Creative Writing.

The Gloves.

By David Helm.

The smell of sweat and liniment was all-pervading. Bouncing nervously from foot to foot as Kenny tied his gloves onto his hands, Mikey Howell sneaked a glance at his opponent, standing on the other side of the ring, listening intently to whatever his trainer was whispering into his ear. Solomon “The Anvil” Irons was huge- not tall, but sheathed in muscle that looked like steel plates had been placed under his skin. Mikey blew out his air in short puffs, nervously detaching and reattaching the gum shield to his teeth.
“Now listen,” Kenny’s voice broke through his thoughts. “This guy knows you’re just a beginner- he’s not gonna go at you like Tyson. Just try and move around, don’t let him hit ya too much, try and sneak a couple in when he ain’t lookin’.”
Mikey nodded. “Yeah...” He took another deep breath. “How the hell did I get into this?”
Kenny shrugged. “Guy likes a challenge. Just ‘cause he’s the champ don’t mean he’s forgot where he came from. He’s givin’ you a chance, kid, sparring with ya.”
Mikey raised his eyes to the ceiling in irritation. “Kid”. Kenny had been born three minutes before Mikey- and he thought that gave him license to act like the grizzled older man. Mikey shook his head. “Thanks, Burgess Meredith. You’re really inspiring confidence in me.”
Kenny took a good-natured swipe at his younger brother’s head. Mikey ducked. “Hey!”
Kenny laughed. “If this guy don’t take you apart, maybe I’ll have to knock some respect to you myself, kid.”
Mikey grinned. “You’d have to grow a set of balls and get in the ring first, old man.”
On the other side of the ring, Solomon’s trainer pulled the ropes up to allow his charge to climb in. “Looks like you’re up, bro,” Kenny said softly. “Good luck.”
Mikey stepped forward. “Let’s do it.”

Faced with Irons in the ring, Mikey’s opponent seemed even larger than he had at a distance. The ref- an older guy named Frankie Silver, a regular at the gym- stood between the two men. He raised his hands above his head to signify the two men shake hands. Irons- who despite his reputation as a killer in the ring, was a genuinely nice guy out of it- stepped forward, fist extended. Mikey blinked the sweat from his eyes and glanced behind him. Kenny gestured toward Irons- go on! Mikey turned back to face his opponent. He swallowed- just because Irons was a good guy out of the ring didn’t mean he wasn’t about to get his ass handed to him- but finally extended his own gloved hand. Irons nodded, and the two men tapped fists. “Ring it!” Frankie Silver croaked, and the bell was rung. It was on.
Fists up in defensive position, Mikey and Irons circled the ring, feeling each other out. Mikey’s heart was going like a jackhammer, but in spite of himself, he threw the first punch- a blow to Iron’s jaw. He regretted that precisely two seconds later- Irons turned his head so the blow glanced along the side of his jaw and hammered Mikey in the ribs. One punch to the right side, then to the left as Mikey gasped for air. Mikey staggered under the blows, but stayed on his feet. Irons looked impressed. For a second. Then he delivered another devastating combo- a left jab to the face, and a huge right hook to the jaw.
It occurred to Mikey, as he fell on all fours, desperately trying to clear his head, that although landing that first punch may have shown guts, staying on his feet after the first two punches was pretty dumb. He’d probably just annoyed the champ. Through the buzzing in his head, he could hear Frankie Silver counting. He was up to six, and out of the corner of his eye, Mikey could see his brother willing him to get up.
He got up. Irons looked mildly shocked, but came in again. His shock seemed like it cost him though- his first punch was wild and mistimed. Mikey slipped the punch and managed to land one to the side of Irons’ head, causing the champ to stagger momentarily. He recovered quickly, landing a solid blow to Mikey’s ear. Mikey stayed on his feet, blocked Irons’ next punch and landed one of his own to the centre of the champ’s chest. That earned him a right to the jaw- out of nowhere- that loosened a couple of teeth. Felt like he’d been hit by a train. He now knew- if he hadn’t already- that he was totally outclassed. But what was he gonna do- pussy out? He cursed Kenny briefly and moved in again, aiming a couple of punches to Irons’ side. Landed two, but had the third one blocked and took another punch to the side of the head.
After that punch, Kenny winced. It might be better if the kid stayed down if he was getting hit like that. He was already staggering. But Mikey refused to go down, coming back for more punishment. At that, even Kenny- standing outside the ring- saw it. A red light briefly flared in the champion’s eyes and he started firing punches- drilling Mikey in the arms and chest, pushing him back until they were tangled in the ropes.
Frankie Silver was in in a second. “Break it up, break it up!” Irons backed off Mikey, breathing hard. Seeing his chance, Kenny gestured to Frankie Silver for a time out. Frankie nodded. Mikey backed into his corner, as did Irons, their eyes never leaving one another. Kenny passed Mikey a bottle of water. Mikey spat out his gum shield and took a long swallow, pouring more over his head. Kenny passed him back his gum shield. “You’re doing well, kid.”
Mikey turned to look at his brother. “He’s killing me!” He spat. “Giving me a chance, huh? A chance to visit the fuckin’ hospital!”
Kenny placed his hands on Mikey’s shoulders. “Ya didn’t stay down when he hit you with that big combo. You got him rattled!”
“I got him mad,” Mikey replied. He got back to his feet. “Time out’s over.”

This time he came out slow, fists up, playing defense. He had no chance of beating Irons in a straight fight- even he could see that- so he figured his best chance was to let the guy wear himself out then try and take advantage. Five seconds after that, he realized how dumb that strategy was when Irons smashed him with a vicious blow to the ribs. He dropped his hands and was immediately hit with another combo- a punch to the heart and then to the left hand side of his body that sent him staggering back into the ropes. Irons was just hitting him where he wanted to now- taking his time and delivering each punch with devastating precision. Through a red haze, Mikey aimed a weak punch at what he guessed was Irons’ face, and was rewarded with a huge left to the jaw. That did it. Mikey went down on all fours again, spittle and blood drooling from his open mouth onto the canvas. His limbs felt like rubber, and he was dimly aware of Frankie Silver counting again. The count was up to eight.
He got up.

The End.