone’s little angel. Just like Mrs. J used to call me. She was long gone. What happened to the time?

The doctor continues stirring his tea, noticeably louder. The spoon hits the lip of the mug, and the ringing kills the hush of the living room, taking my attention off the photos, growing louder and louder with each moment of contact.

“Look, Gracie. You need to ask yourself. Is this the path you really want to take? The last thing we want is another in-ring tragedy, dear”

Clink. Clink. Clink. Slowly, my mind empties with each ring. My eyes were glued to the blues and whites of the mug. Everything else was a blur. His voice faded away like leaves falling from the oldest tree in the oldest forest, as I felt my eyes shut and I sunk into my soul.

“Gracie…Gracie…”

I’m taken back to last night in a daze. Ding, ding, ding! The judge’s bell rings like a clock tower. Middle of the ring. Flat on my back. Can’t feel my face. The whitest lights I’d ever seen piercing through my eyelids, like an angel descending from the foot of God himself; I’ve been on the bad end of this scenario one too many times. Just like her.

“Seven!” echoed a referee, as my eyes peered open.

“Eight!”

Dead as they may be, my legs gain a life of their own and I stagger to my feet, gaining somewhat of a consciousness. My arms are heavier than ever, with the pair of boxing gloves feeling like the weight of the world. The layers of tape beneath my white gloves eat away at each finger like termites feeding on wooden planks. They are stained with the blood of my opponent, who stands across from me.

“…Gracie! Get up, Gracie! ” A woman’s distorted voice yells amid the roaring crowd.

My head swivels at all angles with sweat and blood dripping from my brow into a puddle of pain on the canvas. I see her. Through it all, I manage to make out a figure. My brain has to be playing tricks with me. I see a pair of eyes attached to a tall figure beyond the ropes.

The most beautiful pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. It stands right in my corner. I can’t make out any features except for the deep brown pupils I see on the figure. It’s void of anything and appears as a beacon of white light. Is this the angel? Has it come down to take me with her? Am I dead? The odd yet familiar voice continues to bellow through the ropes.

“Get up, Gracie. You’re not done…”

The arena around me fades, as the flashing lights turn into flickers, and the clamour of the crowd turns to a bleak nothingness. All that remains are the coffee-coloured eyes.  They get so close, I can count the colours in their irises – infinite sunburned tints. They are all I can see until I lose myself once again.

“Gracie…Gracie…”

“Gracie!”

Instantly I open my eyes, panicking and in a sweaty mess.  I’m back in the dingy room with the Doctor and Mrs. J hovering above me, Mrs. J sporting a long white nightgown and hairnet, with a rosary in her hands. My eyes are wide and red, darting around the room looking for the tea set – nowhere to be found.

“Are you alright dear? You passed out for a moment…” she exclaims.

They glance at each other worriedly. My heart is still slapping against my chest, trying to get out of my body. It’s a miracle that, after what I can only call a near-death experience, I can still function.

“Yeah. I… I don’t know what happened” I manage to utter.

“Look, it’s getting hellish out there.” The doctor glances towards the broad window.

“And it looks like you’ve just seen a ghost!” Mrs. J adds, clutching her rosary even tighter.

You should stay the night. Honey, get the bed ready.” Dr J signals to his wife who nods.

I don’t complain, and sit back in my chair, I notice the clock next to Nicole’s picture as Mrs. J heads upstairs. It’s 1am. I completely forgot about training. How long has it been? Right now is anything but the time to miss a session. A few more minutes of me and the Doctor sitting in a solemn silence, and it’s time to rest. I remove my jumper and bottoms and get under the covers. The air mattress is set up in Nicole's room, opposite the doctor’s. She’s out cold. I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Sunshine? Love? Her parents? I often think about the things I’d do anything to reset my brain to the blissful irony of a 7 year old – to dream like a child.

But there’s no time for that. Biggest fight of my life is next week. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose. I can’t lose. Not for her. Not on her night. I can’t stop thinking about those eyes. It had to be... No. It couldn’t.

I can’t stay here. My mind is somewhere else. My bruised knuckles twitch, begging to hit something. Or, to hug something. Someone. Removing my blanket, I get up and put my hoodie back on.

“Gracie…” A little voice comes from the bedframe at the end of the pitch black room. Nicole’s up.

“Go to sleep, Nic,” I answer, “It’s late.”

She yawns as my feet make the wooden floorboards creak. “Did you win?”

The battle behind my eyes erupts again. The army of tears hammer against the gate, but again I refuse. Not right now. Not in front of Nicole. I put my grey hoodie and jogging bottoms back on slowly, while the creaking continues. Another flash of lightning crashes outside, flashing up the room for a brief moment as Nicole screeches, chucking the blanket over herself. She isn’t asleep after all. I walk up to her bedside and get on my knees. I place my hand on her soft caramel cheek. Just like Mom used to. ‘Look at you. ‘I wonder who you’re going to become’ I wonder.

“It’s late, sweetie.” I whisper, tucking her under the sheets.

“One day I’ll be like you, Gracie. I’ll be the bravest ever, just like you.” Nicole whispered as she dozed off.

She doesn’t want to be anything like me. The scars every other week are one thing, but the irreversible ones are something else. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I smirk softly, kiss Nicole’s forehead and step out of the room, heading downstairs.

The violent sky continues to rage and lashes down on me as I head outside. I prop my hood over my braided black hair, neatly tucked into the back of my soaked jumper. Dr J lived in the middle of town, in a terrace home next to the town square, where his old consultancy used to be. It’s pitch black out.

A streetlight around 50 yards in front of me lights up the bottom half of the street and casts light upon the raindrops beneath its beam. I knew my way around, but I couldn’t go home. My fists ache for something so specific. I know where I need to go. My legs gain a life of their own as they carry me through the storm in the murkiness of midnight for all of 10 minutes. I question my sanity – what in the world is bringing me to run through the pouring rain at 2am? I finally arrive.

I bend my knees as I pant and hold my torso as I come to a shaky halt. As I glare up at the sign of the building before me, I know where I am. Detached from any other buildings, the pride and joy of my mother stood tall amid the downpour. La Ligera Boxing Gym. Home. Where she lived her dreams and carried out her legacy. Where she carved me into the woman she knew I could be. It’s taken all this, just for me to appreciate that. Surely that’s not all I’m here for? Closure?

I jumble around in my pockets after staring for a while and pull out my phone and a key which hadn’t unlocked anything but memories for the past ten years. It’s 2:30. One of the last things she left me other than her words. The last key to Ligera. I told her I’d be in there every day. Guess she’s been turning in her grave all these years. Opening those doors would be opening a world of hurt and shame. But I’ve known this day would come.

I muster up all the courage I can and approach the door, rain still dousing me. Key at the ready, my shivering hand reaches for the lock. I unlock it, close my eyes and step inside, one foot at a time. I keep my eyes closed as the wind slams the door shut behind me.

 Instantly, I’m taken back by the smell – the first thing I notice. It still smells like a summer Saturday morning. Her fragrance lingers around my nostrils. The sun breaks the darkness, and I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She stands tall in the middle of the ropes, with luscious brown curls tied up into a ponytail. Her skin shimmers like the finest honey of the finest hive. She faces away from me, with focus pads propped up in front of her waist. I hear off-beat punching sounds next to her. A young girl is on the other side bobbing and weaving from side to side. She wears plain white gloves, pure of any blood or pain or malice, punching the pads. Her hair tied up, just like the woman. They smile together as the girl looks up and continues to punch.

“Nice work, Gracelyn,” the woman says.

“Can I be like you one day?” the girl asks.

“Of course”. They smile at each other fondly and the girl continues her unconventional punches.

I open my eyes and they fade away. Like time herself. Nothing but the ring remains, alone in the seemingly endless abyss of the gym. The moonlight pierces through the ceiling windows and reflects off the aged equipment. Dust particles float around as I walk around the emptiness. It’s more spacious than I remembered, but it’s just the same as all those years ago. The same white painted walls we painted together, the same dusty floors, the same torn punching bag laid out on the floor. Even her office is still seemingly intact. My curiosity leads me toward it. 

The open frame has no door attached to it, as usual. Newspapers and open envelopes are scattered on the desk and floor. Atop the sea of paper lay a single red piece, which catches my eye as soon as I see it. I step through the empty frame slowly as I look around. Treading on the countless envelopes, I move towards the fluorescent sheet, like a lone rose in the thick snow. I cough and squint my eyes as the dust of the paper floats around the room. God knows how long they’ve been here.

As I get closer, I realize it’s another opened envelope. With my name on it, written in white ink.

 The moon continues to run through the building, reaching the chaotic office. I really shouldn’t be here, but still, I find myself picking it up and removing the creased letter. The moonlight diverts its focus to my bruised hands as I read blindly.

“My girl. Every day, I thank God for what I’ve lost. Because what I got from you was so much greater. I find peace in the fact that I’m leaving behind such a warrior. A queen, who smiles in the face of danger. I cannot say the same for myself, my dear. All that glitters is not gold. I know you’ll read this one day, so you shall know the truth in due time. Remember,

In your worst agony, I will cry for you. At your most dismal of lows, I will comfort you. In your highest of joys, I will sing for you. Forever and always.

May your eyes shine like they always have.

I’ll see you again, Mi Ligera.

Mama.”

My eyes quake as I drop the letter back in the pile. The battle is lost, as my eyes well up and submit to the torment. Streams run down my cheeks as my hands fall into my face. I crumble to the floor.

“You see, Gracelyn?” A sinister, raspy voice groans in my ear.

“We can’t have another mishap. Or you’ll end up just…like her.”

My body is consumed by darkness as I open my defeated eyes. The moon’s rays are gone. An ominous shadow lies before me. A phantom. The urge to spin my head overcomes my deep dread. My neck turns ever so hesitantly, like a hand on a broken clock. My face is frozen with fear. I cannot blink. The air around me becomes cold and malevolent. Two single tears seep back out of my eyes as I glare at the sheer horror before me. The realization washes over me like a river of blood. I soak inside the presence of this nightmare. My mouth gapes open and shudders. I must scream, but I have no voice.