Painite

It’s almost that time of year again. So many events surrounding one day. I’m hyperventilating. Needing air. It’s the same ghosts that haunt me every night.

I sigh to myself hoping I can go back to sleep but I can’t, instead I toss and turn. Grabbing my phone I realize, sweet, I can go get a quick workout before my meeting with my attorney.

I throw on a pair of sweats and a crop top, put my hair up in a messy bun then head down the elevator, to the lobby.

“Good morning, Ms. Frasier,” the doorman says with a smile.

“Hey Z. Bye Z.” I smile back, leaving my place.

My place.

My... place… it still feels weird to call it that.

The only place I’ve known for the last twenty years was a little suburban nowhere in Virginia. Moving to Chicago was impulsive, but I needed it. I needed to get out. I needed a new start. Being in Virginia was too constant a reminder of what I had and what was gone.

What was taken from me.

I stop by the entrance of Master Boxer and try to prep myself. I force my face to smile, so that old fucker can’t read me like a goddamn book, like he does every single time I come here.

“Think fucking happy thoughts… happy... thoughts…” I murmur to myself through gritted teeth. “Yeah… that’s convincing.”

I walk through the door and see Old Man carrying boxes to the front desk.

“Hey Old Man,” I say with a huge smile that I’ve pulled from the depths of my being just to trick him.

“What’s the matter, Baby Girl. Can’t sleep?” He drops the boxes and comes to look at my face.

I roll my eyes. “I smiled too hard didn’t I?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Too many teeth. Plus it’s four fourty-five. You’re early.”

“Well, yeah… no rest for the wicked, right? So here I am,” I say as I relax my face, hoping some kind of smile lingers.

He smirks. “Come on, Baby Girl, spar with me.” He shifts his head to the ring.

“Alright Old Man.” I nod, walking to the ring.

“I might be 60, but I will whoop that arse,” he says, his Irish showing.

When I first moved to Chicago, I did a lot of aimless early morning and late night walking around the city. I eventually stumbled into Master Boxer, a gym that was packed from eight in the morning until they closed around four. If you trudge into its sweaty smelling entrance during the abyssal hour of five, though, it is beautifully empty but open.

I’ve become a recluse, where I once enjoyed public activities and being around people, I now prefer to box before the sun rises, bantering with an old Irish man, in one of the biggest metropolitan cities. But I don’t know. It feels like the right place to live my next life.

The first time I came in, I paid for a one-time visit. I went straight to the speed bag. No warm up, just straight to release the pent up sadness and frustration I felt.

Old Man watched me for a minute then came up to me, and told me I sucked at both posture and form. I stared in awe but then laughed really hard. His bluntness was and is refreshing because it’s genuine and comes from a place of love.

And even though I’ll never admit it, I need that right now. Right now, I’m falling through an abyss, and I don’t know how to get out of it.

“So tell me what’s the matter,” Old Man says as he fixes my stance and fist.

“ I…” I let out a heavy breath. “Nothing.”

“Lese…” he says as a warning as he dodges my first punch.

“Nothing.”

I throw another punch.

For a moment, no one talks. Only the sounds of flesh and grunts echo through the gym. Every once in a while the squeak of our shoes as one of us dodges the other, breaks the wordless thoughts.

He fakes a punch then grabs my left fist and holds it still.

He looks deep into my eyes and says, “Baby Girl, I’ve known you for 6 months now and I’ll be honest with you, your mysterious ways have made me curious. You might think of me as an old man, but I know how computers work.”

“The revelation of the century,” I say in jest.

He smirks then says, “You don’t need to tell me. I already know.”

I propel my right fist into him, weakly hitting his chest since it’s not my dominant. I take a heavy breath, and my eyes water. He steps into me and holds me tight.

His warm embrace turns me into a child in need of comfort. So like a child, I let it out. My parents were never the comforting type, and I couldn’t rely on anyone but myself. But right now, this month specifically, I need someone there for me.

He walks me to the front desk area for a bit of privacy. “I’m not mad that you searched me. Honestly, it took you long enough,” I say through sobs. “I’m just not ready to talk about it.”

“It’s okay Baby Girl. I read through enough. You have been through so much and whenever you’re ready, I’m here. Okay?”

His thumbs clear my dripping tears. I nod silently, enjoying the feeling of being in his embrace.

The next few days will be very hard for me. My 14th anniversary, my birthday, and their death. It all comes crashing down like a ton of rocks burying me alive.

December 17th.

The day I was born and the day I died.