The Fighter

wc: 775                                                    2021

    The blinds of the first-floor apartment are lowered, but music still spills out the window. Behind them a man dances alone in his room. He has a broken leg, or at least it was recently; you can tell by the way he twists it in the air, it only touches the floor for balance. You can also tell by the cast, hardened and yellowing. He’s fully dressed, although the top buttons are loose, and he wears sunglasses despite the night. His mouth stays open as he moves in front of the wall-length mirror, the room feels bigger there.

            This is not an important man, although it is a large one. His name’s Redford but his friends call him Lucho and he’s a security guard at a local bank. There’s never been a robbery, at least while he was on duty, but he has had to forcefully remove some Rons and Sandys. He broke his leg last month when it was hit by a belligerent fucker with crazy eyes and a baseball bat, or he wrecked his car when he was high, or he fell down some stairs helping his neighbor carry groceries.

            The music has horns and a singer who wants to be young again. The trumpets really bounce, and the drums are frantic, so he unbuttons his shirt and lets his gut fly. He hasn’t smoked in eight days and it doesn’t always feel good. In fact, it mostly feels bad, but it also feels great, but sometimes neither. He’s decided that nothing’s bliss. He bounces and glides to the rhythm, his arms swinging as he mouths the chorus.

            He’s never heard this song before, or the following one or the one after that. He imagines he’s not alone and they’re smiling and it’s not just anybody but the woman he left behind, the woman who broke his heart, the woman in the coffee shop. Maybe they’re all the same woman. He dances harder, faster, wilder as the new singer wonders how she could possibly love her wife more. He bounces off the walls and rattles the floor and gets up and apologizes to the downstairs neighbors in his head. He called his mom today. His dad too.

            

           
      Redford takes his pants off. He folds them neatly then tosses them at the dresser. They unfurl midair and catch on the sole knob of the pant drawer. They fall when he’s not looking. He puts his hands on his legs, one on each. They’re different sizes, the hurt one noticeably smaller. He feels good when he does that, his body does. It puts him there, in his body, and it’s a better place to be than his head. This healing is palpable. His hands trace his knees, his scars, the cast, down to his feet then up to his belly. He slows to a jerking sway; beware, beware.

    The music has shifted too. A teenager sings of a devotion Redford’s never felt. She’s felt it though and he feels that and a knot forms. His arms wrap around an invisible body, her head on his shoulder, his in her hair. She’d smell nice. He would too. They turn slowly, she follows him even though he doesn’t know the steps. He gives her a twirl. He twirls himself. Then they return, close, but they don’t kiss, they just hold each other tighter and tighter until his arms are not around her but around him, his thumbs gently rubbing his lower back and upper shoulder. And he steps. And he steps. And he breathes. And the lump dissipates.

            The music fades out and back and the marimba kicks in and his sunglasses are off and so are his socks and his shirt. The singer revels in the energy. Redford uses it to give his leg a chance and winces, crumpling. The mirror catches his eye, his eyes catch themselves and the brass comes back so he smiles because that’s it. He wiggles and sweats and pants and wipes at his eyes with a meat claw that twice put a hole in a wall instead of a dipshit’s face. A ball of sensation starts in his gut and spreads both up and down until the limbs move without restraint and a grin with eyes as bright as comets. He twists and swings and bounces and listens and feels it all at once, there’s room for everything.

When the drums grind down and the horns fade, he doesn’t check the clock and he doesn’t shower but he does floss, Redford is good about flossing, and then he goes to bed and tries not to think about anything important at least.