On the Ropes Read online

  “Alright, Tyler. Come on up,” Jimmy says, defeated.

  Tyler’s eyes and face light up when he hears Jimmy.

  Both Jimmy and I go to opposite corners, giving Tyler the middle of the ring. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice all the kids gathering around the ring, watching in awe. We’re violating one of Frankie’s numerous rules: No kids on the canvas.

  Tyler clears his throat and puts on his best announcer’s voice, “Introducing first: Fighting out of the red corner, wearing green trunks with white trim, weighing in at…” Tyler looks at me in a panic.

  “One hundred and sixty pounds,” I whisper.

  “Weighing in at one hundred and sixty pounds,” he sounds so confident, “Gabriel ‘The Saint’ Vega!” he yells.

  The kids on the outside of the ring begin to cheer.

  Tyler then turns his attention towards Jimmy’s side of the ring. “Fighting out of the blue corner, wearing black trunks with red trim, weighing in at…”

  “One hundred and sixty-nine pounds,” Jimmy whispers to Tyler.

  “One hundred and sixty-nine pounds, Jimmy ‘The Jackhammer’ Santoro!”

  I hear booing from outside the ring. Looking at Jimmy from across the ring, I begin laughing. Shrugging my shoulders, then pounding my gloves together, I taunt him, “You’re going down, Jackhammer!”

  “In your dreams, Saint.”

  Tyler motions us to the middle of the ring. “I wanna good, clean fight. Tap gloves and good luck!”

  I can’t resist smiling at him, he’s taking the job so seriously. It makes me wonder how many boxing matches this kid has watched. Jimmy touches his gloves to mine in “the boxer’s handshake,” then we step back to our corners. Tyler quickly exits the ring and the bell rings, signaling the start of the round.

  Jimmy and I dance around, each of us throwing jabs but not hitting the other. The kids are cheering me on, “Come on, Saint! Hit ‘em!” one of them yells.

  Jimmy’s toying with me just as much as I’m toying with him. We’ve probably sparred over a thousand times throughout the years and have become the best of friends. That in-house suspension back in the seventh grade was one of the best things that could have happened for either of us. It was during those few days, that we discovered how much we had in common. Both of us grew up in the same type of situation and had shitty parents. A strong bond was formed, and we even agreed that Tina wasn’t worth our time or energy; boy, was she pissed when we both started ignoring her. Jimmy and I were pretty tight until he ended up living in a foster home outside of our school district. We were separated and lost contact, until the day Frankie had taken Jimmy in off the streets to show him the world of boxing; just like me. Frankie was well known in the community for taking troubled teens off the streets and showing them another way of life, so I wasn’t too surprised when he stepped in to save Jimmy too.

  I owe my life to Frankie. I was headed down the wrong path and hanging with the wrong crowd when we were introduced. Skipping school, doing drugs, and stealing cars was just another day in my life. Eventually, I found myself arrested and facing grand theft auto charges. At my arraignment, my foster family told the judge they couldn’t handle me anymore, and the judge ordered me to one year in a juvenile detention center for boys.

  After my hearing, the judge presiding over my case pulled me into his chambers. As I’d walked through the doorway, I had immediately noticed the wall of books behind the judge’s desk. I’d never seen so many books in one place before, besides the school library. Curious, I’d looked around the room, and the paintings on the walls had caught my attention. One of them had a guy wearing a black robe and a strange white wig on his head; I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Gabriel,” I jumped in surprise. The judge was sitting in an oversized leather chair behind his massive mahogany desk. Reluctantly, I took a few steps closer to him. “May I call you Gabriel?” the judge asked in a stern voice.

  I nodded my head nervously.

  “Please, have a seat,” he instructed me, as his tone lightened. “I’m Judge Ferrier and I’m familiar with you and your brother, Jason’s, history.”

  My eyes grew wide at his words.

  “I was Judge Marshall’s law clerk in your father’s case,” he explained to me.

  I sat in silence as Judge Ferriter spoke. He began to tell me about my father and his trial. I hadn’t thought of my father in years; I’d actually tried my best to erase that part of my childhood from my memories. It’d taken some time, but I had managed to push all thoughts of my mother and father out of my head. The only part of my childhood that I cared to remember was Jase. Though it had been several years since I’d seen him, I still thought about him every day. I’d hoped and prayed he’d found a foster family who loved and cared for him; that he didn’t get stuck with a family like mine, one that was just in it for the money.

  “You know where Jase is?” I blurted out.

  He nodded, “Yes. When I saw your name come up on my docket sheet, I knew it looked familiar. I took it upon myself to look up your file, as well as Jason’s.”

  Jase had a file? That meant that he’d been in trouble too. My heart had broken at the realization that he hadn’t found the family we’d both hoped and dreamed of.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen or heard from him?” Judge Ferriter asked me.

  “’Bout five years,” I paused, “we lost track of each other.”

  “I’ll see what I can do for you two to see each other.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked, skeptically.

  I didn’t trust anyone, and why should I? My mother had been a junkie and my father was an asshole who had brutally beaten and killed her. Every single one of the foster homes I’d lived in had only wanted me around for the paycheck. Not one adult in my life, except Mrs. Gibbons, had ever been kind to me, let alone loved me.

  “Because I believe you should have a fighting chance. I’ve seen too many kids come through my courtroom with similar situations as yours, and guess where the majority of them end up?”

  “Jail?” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Jail,” he repeated back to me, as he sat up straight in his chair and leaned forward.

  He continued his story, explaining that he’d been appalled that Child Protective Services had never stepped in when Jase and I lived with our parents. He said that he became even more disgusted when he’d discovered that Jase and I had been separated.

  “Gabriel, I think you have potential. I’ve been in contact with the principal at your school, and he tells me that you’re a straight A student; when you are there,” he paused momentarily. “But, you need to get your shit together or I’ll have no other choice but to send you to the boys’ home,” he leaned back in his chair. “I know a guy on the south side of town, his name is Frankie Carbone, and he runs a boxing program for ‘at risk’ kids.”

  Judge Ferriter had spoken with such passion about Frankie and his gym. He’d explained how they’d grown up in the same neighborhood. Both of them came from low income families and grew up on the streets as well, each of them taking a different route into adulthood. One went into law while the other went into social work, helping “at risk” kids. Years later, they ran into one another at a benefit for Frankie’s program.

  Judge Ferriter had spoken candidly with me about Frankie, “He’s not going to put up with any shit, Gabriel. He’s a fair man, but if you show up late or don’t show up at all, you’re done. You’ll find yourself in the boys’ home faster than you can blink an eye.”

  I had agreed to meet with Frankie since the alternative was living in the dreaded boys’ home. The judge called Frankie and explained my situation. Then he set up a meeting between Frankie and me at Frankie’s gym the next day at “Seven a.m. … sharp.”

  An uppercut to the face knocks me out of my memory. “What the fuck, Jimmy?” I can taste the blood on my lip as my tongue runs over it.

  From across the gym I hear, “Get your head in the
fuckin’ fight, Gabriel!” God, I hate that he calls me Gabriel. I’ve always hated my name; it’s the last remnant of what connects me to my parents. When I took on the fight name, ‘The Saint,’ I insisted that everyone call me that instead; Frankie never has.

  “Chill the fuck out, old man! My head’s in it!” I bark back at him.

  “You alright, Saint?” Jimmy asks.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking about Jase.”

  “Have you heard from him lately?”

  “Nah, he’s hooked on dope. The last time I heard from him was a couple years ago and all he wanted was money.”

  “Aw, fuck, Saint. I had no idea,” Jimmy says, remorsefully.

  I shrug, “It is what it is. I can’t make him get clean unless he wants to. That’s enough talk… let’s go,” I force a smile as I take a swing, missing him.

  “You’re going to have to be faster than that when you fight ‘The Gladiator,’” Frankie yells.

  The two of us spar for the next half hour until Jimmy’s girlfriend, Stephannie, and her friends show up.

  “Dude, that’s my cue. My lady’s here,” Jimmy smiles across the ring at Stephannie.

  Looking over at her, I wave. Those two have been together since they were kids, and I’m pretty sure she’s the only chick he’s ever slept with. I’m actually envious of their relationship. I’d kill to find an amazing girl like her. She puts up with his shit, supports his boxing career one hundred percent, and has never missed a single one of his fights.

  Waving back, she says, “Hey Saint, we’re headed down to Patsy’s for a few drinks. You wanna join us?”

  My eyes dart over to Frankie, checking to see if he heard her. Thankfully, he’s too busy with the younger kids and isn’t paying attention to us. He’s giving them a run for their money with the punching bags. I laugh to myself, remembering the first time I ever stepped foot in this gym.

  I’d been an arrogant punk who thought I knew everything. But within the first thirty minutes of training, I was dry heaving over a trash can. I remember hearing Frankie mutter under his breath, “This kid’s never going to make it.” That was all I’d needed to hear to give me the determination to do it. I’d been told by my father, my teachers, and my foster families that I was never going to amount to anything. So, I set out to prove them all wrong.

  “Come on, let’s hit the showers,” Jimmy says, patting me on the back. “Give us twenty minutes and we’ll be ready to go,” he murmurs to Stephannie as he kisses her on the cheek.

  She pushes him away. “Please, take your time… you two stink!” laughing, she pinches her nose with her fingers.

  Sauntering by Stephannie and her two friends, I give them a wink, “Ladies.”

  I hear them giggling and whispering behind me.

  As Jimmy and I walk toward the locker room, I ask, “Who are those chicks Stephannie has with her?” and glance back at them.

  “That’s Sarah and Aimee. She works with them at Applebees. We’ve hung out with them before and they’re pretty cool.” Jimmy sits down on the bench to remove his gloves.

  “Not too bad on the eyes either,” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Oh come on, Saint, don’t try anything on them. Stephannie will fuckin’ kill me,” he groans as he opens his locker door.

  “I’m not making any promises.”

  Both of us are showered and ready within twenty minutes. Stephannie and her friends are waiting outside in the car. As we reach the car, Jimmy pulls me aside and says, “Dude, be on your best behavior tonight. I don’t need Stephannie pissed at me because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”

  “Scouts honor,” stifling my laugh, I raise three fingers.

  “Fuck you, man. You’ve never been a scout.”

  Both of us are laughing as we climb into the car.

  “What’s so funny?” Stephannie inquires.

  “Nothin’ doll, just a dirty joke Saint told me on the way to the car.” He gives her a kiss on the lips.

  “’Sup ladies, I’m Saint. Nice to meet you.” I wink at them again.

  Both of them giggle as they slide over to the left side of the car. “Hi, I’m Aimee, and this is Sarah,” the sexy brunette offers as she flirtatiously plays with her hair.

  Immediately, I can tell Aimee is more outgoing than Sarah. She has long brown hair, emerald green eyes, a killer smile, and huge tits; I can’t help but stare at them. Sarah’s clearly more reserved but just as pretty as Aimee. She has shoulder length, wavy brown hair, and chestnut colored eyes. She certainly isn’t lacking in the titty department either, yet hers are smaller than Aimee’s. Both of them are dressed casually in jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers.

  “What’s your poison?” I ask. “I’ll buy you pretty ladies a drink at Patsy’s.”

  “Rum and Coke for me,” Aimee replies enthusiastically.

  “And I like Mudslides,” Sarah answers shyly.

  I look over at Sarah. “Don’t be shy, love,” I whisper, giving her my sexy smirk.

  I know I have Aimee exactly where I want her, now I need to work on Sarah. I’ve already convinced myself that I’m taking one of them home tonight, if not both. The thought of the two of them kissing each other gives me a semi. I try to shake the thought out of my head, no point in jumping to conclusions.

  We make small talk the rest of the way to Patsy’s. Stephannie fills me in on how the three of them met at Applebees; where Aimee’s a hostess, and Sarah’s a waitress.

  “That’s cool. I work with troubled youth at the gym.”

  “Oh my God, no way… that’s incredible!” Aimee exclaims.

  “Yeah, I’ve been with Frankie since I was a kid. He’s like the father I never had,” I say, staring out my window. I’m not really sure why I said that, I hate talking to people about my childhood; I don’t want or need their pity. Snapping out of it, I perk up once I realize we’re parked outside of Patsy’s.

  Opening the car door, I hold my arm out and wait for Aimee and Sarah to climb out, “Ladies, after you.”

  “Well, aren’t you the gentlemen,” Aimee says, brazenly touching my chest.

  “Jimmy! Saint!” I hear from behind the bar as soon as we walk through the door.

  “Hey Patsy! How’s it hangin’?” I approach the bar.

  Patsy’s full name is Patrick O’Reilly. He’s one hundred percent, full-blooded Irish, and he makes a point of telling everyone he meets. But for whatever reason, he goes by the name Patsy, which is also the name of his beloved bar that he and his wife opened almost forty years ago.

  “Oh kid, I’m old. It’s hangin’ pretty low these days,” Patsy laughs, looking at me with his pale blue eyes. For a guy in his seventies, he looks pretty good. Except, his hair is pure white, and his skin has a ruddy appearance from the busted capillaries on his nose and cheeks; thanks to years of drinking.

  “Patsy, you don’t look a day over a hundred,” Jimmy jokes as he walks up behind me.

  Pulling the bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf, Patsy says, “Jimmy, watch your mouth, boy. I can still kick your ass. I’ve been fighting for the last sixty years.”

  Growing up in an Irish Catholic family, Patsy was born and raised in fighting. In this neighborhood, you either boxed or you joined the military; Patsy chose to box. There were even rumors floating around that he fled to Canada to avoid the Vietnam War draft. He’s my number one fan. He hasn’t missed one of my fights since I started, and you’ll usually find him sitting in my corner with Frankie.

  “Jimmy, leave the ole bastard alone.” I laugh, clasping his shoulder. “Anyways, my money would be on Patsy.”

  “Jimmy, what’s your girl drinking?” Patsy asks, motioning his head in Stephannie’s direction.

  Jimmy hollers across the bar, “Steph! Whatta you want?”

  “A Margarita on the rocks!” she calls back.

  “You heard the lady, she wants a Margarita on the rocks,” Jimmy confirms, as he turns back towards Patsy.

  “Her friends want a Mu
dslide and a Rum and Coke,” I quickly add.

  Patsy shakes his head, “Girlie drinks. In my day, women drank High Balls and Martinis.”

  “Make ‘em strong, Patsy,” I tell him on the sly.

  “’Atta boy, Saint,” he laughs.

  I turn my attention to where Aimee and Sarah are sitting at the table, whispering to Stephannie. Both of them look over and smile in my direction. Like taking candy from a baby.

  “Christ Saint, you’re going to fuck both of them tonight, aren’t you?” Jimmy says.

  “Sure the fuck am,” I declare with a shit-eating grin.

  Jimmy shakes his head in disapproval. “Stephannie is gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he mutters.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to live with her.”

  We grab the drinks and walk over to our table. “Here you go, lovely ladies,” I grin at Sarah. Knowing she’s going to be the hardest one of the two, I need to work my magic. I pull a chair out, positioning it closer to her, and I sit so that our bodies are touching.

  Nudging her with my shoulder I ask, “So Sarah, why don’t you tell me more about yourself.”

  I feel her body stiffen and her face turns a bright shade of red.

  “Um… not much to tell. I live with my parents, work at Applebees, and attend community college for Early Childhood Education,” she says quietly.

  I rub her forearm gently with my index finger. “Oh, a college girl.”

  She laughs nervously, “Yeah, Aimee and I are both studying Early Childhood.”

  I gulp down the last of my Jack and Coke, “Oh, two college girls… nice! Jimmy, you ready for another?”

  He looks down at his glass, “Yup.”

  “Patsy!” I yell, raising my glass in the air. “We need another round.”

  “Coming right up!”

  I push my chair back and stand up saying, “I’m gonna hit the head.”

  “I gotta go, too. I’ll follow you,” Stephannie says, giving me the evil eye.

  “Stephannie, don’t try any funny stuff on me on the way to the bathroom,” I joke.

  “Ha! In your dreams, my friend!” Jimmy yells.