closed the door and we were done.
I went back to Claire’s side and told her to have her son call me the second he got home. “Tell him he’s not missing another appointment with me,” I said. “No matter what part of his body hurts.”
She promised me she’d give him the message. Then she closed her door, too. I stood there a moment looking at both sides of the place, wondering if I could do any good for anybody in this building. Or if they were all beyond me.
FOUR
As the sun went down, I was paying my Sunday evening visit to the Shamrock, down the street from the gym. It was always quiet then, and the man would pour a lonely shot or two for me without saying more than a few words. I’d resist the urge to have him line them up for me so I could punish myself for being the one who was still alive.
Punish the living. Forgive the dead. Words I had heard somewhere. They made me think about Albert Ayler again, his dead body floating in the East River. He died the same year I was born, this man I had almost nothing in common with, and yet it still bothered the hell out of me. I wasn’t even sure why, beyond the simple fact that he should have lived another forty or fifty years to make music.
My cell phone rang. I took it out of my pocket and saw the number for the Kingston police station again.
“Howie,” I said as I answered it. “You stopping by tonight, or what?”
“I’m trying. Something came up. I gotta go check it out.”
“Something serious?”
“Dunno yet. I’ll let you know. How long you gonna be there?”
“Little while. I can stick around if you want.” I looked out at the streetlamp, at the faint glow as it came to life. Sunday nights, man. Why are they so tough?
“Don’t wait for me,” he said. “If I get a chance I’ll come over. If you’re not at the Shamrock, you’ll be at your place, right?”
“I think you’ll have a good chance of finding me at one of those two locations, yes.”
“Are you okay, JT?”
“Yeah, I’m cool. Go do your thing. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I want the full scoop on your date, remember? You’re not getting out of it.”
“Good-bye, Howie.”
I turned off my cell phone and put it on the bar, next to the shot glass. The last thing I needed was one too many, but something told me I’d be having it anyway. And then maybe one more.
Outside, the streetlamp was glowing a brighter shade of yellow. It was another exciting Sunday night in Kingston, New York.
I left the Shamrock about an hour later and jaywalked across Broadway. As soon as I got to the gym, I saw the front doors wide open. That wouldn’t have been unusual during the day—Anderson didn’t insist on keeping the place a blast furnace like sometrainers did—but after hours, the doors still open to the street … It didn’t make sense. I went inside and looked around in the dark, finally seeing a faint cone of light on the far side of the ring. As I got closer, I saw three men sitting around a table. Anderson, Maurice, and Rolando.
“Joe!” Anderson said. “Come and sit down!”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“We’re celebrating,” Maurice said, raising his glass. That’s when I saw the bottle of Wild Turkey sitting on the table. With Anderson and his top two boxers sitting here in the dark, and now actual liquor inside the gym … It was officially more than my brain could handle. The only thing missing was a giant pink ostrich dancing on the table.
“Rolando is gonna have a baby,” Anderson said. “Come on, sit down and drink with us.”
“Actually, his wife is,” Maurice said. “Let’s be clear.”
“That’s fantastic.” I shook Rolando’s hand. He smiled but didn’t say anything. The tattoos on his arms looked blue in the dim light.
“She’s due in March,” Anderson said. “Just a few more months before his whole life changes.”
“Yeah, what’s that going to do to your training?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He spoke slowly,
I went back to Claire’s side and told her to have her son call me the second he got home. “Tell him he’s not missing another appointment with me,” I said. “No matter what part of his body hurts.”
She promised me she’d give him the message. Then she closed her door, too. I stood there a moment looking at both sides of the place, wondering if I could do any good for anybody in this building. Or if they were all beyond me.
FOUR
As the sun went down, I was paying my Sunday evening visit to the Shamrock, down the street from the gym. It was always quiet then, and the man would pour a lonely shot or two for me without saying more than a few words. I’d resist the urge to have him line them up for me so I could punish myself for being the one who was still alive.
Punish the living. Forgive the dead. Words I had heard somewhere. They made me think about Albert Ayler again, his dead body floating in the East River. He died the same year I was born, this man I had almost nothing in common with, and yet it still bothered the hell out of me. I wasn’t even sure why, beyond the simple fact that he should have lived another forty or fifty years to make music.
My cell phone rang. I took it out of my pocket and saw the number for the Kingston police station again.
“Howie,” I said as I answered it. “You stopping by tonight, or what?”
“I’m trying. Something came up. I gotta go check it out.”
“Something serious?”
“Dunno yet. I’ll let you know. How long you gonna be there?”
“Little while. I can stick around if you want.” I looked out at the streetlamp, at the faint glow as it came to life. Sunday nights, man. Why are they so tough?
“Don’t wait for me,” he said. “If I get a chance I’ll come over. If you’re not at the Shamrock, you’ll be at your place, right?”
“I think you’ll have a good chance of finding me at one of those two locations, yes.”
“Are you okay, JT?”
“Yeah, I’m cool. Go do your thing. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I want the full scoop on your date, remember? You’re not getting out of it.”
“Good-bye, Howie.”
I turned off my cell phone and put it on the bar, next to the shot glass. The last thing I needed was one too many, but something told me I’d be having it anyway. And then maybe one more.
Outside, the streetlamp was glowing a brighter shade of yellow. It was another exciting Sunday night in Kingston, New York.
I left the Shamrock about an hour later and jaywalked across Broadway. As soon as I got to the gym, I saw the front doors wide open. That wouldn’t have been unusual during the day—Anderson didn’t insist on keeping the place a blast furnace like sometrainers did—but after hours, the doors still open to the street … It didn’t make sense. I went inside and looked around in the dark, finally seeing a faint cone of light on the far side of the ring. As I got closer, I saw three men sitting around a table. Anderson, Maurice, and Rolando.
“Joe!” Anderson said. “Come and sit down!”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“We’re celebrating,” Maurice said, raising his glass. That’s when I saw the bottle of Wild Turkey sitting on the table. With Anderson and his top two boxers sitting here in the dark, and now actual liquor inside the gym … It was officially more than my brain could handle. The only thing missing was a giant pink ostrich dancing on the table.
“Rolando is gonna have a baby,” Anderson said. “Come on, sit down and drink with us.”
“Actually, his wife is,” Maurice said. “Let’s be clear.”
“That’s fantastic.” I shook Rolando’s hand. He smiled but didn’t say anything. The tattoos on his arms looked blue in the dim light.
“She’s due in March,” Anderson said. “Just a few more months before his whole life changes.”
“Yeah, what’s that going to do to your training?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He spoke slowly,
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