Just a dumb fuck

Saturday morning was a very relaxed start. I didn’t get out of bed until nearly 07:15, and other than Kyle who beat me to it by a few minutes, I was the first up in our dorm. ‘The Martian’ was a longer film than we’d thought. There were just a handful of guys in the washroom along with me and Kyle, and Kyle was the only one shaving.

He saw me glance across at him and smiled. “It won’t be long before you’re shaving, Boots. If you have a razor, bring it along one Saturday or Sunday morning and I’ll show you how to use it. No harm in getting a little practice in early.  Or if you don’t have one, next time you get a weekend pass, we can go to the store and I’ll show you what you need to look for when buying. Probably take the rest of the rats along, they’re all going to need to learn in time too. Unless of course you’d prefer Nat and his swim buddy to teach you…” They’re never going to let that go.

“The rats,” as Kyle now kept calling us, were all up, showered and dressed by quarter past eight so we walked over to get breakfast together. I was going to be in the library for private study all morning so I didn’t need to be in uniform, but they were all in their blue working uniforms as they were doing drill practice until the lunch time stand-down. The main topic of conversation, between mouthfuls of pancakes and maple syrup, was Car Club which apparently was going to be the main activity for most of them in the afternoon. I was going along too. It didn’t start until 2 o’clock so I was planning to go to the gym straight after lunch with Travis and do some fitness training with the other boxers whilst he threw his weights around, then he’d take me and introduce me to Car Club.

Most of the juniors and seniors here have cars, actually most kids in America seem to have them, and they’re kept round the back of one of the classroom blocks on a separate car park. There’s a big garage there and that’s where Car Club meets. There’s a programme where they teach car maintenance and safety and stuff like that, but most of the guys join because a couple of weekends a month some of the deputies from the police department come in as part of a community initiative and help teach safe driving. Because the school is private property, we can get in a car and be taught how to use it and drive round the grounds. That way, as soon as we’re 16, we can apply for a learner’s permit and go out on the public roads with an adult. Travis says that the system here in Pennsylvania sucks because in his home state he already has a learner permit as their age qualification is just 14½! That could well be for an ox cart though.

Nathan’s already done his learner training and has something called a Junior licence, which allows him to drive cars in daylight, well up to 23:00 in fact, but he has restrictions on the number of passengers he can carry unless he has a parent or adult driver over 21 with him.  If he doesn’t get in any crashes and doesn’t get any traffic tickets he can change that to a full unrestricted licence after six months. He’s ticking off the days on his desk calendar and doesn’t have many to go. I’m not sure what licence I can apply for because I’m an alien but I’m going to try. Driving’s not a problem.  Obviously, I’ve never driven on a proper road but I can actually drive, I learned to drive ages ago. Dad taught me just as soon as I could touch the pedals and look through the windscreen at the same time. I can drive a proper gearbox too, so these American cars with their automatic cog stirring will be even easier.

Most guys at college have quite good cars, obviously money isn’t an issue if your parents send you here. I guess most of them will probably never need to service their own car in their life, they’ll just pay to get it done. Kyle’s car is a bit different though and I’m looking forward to seeing it. He’s got an old classic car, something called a Bronco, from 1971. He does all his own maintenance on it and the guys from our dorm help out. He got it as a birthday gift when he was 16 and has spent the last two years restoring it. It wasn’t in bad condition when he got it but he plans on making it back to original and showing it off at classic shows.

This afternoon Kyle is going to get his wheels back from the place in town where he’s had then re-chromed. At the moment he’s driving round on donor wheels because the car’s original chrome wheels were all flaked off due to years and years of use in winter salt. For the last few weeks the guys have been helping him with wire brushes to get the wheels back to bare steel, then he took them to a place in town to get new chrome put on them. They are done now, so today’s car club task is to go collect the wheels, then go to a tyre shop and get the tyres swapped back onto them and refit them to the car. Even though this isn’t a pass out Saturday for any of us, Kyle has been granted permission to go into town and get the wheels as a car club activity and there’s a chance he might take one of us with him. Seniors generally don’t do anything that a gopher can be used for so we’re all dropping hints…

* * *

Travis and me had a fast lunch as soon as the dining room was open. Meals are buffets at weekends, and the dining room is open for longer for each meal so people can come and go at a more leisurely pace than on weekdays. We were at the gym and changing by 12:30. I used the main changing room, not the separate one the boxers have around the far side. It seemed a good idea to minimise any chance of bumping into Jackson alone. Not that I am scared of him, I’m definitely not, but if any trouble starts it won’t be him that gets the blame will it?

Travis got to work on his weights and I went and made my presence known to Coach. He seemed pretty neutral about me and put me on some exercises to warm up: skipping and treadmill, then some practice on the punchbag. After about 30 minutes he called me and another guy, a sophomore I think, over to him and let us into the ring to do some light sparring. The other guy was called Ryan and though he was my height he wasn’t anywhere near as well built as me. I reckon I had 20 lbs over him, but I was just as fast as him, so we had a good couple of rounds and really worked up a sweat. Coach seemed happy enough with our performance and said he’s thinking of putting me into the New England States’ High School competitions that are coming up soon.

I was just about to go back to the punchbag when Jackson turned up. I planned to just ignore him and carry on with my punch practice, do a few warm down exercises and then leave ready for car club. As I said, I’m not scared of Jackson but I don’t see the point in giving him the chance to start trouble again.

“Coach,” shouted Jackson, “any objections to me using pup here to help me out with my punching practice, then maybe a couple of rounds in the ring?” Coach looked at me, the said “You okay with that Boots? Not going to start trouble?” He knows I’m not going to start trouble. I didn’t start trouble last time. Jackson is the one he should be warning, not me.

“I’m okay, Coach” I said, and then a little more quietly, “I think I’ve got space for a few more bruises.”

Jackson followed me over to the free punchbag and wound it up a few inches to a height that suited him. “Okay, pup,” he said, “steady it for me. Don’t let it swing free, I want it good and solid when I hit it.” He would’ve tapped me again in the face like he did last week but I’m wise to him, I made sure I was fast and out of his reach the moment I saw his hand start to move.

“Good reactions, pup,” he grinned.

For about the next ten minutes Jackson really laid into the punchbag. He’s got the strength, but he’s also fast: he was dancing round it, moving in to deliver a few punches, stepping back quick, shifting position, attacking again. I was having to work hard too, keeping the bag steady, moving round with it, and definitely ensuring I was always on the far side of it so I didn’t cop for an ‘accidental’ smash to the ribs or head. I have to give him his dues, Jackson may not be at the top of my Christmas card list as a person but he is one hell of a boxer. Coach has high hopes of him for the New England States’ championships at heavyweight class and I can see why. I can even feel why when he hits the bag, the power gets transmitted right through it, it’s not easy to hold it in place when he pummels it. He wasn’t saying anything to me, wasn’t even looking at me as he practiced, he was just 100% concentrating on making the bag suffer.

Finally, Jackson was satisfied and stepped back for a moment. I grabbed a couple of drinks bottles and passed one to him and started drinking from the other myself. I was every bit as hot and strained from the practice as he was. Coach wandered over and started unlacing Jackson’s gloves, replacing them with some lighter, softer, sparring gloves. That was good news, if I was going to be sparring with him I didn’t want him wearing his match gloves. By now quite a few of the guys in the gym had wandered over to the ring, clearly all wanting to see a repeat of last week’s bout. Travis was there, already up in the ring, standing in my corner, the challenger’s corner, eager to help me. I wouldn’t have put it past him to launch himself at Jackson if he felt he wasn’t fighting fair.

As Jackson and the coach climbed up into the ring, Travis told me to raise my arms as he got me ready to fight. As I did, he pulled my vest off over my head before he started lacing on my head protector. I twigged why he did it. It wasn’t just because I was already well warmed up, he wanted the onlookers to see the bruising I still had from last weekend. It didn’t look anywhere near as bad as when it was new, mainly dull yellow now, but it still showed. It was sending a message though. I wasn’t scared of Jackson even though I knew how much he could hurt me. “You good for this Boots?” Travis whispered in my ear as he put my mouthguard in. I nodded. I was as good as I was going to be.

Coach called us into the centre of the ring and gave us our warnings, told us he wanted a clean, fair fight, just two rounds, three minutes each, of sparring. As Coach stepped back I moved like lightning, gave Jackson a tap in the face just like he always tries to give me. No force, just a light tap, then back out of range. The guys round the ring loved it. Jackson didn’t seem bothered by it. A little surprised perhaps, and maybe annoyed that I had done to him first what I knew he would have done to me, but he didn’t over-react. I was keeping my eyes on Jackson but I swear in my peripheral vision I caught Coach give a slight smile. Jackson actually did go to his corner and waited for the start before coming out.

Both of us wanted the ring centre, and both of us got there at the same time. I told you, Jackson is fast. I already had my gloves up, arms tucked over my abdomen as we clashed against each other, bounced apart, then started trading jabs. Neither of us could find a way through in those initial seconds of probing. Jackson wasn’t punching hard, but be sure he wasn’t pansy punching either. No, he wasn’t unleashing anything like his full strength at me. He’d be taking his time, weighing me up, working out how tired I was, if I was still hurting and limited in any way from the beating he’d given me last week. He had nearly six minutes in total to beast me again, he didn’t need to rush.

I’d already decided to take the fight to him, keep him busy, make him have to work for the centre all the time, never cede it to him, continually jab at him, never give him a moment where he had time to relax. I kept on circling and pushing forward, stepping in and jabbing, stepping back fast. Jackson was good for that, always blocking, always fast to come back at me with jabs, suddenly charging me down the moment he felt I was about to attack him, trying to keep me off guard, to control every bit of the fight himself. He’d quickly stepped up the force in his punches, kept ratcheting it up, but always aiming straight for my gloves when he really unleashed a powerful blow. I was giving him equal measure, letting him feel my punches against his gloves, hitting hard in response to every hard blow he threw, dialling it down a fraction when he did.

The end of the round came faster than I expected. It was actually a full three minutes but I’d been so intent on the fight that it had flown by. We broke apart cleanly, very fast on my part. I was still very wary, wasn’t going to give him any opportunity to land a sly blow to my ribs as we separated. Back in my corner Travis was quick to get my mouthguard out and water down my throat. He looked concerned. “Can you keep this pace up Boots? He’s playing with you. Watch him. He’ll come at you hard this round.” Suddenly Travis is an expert on boxing. Offering me advice! He’s right though. Jackson is definitely holding back. He’s actually just sparring with me, just like he should be in practice. I know he’s got plenty more to give, more power, no lack of stamina, almost as fast as me. A longer reach. Way more weight, and all of it muscle. I have to be careful.

Jackson is already getting to his feet, finished talking with Coach, standing up, waiting for the re-start. He looks awesome. The light catching the sheen of sweat over his muscles. Strength and power just emanating from him. All the guys round the ring are buzzing. They know they’ve just seen a good first round, are eager to see the second. They know Jackson is built like a battleship, that he isn’t scared of me. That he’s likely to just bide his time then suddenly explode on me, smother me with a barrage of blows from every direction, smash me down to the floor.

Bring it on Jackson. I’m not going to let you win that easy. You can fool Coach with your playing but I’m ready for you. The moment you start to fight instead of spar I am going to go for you. Targeted aggression. Controlled aggression. I know I can’t beat you but I’m not going to lose to you. You’re going to have to win, and I am going to hurt you as I go down. I don’t care how many blows you land on me, I’m going to get some punches in on you, and you will feel them.

Travis pushed me forward into the ring the moment Coach called us to fight. Jackson was at the centre just a fraction of a second after me, throwing a couple of jabs, hard jabs, at my gloves, intent on pushing me back. I sideslipped round him, put a couple of jabs into his ribs as I went by. Not enough to hurt him, just letting him know I was there, that I still had plenty of fight left in me, that I can still move that fraction faster than him, that I will always manage to get a punch in somewhere. Instantly he was onto me, a barrage of punches down low, then high, swinging in from left and right, then stepping back fast. I blocked virtually every one of them. They were all hard punches but fair punches. He was still sparring but letting me know how dangerous he is.

He’s wearing me down though. The attacks never stop, but every attack I make he blocks and pushes me back onto the defensive, comes at me hard and fast. Even though he lands most of his punches on my gloves I feel the power in every one of them. And there’s the ever-present threat that any point he will just use his sheer strength and power to brush my gloves aside, start to really hammer a few punches into my head or body, step the whole game up to a new level. Stop sparring, start fighting. That’s when I have to be ready, regain the initiative just briefly, surprise him, make sure that in the instant before he overwhelms me I manage to give him everything I have, get in just that one punch that will make him understand I can hurt him back, make him question if it was worth it.

We close again, me ducking and weaving around his punches as he seeks to dominate the centre, pushing forward to try and drive him back. I don’t think he’s been anywhere near the ropes in this bout. Neither of us have. He’s done everything to push me back but I’ve evaded him, danced, always come back at him. Here he comes, another flurry of jabs at my head, slamming into my gloves like freight trains. I twist sideways, throw a couple of punches to his chest, aim one down to his abdomen, can’t get past his gloves, he’s blocking everything I throw at him. Coming back at me...

“BREAK!”

Coach is in between us, calling time. It can’t be! It bloody is! Travis is smiling at me like a loon. The guys round the ring are shouting and cheering. Jackson is putting his arm in the air, acknowledging the audience. Coach is smiling too. “See Boots, no need to go at him like Superman. Play fair and Jackson will play fair. Now go and warm down, get showered. You’ve done well today.”

As the crowd started to disperse Jackson remained in the ring centre, that look on his face again. The one I can never quite interpret. Travis is by my side, removing my mouthguard, bringing me water. I notice he’s made sure he’s between me and Jackson.

“Nice colours,” Jackson said, looking at my fading bruises, “makes you look like some kind of chameleon. I’d swear they were purple last week.”

“Got them playing water polo.”

Travis is clearly getting worried as I front off to Jackson. He knows I won’t back down even though he’s trying to steer me back to my corner.

Jackson is filling my entire field of view. “Didn’t have you down as a pansy,“ he said, quietly, “I thought they all shaved their legs.” That’s bloody rich coming from him! Trying to call me a pansy. He’s the one that fucks guys.

Coach has gone but I can see a few of the guys starting to turn around and drift back towards the ring. They can sense something is in the air even if they can’t hear what’s being said.

“Go get showered, pup.”

I was ready. The moment I saw his arm muscle even begin to flex, I was moving. My glove was up in front of my face to protect it. Stopped his glove in mid-air a good few inches away as he tried to give me one of his condescending face taps. I didn’t step back, and I didn’t counter. Just stood there, fending his glove back.

“I’m doing the face taps today, Jackson, not you.”

Travis looks like he’s having kittens.

Jackson broke into a smile. “Coach was right. You are a feisty pup.” He lowered his hand and stepped back. “Come on, let’s hit those showers.”

I let Travis steer me back to the corner, climbed out of the ring with him, started to head towards the main changing room. Travis still has his hand on my shoulders, keeping the pace fast. He wants distance between me and Jackson. Jackson is heading the other way, to the boxers’ changing rooms out the other side of the hall. He paused for a moment as he saw me going the other way, looked as though he was about to say something, then turned around and carried on. The show was over. I can feel Travis relaxing.

* * *

News travels bloody fast round here. By the time me and Travis were showered and back at the dorm everybody seemed to know what happened in the gym. Several guys even gave me a slap on the back or a “well done Boots,” as we passed by on our trog back to the dorm. The only person who didn’t seem to share in the general congratulations was Kyle. He was waiting with the rest of the rats when we got back, ready to depart over to the Car Club for the remainder of the afternoon as planned. He wasn’t exactly mad at me or anything like that, just kind of not so happy as everyone else. As we walked over to the garage and car lot – which is what I am meant to call it, not a car park – he just said quietly to me “You’ve made your point Boots, now let the embers die out before Jackson pisses on you.” Like as if I lit the bloody fire in the first place!