rest of our ride. We traced the river and things became more broken down. The houses looked more overgrown. We passed vacant lots and a couple empty office buildings with cracked windows. These too went away after a few blocks and we entered a worn out downtown with tired looking people on the streets.
We parked by the curb and went in the career center building. Gina introduced herself to the manager who took her to an office and set her up with a computer. He came back out and led me to a block of cubicles. I would be helping people with their job search for a couple hours. I’d volunteered here back when I was applying for school, so I could get straight into it.
The first man that came in had grown up around here. He was white and looked worn, and he seemed a little aback at seeing me. I hoped it was cause of my age, but people in Downriver still had a reputation for not being all that accepting of color.
“So what experience do you have, Mr. Jacobs?” I asked.
“Been sick a while.”
“So no work experience then?” I asked, looking over the bleak options on screen. “What about school?”
“Almost finished 11th grade.”
“Hmm.” I made a long show of looking at stuff, but there was really nothing. No diploma, no experience - there was nothing on offer for a guy like that. I talked to him about GEDs and some factory work. He just looked back at me with a gruff face until I was done and asked if there was anything office related. I could only say, “Nothing at the moment.”
Most of my appointments went like that. Even for people slightly better off, there weren’t many good options. It would take every ounce of energy in them to fight their way out and most no longer had the strength. I felt guiltier as the hours ticked by. These people needed help, but I was just window dressing. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Gina. That was something else I lost hiding from risk: not wanting to waste time helping others.
I remembered again the way Sean had looked at my house. We lived in one of the nicer parts of Detroit, but to him, it was a castle. It struck me that he must have come from somewhere like this. Somewhere where he’d had to literally fight his way out. It made anything I’d done look like child’s play in comparison.
Gina finished up. In four hours, she had done a complete rewrite of the user interface. Their system practically sparkled, though the grim options behind it didn’t change. The manager thanked the both of us, and we left and headed back to our part of the city.
Gina didn’t probe me much more. I was lost in thought anyway. When we got back, I whipped out my MacBook and started reading about the Detroit fighting circles. I started watching a few matches and got engrossed. The fights wouldn’t have caught my attention on their own, but imagining Sean’s face made everything all the more personal.
I started reading bios from fighters not just in the US, but around the world. Some of the stories were remarkable. These weren’t guys from the wrestling teams in good high schools. They were, almost without fail, backstreet brawlers who found a legal outlet for their talents.
Mom came home from her early shift at the hospital. Dad came back an hour later. I sat engrossed till I was called to eat.
I slurped through soup and most of the meal, oblivious to the conversation. I had the night off from Giuseppe’s. I hadn’t planned on turning this into a fight research night, but learning about the sport was a fascinating window into a world I’d never even known.
Gina was talking about the day, and I tuned it out, until my ears picked up on some fateful words: “rough white boy.”
I snapped to her in time to hear her finish the sentence: “dropped her back home this morning.”
“What the heck, girl?” I asked Gina.
She gave me a devious smile. “You told on my boyfriend, before.”
“That was different. He was…no good.”
He was a jock, with a
We parked by the curb and went in the career center building. Gina introduced herself to the manager who took her to an office and set her up with a computer. He came back out and led me to a block of cubicles. I would be helping people with their job search for a couple hours. I’d volunteered here back when I was applying for school, so I could get straight into it.
The first man that came in had grown up around here. He was white and looked worn, and he seemed a little aback at seeing me. I hoped it was cause of my age, but people in Downriver still had a reputation for not being all that accepting of color.
“So what experience do you have, Mr. Jacobs?” I asked.
“Been sick a while.”
“So no work experience then?” I asked, looking over the bleak options on screen. “What about school?”
“Almost finished 11th grade.”
“Hmm.” I made a long show of looking at stuff, but there was really nothing. No diploma, no experience - there was nothing on offer for a guy like that. I talked to him about GEDs and some factory work. He just looked back at me with a gruff face until I was done and asked if there was anything office related. I could only say, “Nothing at the moment.”
Most of my appointments went like that. Even for people slightly better off, there weren’t many good options. It would take every ounce of energy in them to fight their way out and most no longer had the strength. I felt guiltier as the hours ticked by. These people needed help, but I was just window dressing. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Gina. That was something else I lost hiding from risk: not wanting to waste time helping others.
I remembered again the way Sean had looked at my house. We lived in one of the nicer parts of Detroit, but to him, it was a castle. It struck me that he must have come from somewhere like this. Somewhere where he’d had to literally fight his way out. It made anything I’d done look like child’s play in comparison.
Gina finished up. In four hours, she had done a complete rewrite of the user interface. Their system practically sparkled, though the grim options behind it didn’t change. The manager thanked the both of us, and we left and headed back to our part of the city.
Gina didn’t probe me much more. I was lost in thought anyway. When we got back, I whipped out my MacBook and started reading about the Detroit fighting circles. I started watching a few matches and got engrossed. The fights wouldn’t have caught my attention on their own, but imagining Sean’s face made everything all the more personal.
I started reading bios from fighters not just in the US, but around the world. Some of the stories were remarkable. These weren’t guys from the wrestling teams in good high schools. They were, almost without fail, backstreet brawlers who found a legal outlet for their talents.
Mom came home from her early shift at the hospital. Dad came back an hour later. I sat engrossed till I was called to eat.
I slurped through soup and most of the meal, oblivious to the conversation. I had the night off from Giuseppe’s. I hadn’t planned on turning this into a fight research night, but learning about the sport was a fascinating window into a world I’d never even known.
Gina was talking about the day, and I tuned it out, until my ears picked up on some fateful words: “rough white boy.”
I snapped to her in time to hear her finish the sentence: “dropped her back home this morning.”
“What the heck, girl?” I asked Gina.
She gave me a devious smile. “You told on my boyfriend, before.”
“That was different. He was…no good.”
He was a jock, with a
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