cried my eyes out like I was five and lost my favorite stuffed animal. I wish it was a stupid plush doll that I lost. It wasn’t. It was the one woman who raised me and loved me, and although she didn’t have much to give, the love she poured into me was everything I needed.
A piece of me died with my mother that day, and I fucking hated the world after that.
I clear my throat at the resurface of the memory. It hits me deep and hard, like it was yesterday. I’m thankful I had Natalia there with me that day. I don’t know what my life would be like today if she wasn’t a part of it. She was always there, especially when I needed her the most. Even when I didn’t ask, she just showed up and held me on the day that felt like the world was at an end.
I shake away the thoughts, and turn my back to the bag. There are many teenage boys and men surrounding the ring and one boxer being trained in the center of the ring by Alfredo. I shove a hand into the pocket of my hoodie and with my other hand I hold the strap around my shoulder in place as I make my way toward the ring. A boy who’s doing crunches on a floor mat—he has to be around the age of sixteen or younger—glances at me as he makes his way up from a sit-up. He does a double take, then his mouth drops open in shock.
“Julian-The Champ-Rios?” he shouts out. I nod, a humble grin settles on my face. My mind still reeling from my recent memory. I love my fans, especially the younger ones who look up to me. I remember being his age and feeling the same excitement when I met my first real life pro-boxer in this very gym. “Holy shit! It is you!” He jumps up and runs toward me. I stop in my tracks and greet him with a handshake.
My smile broadens as his eyes light up. “You’re my idol!” he says, “What’re you doing here?”
“Your idol, huh?” I shake my head. “Nah, kid. I’m sure there are better men out there you can look up to.” I nudge his shoulder with a bent elbow, playfully.
He laughs. “Are you kidding me? Thirty-six fights, zero losses, thirty-two won by knockout, four by unanimous decision? You are my idol! I want to be just like you !” God, I hope not, kid. I hope you’ll be better. So much better. But I keep that comment to myself.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“I’m Luis, but everyone calls me Slick, because I’m slick in the ring.” He bounces on his toes, dancing around me with his fists up as he jabs the air.
Chuckling, I nod. “Cool, I see you got some skills there. Keep it up.”
“Are you sticking around? Maybe you can show me some moves.”
“Uh, if I don’t get kicked out, then maybe,” I say as I look up and see Alfredo glaring holes at me. By this point, others have noticed me and I’m surrounded by a small group of people, asking for autographs. I sign gloves, T-shirts and even hand wraps before Alfredo steps down and approaches me. He doesn’t say a word, instead he storms past me and into his office.
“Nice meeting you all,” I yell out, as I follow closely behind Al; I know he wants to speak in private.
Once we are in his office with the door closed, he takes a seat behind his desk in a worn out, ripped leather chair. I look around; posters of fighters he’s trained cover the plain wall. I notice a poster of me behind his desk. It’s torn and warped a bit after a few years of hanging from his wall. His office is still cramped with file cabinets, paperwork and expense documents spreading along the entire space.
“So, I see you still have a bad habit of being unorganized.” I swipe at a pile of papers on a chair and take a seat. It doesn’t matter if I make more of a mess, there is crap all over the floor as well. What’s an extra stack of paper?
“Cut the crap and get to the point. What’re you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and say hi,” I spit out, irritated he’s still upset with me. I place my bag beside me on the floor and pull down
A piece of me died with my mother that day, and I fucking hated the world after that.
I clear my throat at the resurface of the memory. It hits me deep and hard, like it was yesterday. I’m thankful I had Natalia there with me that day. I don’t know what my life would be like today if she wasn’t a part of it. She was always there, especially when I needed her the most. Even when I didn’t ask, she just showed up and held me on the day that felt like the world was at an end.
I shake away the thoughts, and turn my back to the bag. There are many teenage boys and men surrounding the ring and one boxer being trained in the center of the ring by Alfredo. I shove a hand into the pocket of my hoodie and with my other hand I hold the strap around my shoulder in place as I make my way toward the ring. A boy who’s doing crunches on a floor mat—he has to be around the age of sixteen or younger—glances at me as he makes his way up from a sit-up. He does a double take, then his mouth drops open in shock.
“Julian-The Champ-Rios?” he shouts out. I nod, a humble grin settles on my face. My mind still reeling from my recent memory. I love my fans, especially the younger ones who look up to me. I remember being his age and feeling the same excitement when I met my first real life pro-boxer in this very gym. “Holy shit! It is you!” He jumps up and runs toward me. I stop in my tracks and greet him with a handshake.
My smile broadens as his eyes light up. “You’re my idol!” he says, “What’re you doing here?”
“Your idol, huh?” I shake my head. “Nah, kid. I’m sure there are better men out there you can look up to.” I nudge his shoulder with a bent elbow, playfully.
He laughs. “Are you kidding me? Thirty-six fights, zero losses, thirty-two won by knockout, four by unanimous decision? You are my idol! I want to be just like you !” God, I hope not, kid. I hope you’ll be better. So much better. But I keep that comment to myself.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“I’m Luis, but everyone calls me Slick, because I’m slick in the ring.” He bounces on his toes, dancing around me with his fists up as he jabs the air.
Chuckling, I nod. “Cool, I see you got some skills there. Keep it up.”
“Are you sticking around? Maybe you can show me some moves.”
“Uh, if I don’t get kicked out, then maybe,” I say as I look up and see Alfredo glaring holes at me. By this point, others have noticed me and I’m surrounded by a small group of people, asking for autographs. I sign gloves, T-shirts and even hand wraps before Alfredo steps down and approaches me. He doesn’t say a word, instead he storms past me and into his office.
“Nice meeting you all,” I yell out, as I follow closely behind Al; I know he wants to speak in private.
Once we are in his office with the door closed, he takes a seat behind his desk in a worn out, ripped leather chair. I look around; posters of fighters he’s trained cover the plain wall. I notice a poster of me behind his desk. It’s torn and warped a bit after a few years of hanging from his wall. His office is still cramped with file cabinets, paperwork and expense documents spreading along the entire space.
“So, I see you still have a bad habit of being unorganized.” I swipe at a pile of papers on a chair and take a seat. It doesn’t matter if I make more of a mess, there is crap all over the floor as well. What’s an extra stack of paper?
“Cut the crap and get to the point. What’re you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and say hi,” I spit out, irritated he’s still upset with me. I place my bag beside me on the floor and pull down
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