Fight Like a Girl

b o x

❝You never know you you're going to face in the ring. ❞
-Manny Pacquiao

"Davis!" I wake up to Coach pounding on my door. "Get the hell up, you lazy ass!" I roll over. I was supposed to be awake an hour ago.

Oh, well.

"Be out in a minute!" I pack up my things, throw my hair in a ponytail, and put on my boxing clothes.

I've received a text from Dad.

On my way. See you there! Happy warming up :)

I respond- thanks, Dad!

Coach is lounging by my door, tapping his foot. He storms off to the elevator as if we're in some big hurry.

Well, we are.
************
We arrive, and are immediately sent to warm-up, where I have a mere 15 minutes to prepare. Coach makes me do some sit-ups and punches on the bag.

I text Dad.

Here?

He doesn't respond. I assume he has his phone off.

I'm beginning to get nervous. What if I mess up? What if Karen sees me mess up, and thinks I'm not worthy?

"Stop worrying. Get out there." He receives a call. "You go to the regulations meeting, I'll meet you there, okay?" I nod.

I'm the only one who's alone in the meeting. Everyone else is with their coach. Mine's taking some stupid phone call.

The semis are different, because you only have to pin for 5 seconds. That's about it.

I am led to my ring. Coach is off the phone.

"Who was it?"

"Ad."

"For that long?" He nods.

We run through the typical things. Touch gloves, etc.

I look for Dad, front and center- he's not there. Some old lady has taken his spot. He's probably somewhere else in the audience. I scan for him.

He's not anywhere in sight.

And I tell myself not to worry, I tell myself not to fret, maybe he's late, maybe he got pulled over, but he was on his way at the right time. He's here, somewhere.

Probably the wrong arena.

Pep-talk time.

"Dad's not here."

"He's probably out there somewhere."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm ready."

Back into places. The buzzer rings, and I head right in with a right hook. This whole morning has been moving so fast, that I nail my fight. She's knocked out.

"Lane Davis, your left wing finalist!" Everyone cheers.

Dad's not here. Dad's not here.

"Coach, my Dad's not here."

"He isn't?" Coach scratches the back of his neck. He's lying to me. He knows something.

"What is it."

He sighs.

"Your Dad's car rolled over this morning. It was hit by a truck, apparently. He's about to undergo surgery. Your mother, Karen, is with him. They think he'll be okay,"

The world spins, for a second I feel as if I'm falling, but I catch myself.

"They think?" He nods. I'm shaking my head. No, this can't be happening. This can't be happening.

"Take me to the hospital."

"You're finishing your fight. It's what he would've wanted."

"Would have? What is he, dead?"

"Lane, he'll be okay."

I throw off my gloves, and put my hands to my mouth. I find it wet, from my tears. I haven't cried since, since-
Since I hit Karen.

"You idiot, take me to the fucking hospital!" I'm shouting.

"I won't."

I'm sobbing now. I can't do this.

Maybe if I'd allowed Everett to come. Maybe he could drive me. Maybe he could support me, instead of Coach.

Boxing. I love boxing.

Dad. I love Dad.

Now it's time to stay strong, which is what a girl would do.

But I don't know what I'm supposed to do.