THE FIRELIGHT ROSE, brightened as the new fuel found the heat in the drum. When he unbuttoned his red silk shirt and shrugged out of it, JB’s shoulder muscles looked more like brown softballs protruding from his slingshot tee shirt. His eye sockets flickered in and out of shadow. The crowd yelled and surged, slopping the cheap beer out of their red plastic cups. The air filled with a cloud of dirt that carried the scent of wet hops, wood smoke, and burnt oil.
I came straight in. Fists up, too hungry for him for me to think strategy and foot position as Dad had taught me. I swung and caught air. JB scoffed, “Hah,” and easily sidestepped out of the way. He swung. His answering fist caught me behind the ear. The night’s darkness lit up with a thousand specks of light brighter than the sun. I pivoted on my feet as he followed in and caught me on the jaw. The thousand specks flickered just that quickly and went out. For a second everything turned black. Then the world came back on. Energy left my knees, and I wilted to the ground. He came in quick and kicked me in the side. I went over onto hands in the dirt, gasping.
Wicks stepped in and shoved JB away mid-kick when he came at me for another. “Not while he’s down. Step back. Get back, you asshole.” He shoved JB again, then came over and tried to help me to my feet. With his mouth close to my ear, his breath sweet with Jack Daniels, he said, “You want me to call it? I’m going to call it. You’re in no condition—” I shoved him away and turned to face JB.
JB grinned, the orange firelight dancing on his overly tanned face. “I hoped you weren’t going to be this easy. I’m havin’ too much fun for it to end so soon.”
Like a fool I came in again, instead of letting him come at me and circling like I should’ve. I let out a yell so filled with grief it came up from the bottoms of my feet and sounded alien even to me. I swung a long sweeping roundhouse. JB giggled like a little girl, stepped inside the swing, and caught me in the ribs with a sledgehammer blow that knocked the wind out of me. I continued on into the crowd of deputies, who propped me up and offered their support—“You can do it. Don’t let him on the inside like that. Come on, kick his ass,” and other useless suggestions. I’d been up for two days without food or sleep and could hardly see straight, let alone fight someone of JB’s size and experience.
Wicks stepped in front of me as I tried to reengage JB. With one hand on my shoulder, he tried to put a roll of quarters in my hand. I let them drop to the ground. His words came out urgent. “Don’t be a fool, he’s going to mop the dirt with you. Go for his knee. He went out on a medical for his knee. Kick his knee out from under him.”
I shoved Wicks and got clear of him. The way I felt, I welcomed the pain. I preferred the physical pain over the gut-wrenching grief of losing my best friend. Ned.
Ned.
I went at JB again just like the first two attempts, only this time I focused on my footing. When he sidestepped like before and chuckled, I stopped short and rabbit-punched him in the throat. Caught him solid. The crowd cheered.
His eyes went large. Both hands flew to his throat as he made a noise of a steam engine going up a steep grade. I circled behind him, came in, and gave him a shot to the kidneys. And then a second one in the same place that sent him to his knees. He’d be pissing blood for a week, and each time he’d see pink in the bowl he’d remember this.
Dizziness suddenly shook my world and took over all else. It tilted the ground this way and that. I staggered to keep my balance. JB fell back, sat on his butt, still gasping and holding his throat. He sat back further on his butt, his legs going straight out in front of him like a disheartened kid on the playground. I continued to stagger backward and sat on the porch steps, my head and eyes and ribs throbbing from the blows I’d taken. Fatigue had me by the throat, had me on the ropes with all the emotions of the day piling on.
I blinked several times to right the world. JB suddenly turned into the little girl trapped under her father’s station wagon in the parking lot of the Mayfair Market. She—I mean—JB keened just as the little girl had while she clawed at the tire. I shook my head and the world shifted back into high gear. The keening had really come from Hannah, who, off to the side, cuddled and soothed little Beth. She held her the same way Dad had held the girl from under the station wagon with one arm under her legs as he tried to hand her off to me.
I looked into the crowd one more time searching for Ned, hoping he’d reappear so I could tell him how sorry I was about what happened. He didn’t show. Of course he wouldn’t. I leaned over and put my cheek on the coolness of the wooden step, closed my eyes, and tried to conjure Ned’s smile. I really needed to see that smile.