Page 33 of My Undead Heart
“No, Mom. I won’t.” My arms shake and my fingers clench around the bat so hard I can’t even feel the wood anymore. He’s bigger than I am. Stronger, too.
“Ya coddle this boy. He wants to play tough guy? Let ’im. Come’ere, ya little shit. I’ll teach ya a lesson. Ya think ya can tell yer ol’ pop what to do? Then come make me.”
“Rich! Stop!”
I wake with a start, my pulse racing from the aftermath of a dream of my mother. I don’t dream often, or at least wake up with a memory, but whenever I do it’s always of her. Gone too early, the loss of her gentle nature and steadfast love is one I’ll never truly get over. I only hope to honor her life with the way I live my own. Even as a grown man it’s moments like this I miss her most.
I shouldn’t have lost my cool with my father. I know better. I know my limits, too. If last night wasn’t a reminder of the need to respect those boundaries, then my dream only helps drive home the concept. We can’t co-exist. It’s better we don’t attempt it.
Clearing my head with my simple morning routine, I’m on my bike to open the gym and teach a few morning classes before I get lost in the memories of my earlier life. I block it out and focus on what needs to be done, which includes taking a trip to Xavier’s neighborhood as soon as my front desk help gets in and I’ve taught an hour of cardio kickboxing.
The early morning crowd boasts fitness fanatics. Not many others are willing to wake before sunrise and the morning commute in order to get their sweat on. As of late my little brother is in attendance. He wasn’t interested in fighting when he was younger, but since finishing up his MBA he’s become one of my regulars. He doesn’t like the hand to hand combat, but goes to town on the bags. He’s looking good, too. Bulking up where he was always extra skinny. I think he’s just vain enough to keep coming back for more. That, and he’s been a huge supporter of my dream to build up this gym. We’re nothing alike really, even our skin tone is completely opposite, but we’re bound together by an asshole of a father and somehow that’s all we ever needed.
Shouting orders over an old mix of Linkin Park and the pounding of bags is usually enough to bring my mind alive, my own body anxious for a turn at the work, but I’m forcing myself today. My mind is still muddled from the visit from my pop and the dream I awoke to.
I lead everyone through cool-down stretches and wrap the class up. My brother leans against the wall, heaving air in and out of his lungs as he unwraps his hands. After saying good-bye to my other students, I make my way over to check on him.
“You okay?” Danny pants out as soon as he catches sight of my approach.
“I was gonna ask you that same question.” My brow rises as I take in his inability to take a full breath. “Rough night?”
His smile pulls wide. Pushing off the wall, he stretches his arms over his head while drops of sweat shimmer against where the florescent lights hit his mocha skin. “A gentleman never kisses and tells ...”
“God.” I shake my head and his smirk only grows wider. “You better be talking about that girlfriend of yours or you ain’t no gentleman.”
“Of course I am. I really like her, Matt. I think I’m in love.”
“Must be the reason for that stupid smile even though you couldn’t last two full rounds with the punching bag today.” I chuckle and shake my head again, clasping him on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Danny.”
Even if Nikki’s a bit high maintenance for my tastes, if she’s who he wants, then that’s all that matters. She’s beautiful in that overdone way–tons of makeup, perfect hair, fancy clothes, and at first I’m sure that’s what attracted my little brother. But for as long as they’ve been dating, there must be more under her superficial exterior for him to stick around.
“Thanks, Matt. Maybe you can meet up with us for happy hour one of these weeks. I’d like for you to get to know her. She’s important to me. So are you.”
Even though I’m looking at my grown up adult brother, all I see is the eight-year-old version of him glancing up at me with those big brown eyes before I drove off in my mom’s broke down ’77 Olds. Our parents put us through the wringer, and he’s always looked to me for validation. Where they couldn’t provide that, I’ve tried to take on the role.
“Yeah, I’d like that. The next few weeks are pretty crazy. I’m working at Zig’s on the weekends, and starting Monday I’ll be painting for Uncle Jimmy ... the entire tenth floor at some highrise downtown.”
“Good.” He nods, understanding how much that means to me, but apology clouds his gaze. “I know you have a lot going on right now. Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No. If it’s important to you, we’ll make it work. Let me see how next week goes and we’ll set something up. Let me take you both out. Maybe somewhere cheap, though.” I wink to make light of my financial woes and his smile returns. It’s sad enough to be laughable. Ten years his senior and I can’t afford to take my brother and his girl out for a proper meal. He doesn’t care, I know this, but it still makes me feel as if I suck at adulthood.
“We always end up at Zig’s anyway.” He laughs and shakes his head. “That’s why I’m draggin’ ass today. We were there last night after work. Dollar pints from ten to eleven.”
I shake my head and his comments alleviate my guilt. At least I don’t spend my nights wasting money on cheap beer. “If you were in my advanced group, I’d make you run sprints for that.”
“That right there is why I’m not the fighter in the family.”
“Touché.” The front door jingles with the bell and I glance up as Sarah, one of my part-time employees, steps inside. She leaves to set her bag inside the back office and I clasp my brother on the back to give him a pat. “Better class tomorrow. I’ve got to head out, gonna run downtown to check in on one of my fighters. Stay away from the beer tonight. Won’t hurt as bad tomorrow.”
He laughs and rubs his belly. “Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Matt.”
I check in with Sarah, grab Xavier’s address from the office, and tug on a sweatshirt before heading out to my bike. Zooming through the morning traffic, I’m always thankful for my motorcycle in the city. Depending on where I’m going, I often opt for the train, but when the full rush hour is in full effect it’s nice to slide between the grid of vehicles on my two wheels.
I’ve only been by Xavier’s one other time. It was the night he graduated high school and his mother invited me over for a home cooked meal to celebrate. She’s a hardworking woman, a single mother, but despite all the challenges life’s thrown her way she’s raised a damn good son. Xavier’s got talent, drive, but more than that ... integrity, which makes his absence at practice the past two days baffling.
The store fronts begin to change the closer I get to their apartment building. No more trendy eateries or chain clothing retailers, but instead there’s a plethora of places to cash your paycheck or trade in gold. I pull my bike up onto the curb near an empty parking spot and hope I don’t get ticketed. Several men sit near the front of the apartment and watch my every move. I don’t belong here but they aren’t looking to start trouble with me, rather just insuring I’m not here to cause problems in their hood. Keeping my head down, I hold my helmet in my hand and take the steps two at a time until I’m inside and riding the elevator that smells faintly of urine and old cigarette butts.
Knocking at the door marked 818, I wait patiently in hope that he’s even home. I tried to call yesterday, but the cell number I had was shut down. After a few minutes I try again and almost give up when the lock clicks and the handle twists. Xavier’s mother peeks through the two-inch gap, the chain inside still attached, and her eyes widen at the sight of me. “Mr. Haywood. We weren’t expecting you.”
