The Boxer

“I guess the run was a success?”
“No the run was a total washout…but I think it lead up to something.”
“Wasn’t that the reason?”
“Yeah, and we talked a bit. She actually listened to what I had to say.”
“Sure she’s just not being nice?”
“I don’t thinks she thinks that way.”
“And how does she think?” Mike asked as he tied his shoes.
I stood in front of my open gym locker as I dressed down in shorts, t-shirt, running shoes (I really did own only one pair) for P.E.
“A really…interesting’s not the word for it…it’s like…a well-developed sense of humor to go along with brain-”
"Then why's she with you?"
I didn’t even bother to turn my head to the direction of the voice that was on the other side of the bank of lockers. I knew who it was and for some reason I also knew that the day would not have ended without him saying something about her to me.
"Why would a girl who looks like her be with you?"
I didn’t bother to answer him and simply closed the door and secured the combination lock. James walked by the row of lockers, muttered something, shook his head and laughed as he left the locker room.
“I’m glad she’s not in this class,” I stated as I slammed my hand on the locker.
“Why? So she can’t see me having to drag your rear while running?”
“No, so she doesn’t have to hear him,” which was weird to say, since she couldn't hear him anyway.
“He’s just trying to get at you. She’s the new girl…everyone’s curious about her.”
“There’s curiosity and then there’s just downright pushy.”
“It’s just another day at school. You know James is an asshole and I know he’s an asshole. I’m sure Ceci knows it by now too and if not, it won’t be too difficult for her to notice.”

PE began each day with four laps around the gym. However, at our school you just didn’t go around the gym floor…instead, you would run around three sides of the gym and then climb two flights of the stairs to the upper balcony, run, jog, wheeze, past the Drama and Music Departments and then walk, run, fall and possibly kill yourself—be sure you tie your shoelaces—down another flight of stairs and then repeat the fun all over again!

The Advanced PE class had sixteen students: ten guys and six girls so the daily marathon never felt like a day on the I-90;-there was ample room to pace your run…or in my case, jog. I usually tried to keep up with Mike who, while not exactly “in shape”, knew how to breathe correctly while running…something I never figured out how do to until, well, that day.

Throughout the run I kept going, even when I was tiring out and on the verge of collapsing down a flight of stairs. As much as it should have felt like torture and as much as I should have been hacking up my lungs once again I was actually enjoying P.E. If doing this was a way to keep up with her and do something that she enjoyed to do, I should try to preserve and do it do. I had her voice in my ear, cheering me on…sure, she never said anything like what I was hearing in my head…but one could dream, right? Besides, what had happened earlier at lunch made me more ecstatic about this girl.
'Hey, Lawery!"
"Don 't talk, just run,” Mike cautioned. Yes, it was James coming up from behind.
"Lawery!” He yelled again. 'Does she put out?”

I really wished that I had a remote control that could mute James’ voice permanently. I didn't respond even though I knew that if I didn't say anything he would fire another shot. We may have lived in a civilized society but all bets were off inside the halls of a high school…particularly in a gym and there were no holds barred inside the locker room.
"Oh, I see, you don't know. Should have guessed. You don't mind if try and make her wail do you?"
I slowed my pace to a halt.
“James, I know that it may be impossible for you; but could you try, for the love of God, could you try, for once in your life, to shut up?”
Mike had stopped and tried to move me out of the way of the upcoming slaughter.
“Cease and desist, Andy.”
“Stay out of this, Couch," James ordered. Mike’s nickname was “couch" because he used to wear a t-shirt in P.E. that had a picture of a potato sitting lazily on sofa while watching TV with the words “couch potato” over it. Life was breathed into the name and it became Mike’s non de plume…that and any other word that meant “sofa”. I never referred to him by the nickname as it was given to him by the football team…kind of “that's our word” kind of thing. You just had to be on the team to understand and to use the word respectfully.

James was on the football team and for the reason Mike stopped trying to move me. He was caught between two worlds: the code of the football team and a friend. I thought that it was great for him to try to save me from myself as James was taller than me and in a greater physical shape and…let’s just chalk it up to sheer built-up frustration towards James.
“Whatever it is you have against me, and I cannot figure out exactly what that is right now...fine, but leave her alone!”
'You don't have the balls to do anything with her, do you Lawery?"
“James,” Mike warned.
“Just leave her alone.”
By this time, we had the attention of everyone in the class, including Coach Smith.

Coach Smith was THE coach. Every other person who used that title used it with his permission. Coach Smith once stopped the entire Davenport Gorilla football team from advancing the ball before they even stepped on the field. It was also once said that Coach Smith personally told Walter Camp the rules to football.

So you can assume that if the coach just simply whispered: 'What's going on over here?” then you would react as an army cadet and snap to attention.
“Nothing, Coach.”
"And what about you, Taylor? You got some problem you want the class to know about?"
"No, sir,” he replied.
"Fine, whatever, everybody circle up and stretch out!"

My heart raced at an attack level and the adrenaline running through my body felt worse than the effects after downing a six pack of “Jolt Cola”. I did not get pummeled at that time by James but I didn't get though class unscathed…as we played round after round of “battle ball”, which, at Reardan, was played with volleyballs. Each round was the same: James deliberately smashed me in the head and other body parts. Sure, hitting your opponent with the ball WAS the objective but after the sixteenth strike to the head I finally lost it and I rammed James into the bleachers.

It seemed like a good idea to do at the time but after the initial impact had worn off, I could see that James was….well, pissed and at that point I was, well…I still never say that word but it’s the one you would think to say when something very bad is about to occur or very good…I suppose…depending on your definition and how you're conjugating it.
James came to and wasted no time…like, man he was fast…in punching me in the gut and to the face. I didn’t feel any pain at that moment. I heard a ringing in my ears and everything sounded muffled…but I didn’t feel any pain. I turned away from James for a second as he moved closer.

I can still count the number of fights I have ever been in on one hand and in all of them, not one, had I ever followed any sort of rules. The youth center, an open field, a front yard, a high school gym…none of them fell under the rules of The Geneva Convention, Bushido, or a Dungeon Master’s Rulebook. In other words, in my opinion, I was free to do whatever I could to survive. I couldn’t outrun James and it was highly unlikely at that time I could survive a full-on grudge match with him so I did only what I could do: I turned toward him and rammed my knee, causing a direct strike to his groin. I then moved away and put my hands up in surrender.

“How did you get that?”
I stood next to Ceci in front of Mrs. Daiglar’s door, which was becoming our standard meeting place. It was the end of the school day. I had survived the rage without the cage match with little to no repercussions from James or the principal, after I went over the barrage of “tips” that James always gave me on the bus and his attitude towards girls in general. I didn’t consider it “tattling,” I thought it more as therapy.
“In P.E. I got into a fight. The fourth one in my entire life.”
"With who?" She asked as reached out to touch my face. My left cheek was puffed out and my chest still felt like someone was hitting it.
"James Taylor, you don't know-“
"-He's about six foot, and one really has to wonder who will ever marry him.”
“Yep.”
"You're okay, right?"
'I’m fine,” I lied. “How was your day?"
"Fun, it was so different than any other first day.” she replied
“A lot of, ‘firsts?”
“Too many to list. We can add your ‘first and last fight of junior year’, right?”
I nodded as we walked down the hall.
“Are you staying in town?”
“Yeah, drama practice this afternoon.”
“Come over afterward, if you want to, that is.”
“Sure…Umm, will your mom mind?”
“No, but thank you for asking,” she replied. “Break a leg.”
"Yeah, to go with my ribs."
"You're sure you're okay?”
"I will survive."
"If singing 70's hits makes you feel better."
"Thank you."
“Bye.”
I watched her walk down the hallway and thought that maybe I should just blow off practice and go with her…but…I decided to fight the devious emotions I was feeling at that time and turned to head back to the gym.
Mike met me at the door and we proceeded to walk up the stairs to the Drama department on the loft.

"How's the face?" Mike asked.
"Swell.”
“She worth it?”
“What, being forever on James’ hit list?”
“Of course.”
“Oh yes.”
“Figured you'd say that.”