On the Ropes (Down for the Count)
On the Ropes
Copyright © 2014 Christa Cervone
Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
https://www.facebook.com/FictionalFormats
Cover Image by — David Blazze
Cover Design — Todd M. LeMieux
No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without the permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are fictitious and; therefore, coincidental. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, establishments, events or locations, is entirely coincidental.
This book couldn’t have been written without the help of Josue Lopez. Not only is he a Golden Gloves champion, but he’s also my son’s boxing coach.
Much like Saint, Josue grew up on the streets of an inner city, and chose a path of boxing instead of gangs or drugs. He put himself through community college with scholarships and grants, then went on to study at UMass Amherst. During that time, he became Western Massachusetts’ Golden Gloves Champion. He is now teaching English as a Second Language to elementary school children, in the inner city near where he was raised.
This story wouldn’t be what it is without you, Josh. Thank you, so much, for taking the time to sit down with me and teach me about the boxing world. You truly helped me bring Saint alive.
“On the Ropes” describes when fighters are in a dangerous situation; they’re trapped with their backs against the ropes in a boxing ring. This is how I’ve felt since the first day I met Salem Harris. I’m the fighter with my back against the ropes, defenseless.
—
Gabriel ‘The Saint’ Vega
“In the case of the Commonwealth vs. Josue Vega, how do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” I hear our father say in his thick Spanish accent.
The cameras begin to flash, and I hear reporters talking into their microphones, although I can’t understand what they’re saying.
“Order in the court!” the judge speaks loudly as his gavel hits the desk, making my little brother, Jason, jump.
“It’s ok, Jase, we’re safe now,” I say, trying to comfort him. The two of us sit quietly in the second row of the hot, crowded courtroom as we watch our father plead “not guilty” to the murder of our mother. I’m just as scared as he is, but I don’t want him to know that. I’m his older brother and he looks up to me, so I’m trying to be brave.
“Your Honor, my client asks to be released on bail. He has two little boys he needs to care for while the trial is ongoing,” says the tall man who’s standing next to our father.
I eyeball our father and notice how disheveled he looks. His hair is a mess and his clothes are the same ones he’d been wearing two nights ago. Jase and I were awoken this morning by a loud banging on our door. It was the police, and they were looking for our father, but we hadn’t seen him in almost two days.
The last time I’d seen our father was the night he and our mother had gotten into an argument. They were yelling so loudly that they actually woke me from a sound sleep. I could hear our mother screaming, “How could you? He’s just a little boy…” and that was the last time I heard our mother’s voice.
“Your Honor, the defendant is being charged with murder. I insist he be remanded to the county jail for the duration of his trial,” a voice says loudly from the other side of the courtroom.
The judge looks over at us and I can see the pity in his eyes.
“Mr. Vega, I have to agree with the District Attorney,” the judge’s voice is stern, “you’re standing trial for the murder of your wife. Bail is denied, and you’re to return to the county jail for the remainder of your trial. Bailiff, please remove the defendant and have him taken into custody.”
I hear chatter erupt from the back of the courtroom. I turn around and see the reporters talking and the cameras flashing again. Spinning back around, I see a man in what looks like a police uniform handcuffing my father, then leading him out of the courtroom. Jase covers his face with his hands and begins to cry, “Why are they taking Papi?”
“It’s okay, Jase,” I whisper. “We have each other, remember? We’re ‘blood brothers.’” Jase wipes his tears away with his hand and forces a smile.
“Blood brothers” was something I’d come up with when we were out playing on the playground. It was one of the few times our father had actually offered to take us somewhere. We’d been cooped up in our small, dingy apartment all winter long, and it was finally a pleasant spring day. Jase and I were running around playing tag. Our father had told us several times to stop running; but lo and behold, right after his final warning, Jase fell and skinned both of his knees. Our father glared at us, just waiting to hear Jase cry. I knew what was coming next, he’d “give him something to cry about.” That had been one of our father’s favorite lines; especially to Jase, who was extremely sensitive and cried over almost everything.
“Come on Jase, don’t cry,” I whispered to him as I looked anxiously over my shoulder at our father. Jase’s body began to shake as he tried to hold his tears back, and the blood from both his knees began to run down his shins. I glanced back at our father, who was now standing up, and I knew I had to act fast.
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out an old pocket knife that I’d found lying on the sidewalk one day after school. I’d been keeping it a secret from Jase because I knew he’d want to play with it and would end up hurting himself.
“Hey Jase, look what I found a few days ago,” I said, showing him the knife.
His eyes grew wide, and he said in awe, “Whoa, where did you get that?”
“What are you two doing over there?” our father said loudly, making Jase jump.
“Nothing, Papi. I’m just tying Jase’s shoes,” I answered back.
“Hurry up! I’m ready to leave!” he snapped in response.
Opening up the blade as fast as I could, I took the tip and pressed it down onto the pad of my thumb.
“Gabe,” Jase gasped, “what are you doing?!”
“I wanna show you that you don’t have to cry every time you bleed,” I explained as blood began to pool up on my thumb. “See, I’m bleeding and I’m not crying.”
“It’s like we’re ‘blood brothers’!” Jase smiled at me as he blinked back his tears.
“Yes. Exactly, Jase, we’re ‘blood brothers,’” I smiled back at him.
I look over at Jase now and notice that he’s trying his hardest to hold back his tears. The two of us sit quietly as we watch our father being taken away. I finally feel safe. He and our mother are out of our lives forever; they can’t hurt us anymore. I’ve actually dreamed of this day; Jase and me, living with parents who actually love us. I saw it in a movie once; a little girl who didn’t have any parents was living in an orphanage and some rich guy adopted her. They lived happily ever after, and I’m hoping that’s what’s going to happen to us.
“Gabriel? Jason?” I hear a kind voice say. “I’m Debbie, and this is Dave, we’re going to take you to where you’re going to be staying.”
They’re dressed up in fancy suits and I wonder if they’re going to be our new parents. I can’t help but smile at the thought. They look so nice; they can give us a happy life. I know they can.
“Jase, shhhhh… stop crying,” I nudge him. “Look, I think this is our new Mom and Dad,” I whisper.
The last thing I want is for them to think Jase is a crybaby. He is, but I don’t want them to change their minds about us.
“Come on boys, we’re going to get you situated in your new homes,” Dave says.
I look up at him, confused. “Homes?”
“Yes, you and Jason are being placed in foster homes,” Debbie replies.
“You’re not our new Mom and Dad?” Jase asks sadly, through his tears.
“Oh no, Jason,” Debbie says sincerely as she crouches down in front of Jase, “we work for the Department of Social Services, and we’ve been sent to bring you to your new homes.”
Debbie’s words make Jase cry even harder, and I feel so sorry for him. In his five years of life, he’s never known a parent’s love. Sometimes at night, when we can’t fall asleep, I tell him about movies I’ve seen on television, about how the families are so happy. The mom makes the family dinner, and the dad comes home from work and plays baseball with the kids. Jase always gets excited as I tell him about the movies. I promised him that someday, it’ll be like that for us, that one day Mami’s medicine will eventually make her better. I didn’t mean it to be a lie.
