A Fighting Chance

I could feel the bad news coming. Doc always made me wait longer when he knew I wouldn’t like the diagnosis.

I sat hunched over in his examining room, staring at my swollen knuckles and wondering if this last bodily betrayal would be the end of me. I flexed my fingers, winced at the wave of pain that rushed up my arms and released them. I shook my head, knowing what Doc would have to say about that.

I heard his footsteps in the hall and sat up straight; he would not find a defeated and dejected man made pale by those glaring overhead lights that stole away shadows. He would find a fighter, a man filled with determination and steel.

He said something as he came through the door but I had to ask him to say it again. Sometimes I didn’t hear things too clearly – a few too many right and left hooks to the side of the head can do that to a man.

“How are you feeling Nate?” He closed the door behind him and gave me the Look. “Your ears bothering you again?”

“No Doc, I was just lost in my thoughts,” I told him. “I’m feeling just fine, I’m feeling ready to fight.”

He nodded before looking down at the chart in his wrinkled hands and the deep grooves in his forehead became even more pronounced than usual. I watched his eyes go left to right, left to right and waited for the verdict.

“Nate, how long you been coming to see me?” he asked when he finally brought those blue eyes back to bare on me.

“Twenty years,” I said immediately. It was an easy question – I had become his patient the day before my first amateur fight and I had never let another doctor examine me since then. I’d even asked him to be my cut man on two occasions when my regular guy, Buddy Davis, was out sick.

“And in those twenty years,” he continued deliberately in his rumbling baritone, “how many times have I recommended that you retire?”

“Not once Doc, not once.”

“Well,” Doc told me simply, “there’s a first time for everything.”

And that’s how he broke it to me – a first time for everything. He didn’t mean to be smart about it, that was just his way of doing things. I understood that but it sure didn’t make it any easier to take.

“Is it really that bad?” I asked him as I held up my clenched fists. It was a silly, stubborn question – of course it was that bad. Doc was the sort of man that didn’t see the need for lying - just tell the truth and you’ve got nothing to hide from.

“Nate, this is the third time this year you’ve come to me with metacarpal bossing. If you keep this up you’ll have chronic pain in your knuckles for the rest of your life. As it stands right now if you hang up the gloves you should have two functioning hands until the day you die. But,” he added with a soft, raspy laugh, “you’ll never play Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 21.”

“I’ll have to think it over,” I said as I stood up and reached for my chocolate brown Italian leather jacket hanging on the stand in the corner. I needed to get some air, some head space, to figure out what came next. Doc caught me off guard by placing a firm hand on my shoulder and turning me to look him in the eyes.

“You’re the smartest boxer I’ve ever treated,” he said. “You might be the smartest patient I have – you’re definitely smarter than those kids from the law firm across the street. So don’t go getting stupid now. I won’t clear you to fight and no other doctor worth his degree will either. So go use your head for something other than catching punches.”

I nodded and moved past him with a mumbled thanks. I walked home the long way, letting the crisp autumn air wash over me, feeling the heartbeat of the city around me and allowed my thoughts to go where they would. I tried not to look too closely at the bums and beggars, afraid I’d see a face I’d met in the ring.

Homelessness was a common fate for boxers too old or too broken down to fight. For those lucky enough to retire with some money, the escape promised by the bottle or the pills often proved to be too great a temptation. I was hoping for a better end to my story.

I was no closer to figuring things out by the time I walked through my apartment door that night but I felt a bit better. After putting some water on to boil I grabbed the phone book off the shelf and flipped to Piano Lessons. I shook my head and sighed as I went back to Musical Instruction – Instrumental. I called up a randomly chosen company and made an appointment for a lesson the following week.

I’ve never been one to listen to doctors.

Another Ending, Another Beginning

With installment number thirty-one, Spare Change comes to an end for now. I'm much happier with how this one turned out compared to Mossy's.

I've got another story in the works but that will have to wait for the new year. Happy holidays all, see you in 2009.

- Marc

Spare Change #31

The morning traffic outside the window must have woken me. It takes me a few moments to remember where I am – I’m still getting used to this room, this apartment, this life.

I look over at the alarm clock; eight am, that means it’s Sunday and that means I have a long day of peace and quiet ahead of me. I slip out of bed and find my slippers, a house warming gift from Karl, with my searching toes. Such an extravagance, slippers. I would never have thought I’d own a pair, much less receive them as a present on the occasion of moving into my own apartment.

“Rise and shine sleepyhead!”

Sorry, our apartment.

“I don’t even want to know what time you got up,” I say in the general direction of the kitchen where, from the smell of things, TJ has been hard at work. I stretch my arms over my head and let loose an appropriately large yawn before shuffling out to join her.

“Do you always sleep in this much?” I think she’s actually serious. I open my mouth to protest but she carries on. “Anyway, I made scrambled eggs and toast, help yourself. I think there’s a bit of juice left in the fridge.”

I shake my head and wisely keep my mouth firmly shut as I grab the plate with the second fewest chips and cracks in it; TJ already has the best one, the one with reindeers and Christmas trees on it. I throw the remaining breakfast on my plate and join TJ at our wobbly kitchen table.

“I like your hair like that,” I say around a mouthful of eggs. She has it tied up in a short ponytail with a few curly strands hanging down the right side of her face. “You should wear it like that more often.”

“Living together three days and already he’s telling me what to do with my hair,” she mutters but I can tell she’s pleased. “You sleep okay? You were tossing and turning quite a bit last night.”

“Just the usual bad dream,” I reply. There’s no need for further explanation – I’ve been having the same dream every night for the last two weeks. If I close my eyes right now Tommy and Ashes would be there waiting for me; Tommy with his gun, Ashes writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

“It will stop sooner or later,” TJ says tenderly. “It just takes time. You still haven’t heard anything from Tommy?”

I shake my head and take a sip of orange juice. The man had disappeared into the night like a ghost; the police still haven’t found the gun. I don’t think we’ll ever hear from him again but Tommy is full of surprises so I guess I can’t count him out just yet.

“Maybe it will be better after the sentencing,” I say with a shrug. “Knowing Ashes is out of my life for a set amount of time, hopefully years, can’t hurt.”

After a few minutes of silence TJ gets around to asking the question she’s wanted to voice for at least a week. I’m glad to be done waiting for it.

“Do you think Tommy did it on purpose, letting her live?”

I close my eyes and go back two weeks in a heartbeat. Ashes' screams echo off the walls as she presses her hand into the gunshot wound in her right shoulder. Tommy walks over to her slowly, keeping his gun on her while I remain rooted to the ground.

“What do you think J?” Tommy asks me casually. “She seems like she’s in a lot of pain – should I put the bitch down?”

I open my eyes to find TJ’s concerned eyes on my face.

“The first shot I’m not sure about but I think he just missed,” I say slowly, not wanting to remember. “The second shot I have no doubt about – he just wanted her to suffer. At five feet he could have put that bullet anywhere.”

TJ nods and returns to eating her breakfast in silence. A few more minutes pass before she changes the subject.

“So DJ is hooking you up with another part time job?”

“Yeah, if things work out I’ll do three days a week at the music store and three days a week at his buddy’s book store,” I say. Right now I’m working at DJ’s six days a week but he can’t afford to keep paying me for this much work so he’s trying to split the load without me losing out. I owe my new life to him.

And to the woman sitting across from me.

“That will be so great,” TJ says with a captivating smile. “It’s a brand new world out there J.”

It really is. Change has finally arrived and it’s not nearly as terrifying as I expected.

It feels… good.

Spare Change #30

It was the last thing I expected. I was still ten or fifteen feet away from Tommy, my legs were on fire and refused to carry me any faster. Ashes was closing the distance, her knife held hard and low by her side, full of sinister promises.

And Tommy just stood there.

He was not frozen by fear or shock or anything like that. He looked at me and then slowly turned his head to watch Ashes approach but he made no move to run. I was about to yell at him again but then he said the one word I least expected, the only word I could not have seen coming in that moment of madness.

“No.”

I stumbled to a stop; his words had planted a brick wall in my path. They did not, however, have a similar effect on Ashes – she kept coming, a hideous snarl forming on her lips.

Where his words failed, his next action did not: he pulled his gun out of his jacket pocket and levelled it at her head.

She skidded to a halt without a word, I stood panting shocked white clouds and Tommy stood like a statue, not an inch of him wavering. And now here we are, in a poor man’s Mexican standoff: words against a knife against a gun.

“Tommy... don’t do it man... this isn’t the way to end this,” I tell him, my voice hoarse from disuse and the cold.

“I have to say I disagree J,” he tells me without looking away from her face. Her hatred is plain to see, I don’t know how she’s keeping it all inside her head – mine would have split open by now. “I have to say that this is the most perfect, most fitting, most just way to end this nightmare.”

I can’t pretend that this is not a deeply tempting solution, the only one that would ensure Ashes never interfered in our lives again, but I can’t let Tommy become a murderer. Obviously a good case could be made for self-defence but right now this would be cold-blooded homicide.

“We need to get the cops, get her locked up and finish this the right way man,” I plead but I can tell already that he won’t listen to anything I have to say. His eyes are flat and determined, there is no anger there: only certainty. “Tommy if you do this they’ll put you away instead, that’s not how this mess should end up!”

“I’ve got places I can hide,” he says from a faraway place. “If they ask, you were never here... tell them you were with TJ, she’ll cover for you... I’m sure Karl would too. You’ve got people that look out for you; I hope you know how lucky you are.”

Ashes remains silent – that’s the only thing I’m grateful for right now. One word from her could set this powder keg off... but I can’t see a way to get out of this without that gun going off and ending two lives. Hell, it might end mine as well – I bet Officer Cruz would jump all over this chance to get me behind bars: he’d find a way to prove Tommy and I planned this together, he might even put my finger on the trigger.

What can I say, what can I do... I should have brought Karl with me, he would know the right thing to say to bring sanity to this situation. I should have brought the cops here yesterday, maybe they could have staked it out, caught Ashes before any of this could have happened. I should have –

“Get out of here J, get somewhere you’ll be seen so that you’ve got an alibi,” Tommy tells me the same way he would tell me to go get a bottle of tequila from the corner store. Calmly, confidently, matter-of-factly. “I don’t want you to get caught up in this -”

Tommy is cut off by Ashes’ feral scream as she rushes toward him with teeth and knife bared. My heart stops beating, my lungs stop breathing. Tommy blinks once, twice, then pulls the trigger.

Spare Change #29

Her face is partially obscured by long, greasy black hair that shines weakly in the moonlight but I can see a pale nose, black lips pressed tightly together. Gloved hands carry two plastic shopping bags filled to bursting, swaying gently back and forth at knee level.

There is a knot tightening my stomach, blood seems to have abandoned my head and the struggle to remain still is making my legs tremble. So this is Ashes. Or is it? Maybe Tommy has found some new companionship already. That doesn’t seem very likely though - the experience with my half-sister should have sent him packing to a monastery, not into the arms of another woman.

I let my held breath seep out slowly through cracked lips, wishing the white puffs would dissipate faster. Is she just going to stand there, waiting for Tommy to show up? No, she has to check inside to make sure he isn’t there already... unless she knows he’s not. I’ve got no way of getting out of here without being seen and I don’t trust my legs to carry me at more than a limping jog at this point.

Ashes swings her head from left to right, lank hair reluctantly mirroring the motion. She cocks her head to one side as though listening for something, then turns her gaze to my hiding spot.

The urge to run is overwhelming. I hold my breath again, ignoring the protests of my lungs and join the staring contest. A weak breeze crinkles her shopping bags and burns my cheeks and neither of us moves.

A movement at my feet breaks the standoff and I look down to see a rat chewing on my shoelaces. A choked, coughing scream escapes me as my whole body tenses. I hate rats, oh my lord I absolutely despise these filthy creatures.

I whip my head up to see Ashes drop her bags and reach inside her jacket with her right hand before the terror of an unseen rodent at my toes brings my eyes back down. Get away from me you disgusting beast, get the hell away from me!

I sneak another glance at Ashes and my eyes go wide – she is striding towards me with a very, very big knife in her hand. She’s almost halfway here already. I need to run but my body is frozen in place. By cold. By fear. By shock.

The rat places its front paws on top of my left sneaker and I’m forced into action. I flick my foot and send it fleeing into the light, towards the advancing maniac. I shift my weight, legs shrieking in protest, and prepare to run. But a scream stops me short.

I look up to see Ashes backing away with a horrified expression painted on her face, her eyes locked on the rat scurrying around in circles between us. I guess at least one thing runs in the family.

She backpedals to her bags, slips her knife inside her jacket and shakes her head furiously. She gathers up her things and, with another quick look around, disappears into Tommy’s place. Now is my chance to escape but I don’t move. I can’t let Tommy return home to this psycho, I need to warn him.

But what if I can get to a telephone booth and call the cops before he shows up? They would have Ashes behind bars and we could both rest easy again. The stress and fear would be gone, I could stop looking over my shoulder every ten seconds. This could all end tonight.

My eyes are glued on the dark entrance to Tommy’s place, straining to detect any movement, a pair of eyes waiting for me to reveal myself. I need to make a decision – wait for Tommy or go now. Could I live with myself if Ashes kills him while I’m away? Can I pass up this chance to lock her up and be free of her?

Tommy’s arrival takes the decision out of my hands. As soon as I see him at the corner of his building I step out of the shadows and move quickly towards him. He stops short but relaxes once he realizes it’s me. I put a finger to my lips to forestall the question forming on his and risk a quick glance at the entrance to his place.

I almost trip over my feet when I see Ashes climbing out of the darkness with her knife in her hand and a crazed look on her face. I swear and break into a stumbling run.

“Run!” I scream at Tommy. “She’ll kill us both!”

Spare Change #28

I’m waiting outside of Tommy’s place, keeping to the shadows of the building next door where I can see his entrance without too much worry of being seen. I’m going to have to be careful not to spook him when he shows up - I don’t know if he’s carrying that gun around or not.

My breath slips out in white clouds as I try to shrink into my black wool coat; along with a pair of old jeans and a few long sleeve shirts, it makes up my new wardrobe from Chateau Karl. I’m going to have to find a wool hat to go with them – my ears are freezing. This is a night I’ll be grateful for the extra blankets he gave me as well. Maybe I’m getting soft, maybe I’m getting too old for this street life.

Work went flying past today - I can’t remember ever being so busy at any point in my entire life. Between the arrival of three boxes of new albums that needed to be shelved, regular visits from Officer Strickland, more customers than any two previous days put together and getting things ready for DJ’s return I don’t know how I found time to breathe.

It’s probably... no, it’s definitely a good thing I was running around all day. It kept my mind off of Ashes and Tommy and kept me focused on what was right in front of me. Even when Officer Strickland came by we only talked about the store and music, I even suggested a few albums for her to check out when she was off duty. Officer Cruz stayed in the car, to everyone’s relief.

Karl came by to help me finish stocking the shelves after closing and then escorted me to the bus that took me here. He had offered to accompany me but it was a token offer – we both knew I had to convince Tommy to talk to the cops on my own.

The air is getting colder, the night darker and still no Tommy. Maybe he’s abandoned this home in favour of one that Ashes doesn’t know about. I couldn’t blame him if that was the case, I know I would have done the same if I was in his ratty sneakers.

That is one of the perks of living life the way we do – if you need to move, you move. No mail to worry about, no change of address forms to fill out, no notice to be given. Just pack up your things and find a new place to settle down. If this thing with TJ works out that might be the only thing I miss.

While TJ took her turn in the shower this morning I was finally able to ask Karl about the money. He was pretty relieved to hear I finally had a plan for it... I bet he was figuring that money would gather dust and never see the light of day again. But it sounds like, if I can get some sort of steady work with DJ when he gets back in two days, it will be enough to convince a landlord to rent a place to me and TJ.

Which is a bit of a scary thought... and a bit of an exciting thought... and...

The sound of gravel being disturbed by slow, steady footsteps brings me back to the moment. I remain hidden as I wait for the source of the noise to appear, knowing there’s no guarantee it will be Tommy. I damn well hope it is though, I’m ready to go home and crawl under all the blankets I can find. Maybe stop for hot chocolate on the way.

A figure veiled in shadow appears around the corner of Tommy’s building and pauses to look around. I hold my breath and stay still, pushing away an urge to call out his name until I know it’s him. Then the person steps out of the darkness and everything slows down, until time is frozen and all my thoughts are silenced. Except for one.

Is this woman Ashes?

Spare Change #27

Dipping warm, buttered bread into a bowl of homemade chicken soup – how can such a simple act bring such great pleasure?

“This is wonderful TJ,” Karl says around a dripping spoonful of broth. “I should have you two over for dinner every night.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she replies with a poor attempt to conceal her pleasure. “Just a little something my mother taught me a lifetime ago; I’m surprised I remembered it, to be honest.”

We’re sitting at Karl’s small square kitchen table with Mozart serenading us from the stereo in the next room. It’s a meal deserving a fine wine as a companion but we’re all sipping water – two of us out of fear of a slippery slope, one out of support.

“That sweater suits you J, and it’s a pretty good fit,” Karl tells me. “After dinner we’ll go through my closet and see what else works for you.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, I can’t -”

“I haven’t done nearly enough,” he interrupts softly, shaking his head. “I’ve got too many things in there anyway, I hardly wear half of it.”

I shift uncomfortably in my chair and take another bite of bread. I’m not sure why I can accept charity from strangers but not friends; maybe it’s the intimacy of it that upsets me. Rather than reply I look around his home again.

It’s a good size for two people, a bit cramped with three. There are a few paintings by local artists on the wall, some postcards stuck on the fridge with a random sampling of ceramic animals and comfortable, well-worn chairs and recliners scattered around the kitchen and living room.

I feel out of place in a proper home but I could get used to hot showers and working plumbing. Maybe getting a place with TJ wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. I’ll have to talk to Karl about my money situation later, when we’re alone.

“You’ve got a lovely place here,” TJ says. “Could use a woman’s touch though, if you don’t mind me saying so. You got any prospects lined up?” Ah TJ, Queen of Subtlety.

“Work is taking up too much of my time and energy to even think about dating,” he says with a sad smile. “But we’re trying to find room in the budget to hire me an assistant; even a part-time one would make an incredible difference.”

“That’s great,” I say, my eyes flicking involuntarily in TJ’s direction. “What sort of work would you want them to do?”

“Oh, mostly office work – it’s ridiculous how much of my day is spent faxing and photocopying and filing.”

“Well isn’t that something,” I say while looking at TJ. “It looks like you’ve got an ideal candidate right here in your kitchen!” TJ blushes and takes another spoonful of soup, keeping her eyes on the table directly in front of her.

“Is that right? Well the money isn’t guaranteed to be found for the position but if it does you’ll be the first to know,” he tells the top of her head. She looks up and flashes him a quick smile before returning to her soup.

We finish the meal in happy silence, three people enjoying the peace and warmth of a good meal with good friends. It feels like my life is turning an important corner; I can’t see what lies ahead just yet but I’m not afraid of whatever is waiting for me. Something suspiciously similar to hope is growing inside me.

What a lovely, encouraging evening. It’s almost enough to make me forget that I’ll be spending tomorrow dealing with Tommy.