20.

Ted sat on the bed scrolling through articles on his phone. Talia walked in, dragging her feet, shoulders slumped. She collapsed on top of him.

She rested her head on his chest. ‘I’m exhausted.’

‘Long shift?’

‘Some asshole abused me because I told him he couldn’t vape in the hospital, and I got vomited on. What have you been up to?’

He stroked her hair. ‘Stopped by Tony’s and checked on Pop.’

She raised her head and looked at him. ‘Thought you and Pop weren’t talking.’

‘I was hoping to see Jodie and the kids. They were at the zoo.’

She rested her head back on his chest. ‘What did Pop have to say?’

His eyes flicked to the envelope on the bedside table. ‘Same old.’

‘He just had the same old chitchat, did he?’ she said sarcastically and then yawned. ‘Even though his son is about to fight his grandson.’

Ted laughed at the absurdity, but the sad reality set in. ‘The plot thickens.’

Talia got up and stood with her hands on her hips. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘Dad and I’ll get paid thirty million dollars if we fight.’ He looked away and stared at the wall. ‘Then I fight Leroy.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, my God.’ She shook her head. ‘But what about the doctors? You haven’t seen them yet.’

‘The commission’s doctors said I need to take a three-month break.’

‘What about Dr Koski and the specialists?’ She shook her head. ‘And what if you lose to your dad?’

He clenched his fists together and squeezed. ‘I won’t lose.’

She scrunched her face, trying to piece the puzzle together herself. ‘You don’t know that. And who cares about the money? Do you really want –’

‘We’ll stage it.’ He felt dirty saying it and could almost smell Tony’s stench of sweat and cigarettes oozing out of him.

‘Well, why don’t you lose? Let your dad fight Leroy. Why do you have to?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s gotta be Little Boy Blue.’

Tears welled in her eyes. ‘Well, you can do it without me! Take your thirty million and the brain damage with it!’

It was like a punch in the throat.

‘You know that guy I was telling you about?’ Talia wiped her eyes. ‘The ex-footballer I used to look after in the home?’

‘Yeah.’

‘His ex-wife came to visit him one day when he was on his deathbed. You know what she said to me?’ Talia sniffed back tears and steadied herself. ‘She said she always loved him, but she couldn’t face wiping his ass for the rest of his life. So she left him. She divorced him, put him in the home and it became my job to wipe his ass. I love you Ted, but I’m not going to do that to myself. And if you love me, you won’t want to either.’ She went into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Talia’s shower had been going for ten minutes. Ted had barely moved. He couldn’t shake the thought of Talia cleaning up some brain-dead old footballer who couldn’t take a shit by himself.

He needed a distraction. He reached for the envelope on the bedside table and removed the folded paper from inside. It was a letter scribbled in his father’s writing. The return address was Silverwater Jail.

Hi Dad,

Thanks for coming to visit. Good to see a familiar face even if we don’t have much to talk about.

I do lots of counselling in here. I used to sit there like a stiff and stare at the clock. They have got this new chick running things and I’m starting to get something out of it.

I wanted to say this in person and kicking myself for letting the moment pass me by. I don’t want to wait for the next. So here it goes.

I forgive you for being a shithouse father. I know you didn’t have much help once Mum walked out. And I know that I did no better. Yeah, we did some big things together, but you were my coach and I was your fighter. Maybe I could have done more as a kid, but how was I supposed to understand what you were going through. One of my buddies in here served in Vietnam and he opens up sometimes. It is not easy listening.

I’m old enough now and have my own war stories of a sort. When I think about what I put Ted and Jodie through it makes me sick.

I’m not saying it’s your fault, but probably had something to do with it. I forgive you.

That feels good to say.

I was talking to the counsellor the other day. I realised that I don’t know you at all. We both like boxing, and both our fathers went to war – is that all we got in common? You came home from war, your dad didn’t. Sorry to say but I don’t know which is worse.

Maybe that’s not fair.

I’m sorry for dumping the kids on your door the night Monique died. I just couldn’t look at them. I couldn’t comfort them. They are good kids. You must have done a good job because Monique and I sure didn’t.

People talk about their hearts breaking, like they’re made of glass or something fragile. I feel like my heart is made from whatever stuff a boxing glove is made of – it doesn’t break, it just gets to a point where it copped so many punches it bursts at the seams, no use in trying to repair it. I stuck it in a locker thinking that perhaps it will come in handy, but I lost the key that night.

I wish I had the courage to apologise to Ted but I’m scared he won’t listen. Why should he? What good is an apology, really. He’s not a middleweight by the way – sure he moves well, but all that weight cutting holds him back. He’s got enough power to knock out bigger guys.

Anyway, I forgive you. I’ll always be your son, for better or worse.

Ron

The back of his neck tingled. He hadn’t realised Talia had turned the shower off, and was caught off guard when the door opened. She stood there with a towel wrapped around her, steam billowing out from the bathroom.

She stared him down. ‘I’m sorry if I was harsh.’

Another difficult apology. He folded the letter reverently and placed it back in the envelope before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting on the edge. ‘It’s okay. I’m sorry too.’

‘Regardless of what happens,’ said Talia, ‘you need to think about life after boxing. Do you really want to live like this until you’re so old and banged-up it’s hard just to get out of bed? What do you really want? To end up like your father?’

Ted raised both his fists before his face and tucked his elbows in as if preparing to defend himself. ‘I’ve had my hands up since I was kid.’ He lowered them slowly. ‘I assume it’s easy to tell someone not to fight when you haven’t been attacked your whole life.’ His cheeks were tickling, and he realised two tears had escaped from the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away. ‘I’m an adult now but I’m still the kid I’ve always been. I’ve been chasing this dream because it was all I knew! All anyone ever gave me a shot at. What am I going to do, get a job at Aldi? Laying bricks? Mowing lawns? Go study something at some college? When I could get paid thirty million dollars to do something I’m one of the very best in the world at?’ He stood and moved towards her so their faces were only inches apart. ‘I know this nice house on the beach and all the money in the world isn’t worth a pinch of shit if I can’t even wipe my own ass. I want to get out. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of fighting. Fighting with Pop. Fighting with Tony. Fighting with Mel. Fighting with Jodie. Fighting with you.’ More tears came and Talia pulled him into her arms. ‘The only person I never fought with was Mum!’ He choked up. ‘And what good did that do? Everyone assumes I’m angry at Dad, out for revenge. Truth is I couldn’t care less about him. It’s Mum I’m angry at.’ He hunched over and pushed his teary eyes into her chest.

Talia squeezed him tight. Her wet hair smelled of conditioner. ‘I don’t want to fight with you either, Ted. What does your gut tell you? Just say anything. What do you want?’

He pulled away and stood before her. ‘I was hanging out at my friend Billy’s house one day after school. His mum didn’t like me much so she tried to keep us apart. Anyway, we were playing Nintendo and his dad arrived home from work early. It was like Santa walked into the house. Billy and his sisters dropped the remotes and ran to give him a hug.’ Talia stepped closer and he pulled her close again. ‘It was so strange. To me, anyway. I don’t know what that’s like. I know there’s other kids out there like me too. I’d like to be able to help them.’ He clenched his eyes shut and bit back the tears. ‘I want Mum to look down and see that I’m more than just a fighter.’ More than the violent kid who ignored her screams.

‘I want to get out. But Pop’s got a debt hanging over us. If I can clear that, then I’m happy to be done with boxing for good. What kids are going to listen to me if I’m just some chump who pulled the pin just as he was inches away?’ He took her hands and held them close to his chest. ‘You know what the hard part is? I don’t know if that guy is still around – the one whose ass you had to wipe. Chances are he’s dead, or dying lonely and lost in his own thoughts. If I could get through to him and ask him if he had the choice to go back and live his life without football, I think at the very least he’d have to stop and think about it. Not everyone could understand that.’

Talia pressed her forehead into his chin. ‘I think he’d most certainly stop and have a good hard think about it. And decide that while football was something special – something I’ll never understand – being able to wipe his own ass and have his wife by his side was more important. I’m sure he’d be humbled by anyone he managed to inspire along the way, and be proud of any kid he was able to be a positive influence on … but I’m sure he’d be more content having his wife next to him when the lights went out.’

The following morning, Ted was relieved to finally take a seat at Dr Koski’s desk. Usually professional and composed, the doctor was fidgeting at his desk, looking for a way to proceed.

Ted broke the ice. ‘Let’s rip the bandaid off.’

Dr Koski lowered a stack of papers. ‘I won’t keep you in suspense. We’ve spoken before about chronic traumatic encephalopathy, CTE. This is degeneration in brain function due to repeated head injuries.’ He adjusted both his position in the chair and his language to ram the point home. ‘Your brain shrinks when you sustain repeated injuries. The more it shrinks, the greater the chances of Parkinson’s and other neurological diseases.’

Ted’s mind flashed to Muhammad Ali’s quivering arms as he lit the cauldron at the 1996 Olympics. Ted wasn’t even alive that day but he had seen the vision and never forgotten it.

‘The damage is more obvious in retired fighters. It can take years to develop, long after the concussion is suffered.’ Dr Koski strummed his fingers as if searching for how to proceed. ‘Ted, you may not have fought all that many times in the ring, but who knows how many times you may have copped a big shot while training and pushed through. On top of that, you’re in your mid-twenties. At the end of the day, CTE can’t be detected until death. You’re a baby. But both reports agree that your frontal lobe has lost some volume, more than would be expected of someone your age. There are also these white spots in this area known as “white matter”. They call these “signal change”. This can be a result of all sorts of things such as migraines. Some people are just born with them. It is peculiar that they’re only on one side, which suggests – but doesn’t confirm – that it’s a result of trauma.’

Ted needed the moment Dr Koski gave him to digest that. Even though he was prepared for bad news, he’d been clinging to a hope that it would all be okay.

‘Sometimes it only takes one concussion, but it’s more common in boxers and anyone who has repeated injuries. Your MRI results and the tests suggest you’ve had some heavy knocks.’

‘Anything else?’

Dr Koski scratched the side of his head. ‘There were some consistent scores in the lower quartile around memory and problem-solving.’

Anger welled. Ted knew he was no Einstein but felt his mind was as sharp as his hands. ‘I get so nervous doing those exams, I can’t concentrate like normal.’

‘That’s okay. That happens. Those scores alone aren’t anything to get too caught up in, but coupled with the scans and past studies … I must ask, did you get many knocks as a child? I don’t need the –’

‘Ron hit me a few times,’ Ted said calmly, as if he was talking about what he’d had for breakfast. ‘One time was bad … very bad. Knocked me out cold. I was about thirteen. There was another time when I was sixteen and we had a bit of a brawl. Most of the others were more back-of-the-hand kind of stuff.’ He rubbed his face. ‘So Shane, it sounds like this is leading to Sorry Ted, the jig’s up.’

‘It’s not simple,’ said Dr Koski. ‘The worst part about CTE is that it’s easy to spot when it’s there, and while there are common factors between boxers who develop serious neurological diseases, there may be a hundred others who took more damage in their careers but live relatively normal lives post boxing.’ He rocked back in his chair. ‘I played rugby for a decade and copped a few myself. Seen guys take dozens and never bat an eyelid. You just don’t know.’

‘What about my migraines?’

‘You can get sucked down a rabbit hole there. There’s a possibility they occur due to structural damage to your brain. It could be completely unrelated, or even psychological.’

Ted held his right hand in a fist a couple of inches in front of his right temple. ‘It’s always right there. The black hole.’ He knocked his temple like a door. ‘First appeared ten years ago when Dad hit me. It’s never really gone away.’

Dr Koski leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. ‘I won’t speculate. At the end of the day, neither report conclusively says you cannot box anymore. They suggest your brain has shrunk, likely due to past trauma. Significant additional trauma will increase your chances of degeneration.’ He drew in a long breath of air and let it out slowly. ‘Do you want my opinion?’

‘Not really,’ Ted whispered.

‘Everyone who steps into a boxing ring is putting themselves at risk. We might not have gotten to this conversation if you were still a middleweight, but after what you went through against Harrison, I’m deeply concerned there’s going to be even more damage. The effects won’t be known for some time.’ The doctor paused, weighing the words he was about to say. ‘You should retire. I think if you do now, you’ll most likely be fine.’

Ted nodded but sensed the doctor was holding back.

Dr Koski looked to an empty space on the wall, struggling to play the part of doctor and not friend. ‘If quitting just now isn’t an option you can live with … then take these next two fights, but I’ll be in the corner holding the towel and will throw it in the second things get ugly. Even then, it could be too late.’ He shook his head in anger, probably angry at himself for even suggesting it.

Ted was shaken by the emotion and stood up. ‘Thank you, Shane. I really appreciate your time and efforts. To be honest, I’d already made up my mind before I came.’ He reached out and they shook hands. ‘I suppose I wanted to give you the chance to change my mind.’ He smiled as they released their grip. ‘You almost did.’