Tiny Fists

The steps were steep and dark.

They quietly mocked her, as if she hadn’t climbed the steps at her mama’s apartment every day since she could walk.

But she had committed and she was halfway down, so she held on to the railing like her mama said, stepping one foot and then the other on to each stair. The tiny bows on her shoes were out of place next to her faded blue jeans and hand-me-down t-shirt.

She stepped with the confidence of someone who had made up her mind and sure enough halfway down the steps the sound of creaking wood gave way to a new sound. A sound she had never heard before, but made her breath catch in her throat.

Wham. Wham. The explosive sound of force mixed with the sharp exhalation of air.

With each step it was louder, more intimate. Her world merging with whatever this was.

At the bottom of the stairs was a shoe rack with a handful of ratty shoes haphazardly discarded on the floor. The rack had one pristine pair only that looked like they hadn’t been moved in a long time. New and shiny didn’t belong here.

Above the shoe rack there was a viewing window, but she wasn’t quite tall enough to peer in, so the mysteries of what waited inside remained hidden still.

To the right there was a door. It was black and simple and closed. On the other side the loud banging persisted but she was close now, and she could hear muffled shouts and voices.

This was a place of energy. Of movement. It was alive, she could feel it.

It was the poster that stopped her, not the door. It was old and worn, with one corner torn. It featured two contenders, well muscled and shirtless facing each other, above which it read “World Championship”. Their hands were up like in combat.

“Beautiful isn’t it.” The voice behind her made her jump.

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The old man sat for a moment before getting out of his car. He pulled a picture out of the cup holder where he kept important things, like keys. It was new, but there was a small smudge on the corner. It was of a mother holding a new baby. The mother had the smile of someone who is exhausted but doesn’t care. It was the look of happiness.

The old man wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He hadn’t expected this. The facade he had built cracked for a moment, but then it was gone. The picture went back in the cupholder. He opened the door and got out, before quickly jaywalking across the street. This he knew. He paused briefly to retrieve some garbage that had found itself near the top of the stairs, which he stuffed in his sweater pocket.

He descended down the stairs, careful to hold on to the railing, expecting the sharp twinge in his hips and knees as he descended carefully. First one foot and then the other on each step.

He reached the bottom and kicked off his shoes without looking but when he turned towards the door he saw the most extraordinary thing.

A small girl stood staring up at the poster on the door. She had the stillness of a person completely enthralled with what was in front of them. Her hair was shoulder length and very unkept, and she couldn’t have looked more out of place staring up at a World Champion poster in the bottom of a basement stairwell.

For a moment he was unsure what to do. Should he politely squeeze by? Should he try to help her? Was she lost?

He opened his mouth and then closed it three times before finally managing to squeeze out, as softly as he could. “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

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The girl’s eyes widened as she took in the silhouette of the man blocking her exit. Men meant danger. Her chest tightened and her eyes flickered to the stairs beyond him, and without thinking she took a step back.

“It’s ok.” the man said, holding out his hands. “Why don’t you come inside.”

He slowly reached past her and grasped the doorknob. With a light push the door swung open revealing a wave of heat and noise that consumed her. The damp smell of body odor and sweat slapped her in the face causing her face to scrunch up. It smelled like when she went to visit her dad at that place with all those other men.

She walked ever so carefully inside, as if she moved too fast she would shatter whatever magic she had discovered.

A desk set to one side beyond which the three red ropes of a boxing ring were elevated like a stage. At this moment there were two performers moving in a delicate dance. It was a choreographed explosiveness of kicks and punches. One performer caught the leg of the other and swept the other leg out from under him. He fell to the ground with a loud crash.

The girl was horrified at first, but then the performer standing helped the other up and what followed was laughter and praise.

Wham. A loud bang startled the girl and she jumped as she turned away from the ring. A row of mirrors ran the length of the gym. There were men lined up in rows facing each other, and on their arms were strapped leather pads.

One for one they were kicking each other in the leather pads. The girl had never seen anything like it. No one had told her this was possible.

These men moved with an explosive speed that pierced the air. One man in particular kicked his leg with such speed it seemed as if he didn’t move at all. But the sound…the sound was loud and magnificent. It was…inevitable.

She found herself walking along the mirrors marvelling at the sights and sounds until she found herself standing in front of a lone warrior wearing bright red gloves punching a duct taped heavy bag. He dripped with sweat and moved with the grace of someone who has elevated their craft to another world entirely.

As she watched, she travelled there with him.

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The girl looked scared. He could see her eyes dart past him, weighing the odds of escaping.

Slowly he opened his hands, and in the gentle way only an elderly person can, he gestured towards the door.

“It’s ok. Why don’t you come inside?”

She hesitated, just for a moment, then curiosity gave in. Or perhaps it was just straight stubbornness. Regardless, she glided in and her eyes just got bigger and bigger. He smiled, and for a moment he felt young again.

With a loud bang one of his students threw the other to the ground. More shouting from the more advanced students kicking pads. He felt himself drawn to the technique. After forty years, it took only a glance to diagnose the slightest imbalance. He could feel when a movement wasn’t quite right and it delighted him sometimes to get lost in the spaces just before perfection.

He had forgotten about the girl until she wandered on to the floor, now it wasn’t just her eyes that were wide, her mouth hung open ever so slightly.

He casually followed her, ever so gently easing his athletes to take a few steps away from the mirrors so as not to step on her.

There was something about her. A gritty innocence that contradicted itself. Just the way her eyes…his breath caught. She reminded him of her, when she was little. For the second time that day his careful control faltered and his chest filled with warmth. This time it wasn’t sadness, it was love. Something shifted.

The girl paused at the end of the gym, mesmerized by Johnny punching the bag. As she watched her little hands came up and moved as if on their own, ever so slightly mirroring him. He didn’t even think she was aware of it.

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The girl's tummy rumbled. She blinked, remembering she was hungry. That was nothing unusual. She rarely had a lunch to bring. It helped if she kept moving, so her teachers often found her at recess wandering along the fence lost in a dream. “Where do you go up there?” they would ask.

She would just shrug. She didn’t really know what they meant.

She turned and suddenly realized where she was, and for a second her heart raced and her feet made to move as if to run. But the old man was there, arms folded. He had a funny expression on his face.

“What’s your name kiddo?” the man asked.

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him.

He smiled and bent down, putting his hands on his knees, grunting ever so slightly.

“Tell you what, I’ll tell you my name and if you want you can tell me yours, but you don’t have to. Would that be ok?”

She thought about it, and then nodded.

“Ok.” he said. “My name is Victor. My friends call me V.”

The girl was silent for a moment.

“Would you like to call me V?”

She nodded vigorously. The hint of a smile showing through.

“Ok, why don’t you come over here with me so you don’t get bonked by these guys here.” He motioned to the athletes training.

He gently placed his hand on her back and guided her along the mirrors, safe from harm's way. When they reached his desk he motioned for her to stay and then disappeared inside his office.

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Back at the front desk, he bade her wait a moment and then disappeared into his office. She looked hungry, he thought.

He rummaged around the shelves looking for a box of granola bars or something, but then an old shoebox tumbled from the shelf. He bent to pick it up but when he did a pair of old boxing gloves came spilling out. They were pink and small, with the colouring worn along the knuckles. God, how old were these? They were hers.

For a moment his eyes grew glossy. Those were good times. His mind wandered to the picture in his cup holder. What if he called her? He sighed and shook his head.

He stuffed the gloves back in the box and went to place it back on the shelf but then paused, something occurring to him.

No, that would be silly. He put them back in the box, then took them out again. Should he?

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The girl stood next to the desk, waiting. One of the athletes suddenly appeared next to her, grabbing a water bottle and noisily gulping. She started, backing up into the doorframe. The athlete winked at her and returned to his business. She stared at him as he walked away. This was so confusing.

Men didn’t do kind things, and yet, these men…these men were nice.

She breathed in, and ran her hand over her mouth. Her face flushed as she tensed her feet.

Run! The voice inside of her insisted. Run and you’ll be safe!

Her eyes darted back and forth and she swallowed, turning to glance outside past the open door. Her foot tensed, but she glanced back one last time.

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Where did she go? His chest fell.

Wait there she was. The poor thing looked terrified. She had her back turned and seemed to sink inward.

He set the gloves on the desk and stepped back.

She turned and her eyes found him but she immediately lowered her eyes. But then her fists clenched and she made two tiny fists. Ever so slightly she raised them, as if seeing them for the first time.