8

Chapter 2

It was summer. The corn was growing. The ziccata's were chirping. The weather was unbearably hot.

Sweat dripped down David's face in buckets as he looked on down the long dirt road.

He had perched himself on an old fishing dock over-looking the crystal-blue river. He sat there and stared into the water, ever so often glancing down the road. With each look…he would let out a long sigh.

David looked down at his hands, then his feet. Back up at his hands again. He would have lit a cigarette, but in the heat of the moment had sworn to quit when he left Orion. He also had spent all of his money on his ticket.

David feigned getting up several times to finish his journey, but each time he did…memories of the past flashed before him. He just sat there…. staring at his reflection in the water. His emerald green eyes sparkled in the light. His dark brown hair…just like…

David winced in disgust.

After staring at the water for what felt like hours, David rose to his feet. He brushed himself off, grabbed his bag of a few pieces of clothing and turned towards the road.

He stood there for several minutes…looking up and down the road.

After looking at his feet again…he finally resumed his journey.

She was in the kitchen when she heard the knock at the door. She was hard at work preparing dinner, mashing potatoes and regularly checking her roast chicken. It was when she was in the middle of seasoning her gravy, that she heard the light tapping. She looked down at her handiwork, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Karen! Can you come help me? Someone's at the door!"

She maneuvered herself towards the front foyer. She quickly wiped her hands on her dusty apron. She grasped the handle…pausing for a second when she saw the outline that looked very familiar. She shook herself as if to brush off the intruding thoughts…and threw the door open.

"This better be important! I'm in the middle of cooking…"

She was speechless. For a moment she stood there just staring through the door…as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Mom,"

"DAVID!"

She grabbed him with an iron-tight grip and began squeezing and kissing him. Tears streamed down her face.

"Mom. I…" David squeezed out.

"Shush, David! I'm so happy to see you home and safe!" she said through tears.

David let the discomfort melt away and embraced his mother.

"Karen! Karen…come here! Its your brother! He's home!"

David's mother relaxed her grip and let him go. They faced each other…looking each other in the eyes.

"I thought I'd lost you." She was still bawling. David tried his best to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, Mom," David held back his tears. He WAS the only man present.

Karen walked in the doorway, a sullen look on her face. She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. She and David made eye contact…the room filling with tension.

"David," she said bitterly.

David's face remained un-changed, hardened and bitter by her presence. The two stared each other down for a moment, before David broke eye contact.

His stomach began rumbling; he hadn't eaten for days.

"Something smells good."

"That's what you need! Some nice home-cooking!" his mother exclaimed.

The three ate dinner together, David's mother sparing him no details of everything that had happened since he'd left. She talked of the farm, of the weather in Kansas. She talked of her little projects and hobbies; she talked of her friends, his friends and everyone in between. As for herself, she remained tight-lipped.

David and Karen ate mostly in an uncomfortable silence, taking great pains to avoid eye-contact. Little was said by either of them.

Each time his mother asked him what he'd been up to, David gave very vague responses.

"This and that," he would say. His mother did not probe too much. She would just return to over-loading him with small talk.

After dinner, Karen went to town to spend time with friends, leaving David and his mother to take care of the dishes. David didn't mind…the familiarity of his old duties were comforting.

It was when David was in the middle of cleaning his plate…that his mother broached the subject.

"Why can't you too get along?" his mother asked, scrubbing out a glass.

David was silent for a moment…slightly caught off guard.

"Uhmm…" he said…unsure of what to say.

"It breaks my heart that even now, the two of you won't just be friends," she continued.

David felt a twinge of resentment building in him.

"Mom," he said. "Drop it."

He continued washing. She paused, folding her arms and turning towards him. She gave him a stern look.

"Now there's no good reason that you two shouldn't get along. You're my children…and I want you two to be friends!"

David stopped washing. He sighed…and leaned over the counter for a minute. His choice of words was screaming in his head. His resentment doubled.

"Mom," he said. Turning towards her. "I'm a grown man."

"I know you're a grown man," she spat back. "But that doesn't give you the right to disobey me!"

David looked at her for a brief instant. He had to fight his old instincts away. His eyes darted to the door; he had to fight the impulse to run.

"Mom, I know you mean well. But this is something we have to work out."

David's face softened. His mother glared, turned and walked out of the room. David stood there…overcome with old anger and regret.

After David finished the dishes…he tiptoed out the screen door into the fresh night air. He perched himself on the front steps for a while…gazing around his childhood home.

The front steps reminded him of the time his mother caught he and Karen doodling with paint; he remembered reading books underneath the oak tree on their front lawn just a few years before his father passed away. One…time he caught David.

"Boy! Put that book down and do something productive!"

David cringed a little.

He leaned back on his elbows…looking out past the dirt road that passed their farm. A large open field sat smack-dab between two neighboring cornfields. The grasses had grown to about waist height; a collection of trees bordered it on the right.

A small creature was frolicking on one of the trees…closest to David. The cool breezes blew the grass this way and that…making the whole scene a bit picturesque.

David's attention returned to the front-yard; the old, winding dirt path caught his eye. It stretched from the house to the big, red barn that sat at the far right corner of their property.

David slowly rose to his feet…filled with excited nostalgia. He followed the path to the barn…breathing in the fresh air and listening to the satisfying crunch of the gravel under his boots.

He reached the barn door…and grasped the rusty metal handle. The door struggled to open…sealed shut with age. He applied a bit of pressure…and a small opening appeared.

David slipped inside…fumbling for the light switch just to the left of the door.

The light glowed dimly…revealing the interior. To the left of the door was a workbench lining one wall; it was covered in tools and supplies. Opposite the bench…was the storage section. When the barn was actually used…the entire bottom floor had been a container for hay. A ladder by the door lead to the top section…where farmers would pitch hay out or pack it in.

Nowadays…his mother used it for storage. Farmer's hadn't used horses to plow fields since the twentieth century.

It had been something else for David though.

Dangling from one of the rafters on the far side of the room hung an old leather punching bag.

David grinned at the sight of it.

"She kept it,"

David moved in closer for a better look.

She was ages old; she was covered in duct tape to hide the endless rips and tears. She wasn't big either; only about seventy pounds. But David had fallen in love with her the moment he found her in a pawnshop when he was nine.

The rope holding her up was brittle and worn from age; he remembered hanging it himself with his small, child hands. She was covered in a thick layer of dust from the lack of use.

David popped a couple of jabs and straights; he favored his left side…even though he was right-handed.

He glanced around the barn; he spotted them lying on the far corner of the bench, tucked behind a two by four.

A big smile spread across his face as he retrieved them.

His old gloves.

They were just as worn as the bag.

But they were beautiful.

Left jab…right straight. Right hook to the body…right hook to the head. Duck and work in. Fake left jab…right hook and left uppercut.

David hadn't run drills or worked on combos in ages; his foot work and technique had become sloppy fighting free-style.

He'd almost forgotten what it was like to train; when he was younger…he'd spent hours and hours in that barn perfecting his left upper cut or his bobs and weaves. He felt so careless and free when he was nose to nose with the leather. Nothing else in the word existed except him and that bag…for a while anyway.

David threw a couple of piercing uppercuts; the chain connecting to rope made that satisfying chink sound when it was hit properly.

"Your technique is sloppy,"

David heard his father's voice in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it.

David threw another couple of solid hooks; he ducked, leaned in with his left leg and pummeled the center of the bag with both arms. The sound of the leather gave him a familiar calm.

"Your footwork is off! I could knock you right over!"

David started hitting the bag harder and harder. He picked his pace up and started flying through combos.

"You suck at this…go do something productive! Like studying! You're grades are dropping, boy!"

David could see his father's face…clear as day. He remembered the last time he was there…alive. He'd stood there in the doorway…scowling at David with that smug, self-righteous face of his. He could hear the words in his head.

"You're trash! You're a good for nothing lump! You've always got your damn head in the clouds! I doubt you'll graduate…god forbid you ever actually got the privilege to serve! When you're eighteen I want you gone…do you hear me?!"

That was the last thing David's father ever said to him.

David flew into a frenzy.

His arms and knuckles had a mind of their own…pummeling the bag with rapid and ferocious force.

The rope snapped…the bag toppled to the ground with a crash.

David sat there on his fallen bag for some time…wheezing and spewing on his own bitterness.