Chapter Two
I had no intention of sticking around and I started walking to the subway. ‘Asshole,’ I thought to myself and stuck my hands in my pockets. I stopped walking, shook my head and turned back to the gym. ‘Trust had to start somewhere.’
I sat down and leaned my back against the front of the building, next to the front door. It was three am and walking home would take me at least an hour, if not more. There was no point in going home, not that anyone would miss me.
At six am, my eyes opened when Joe unlocked the front door and stood there looking at me. He shook his head, I scrambled to my feet and followed him inside. He was wearing training shorts and I looked around the gym with new eyes.
With all the lights on, it looked different. The bell above the door chimed as people started walking in, talking to each other and laughing. Nobody paid any attention to me as I stood in the corner and watched them put their bags against one wall and strip off their t-shirts and shoes.
“You’ll find a bucket and mop in the kitchen. You can start on the far side where we’re not practicing today,” Joe said and motioned his head toward the kitchen.
Every now and then I’d stop and watch them do punches and kicks, work on combinations and try to follow the blur of the speedball. Joe was firm and the group of men he trained respected him. He had a calmness about him that affected even me.
Throughout that day, people came and went. It was a Saturday and Joe never stopped. He gave advice, sparred with some of them, correcting their stances or the set of their shoulders. He would walk up to me and give me my new task and walk away.
At eight pm, he locked the front door as I put the last of the dirty towels in the washing machine and set it. It hadn’t been hard to figure out how to use it because Joe had said to figure it out, so I did. I was tired and hungry, and my arms hurt from all the sweeping and mopping, but the place was clean when I was done.
“You hungry?” Joe asked and I nodded. I was starving and it had been more than twenty-four hours since I’d last eaten.
Joe made dinner for both of us, not saying much. I sat at that small table and watched him as he cooked. I couldn’t figure this man out or what it was that he wanted from me. We ate in silence too and I stood up to make coffee for both of us after dinner.
Joe didn’t talk a lot so neither did I. “Gym’s closed tomorrow. You can come by after school on Monday. Clean the kitchen and let yourself out, the side door’s open.” With that said, Joe left me in the kitchen and disappeared somewhere.
‘Great,’ I thought sarcastically but I washed the dishes and wiped the table and counters. I switched the lights off before leaving through the side door.
That’s how it went for the next month. I took the subway to Joe’s gym every afternoon and every weekend to repay my debts. I didn’t get paid, and my duties consisted mainly of sweeping and washing the floors, taking the trash out, wiping down the sweaty equipment and washing the towels.
I showed up every single day and I worked until Joe closed the gym. I’d eat dinner with him every night and we shared a silent type of companionship. Sometimes he’d ask me about a bruise, or a split lip or black eye and I kept up my part of the agreement and lied about it.
As time passed, I realized that I really liked Joe. I respected him and I came to depend on him. I looked forward to eight pm when it would be just me and him, making dinner and eating quietly. I’d stopped hanging out with my old friends and Sundays were reserved for the rink and I’d spend the whole day skating.
Joe never talked about his life, but he answered certain questions I had. He was from Russia and had been in the Bratva. He’d left for New York after spending five years in jail and he steered clear of everything Russian.
He was a good man, probably the first one I began to trust. It came as such a shock to me that I stopped walking and laughed to myself. It was a new sensation, and it didn’t scare me as much as I thought it would.
It was late by the time I reached the Bronx and snuck back into the house through my bedroom window. The belt landed across my back, and I lowered myself to the floor, knowing that fighting back was futile. Roger would stop soon enough.
“Where were you?” he asked angrily.
“At work. I told you, Roger!” He’d been drunk when I told him, but it had the desired effect, and he lowered his arms.
“Stop sneaking around!” He slammed my bedroom door, and I shook my head.
I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. I couldn’t wait to age out of the system and start my life. That’s how I saw it, my life would start when I was eighteen. There weren’t many options open to me, I’d never go to college because I skipped more classes than I attended, and I didn’t care about finishing high school.
School was easy and I passed but each year they threatened to fail me because of my poor attendance. It didn’t matter much; I’d keep working for Joe or I’d find a job somewhere else. New York was a big city, and I was just existing, not living.
*A hand clasped over my mouth and my eyes snapped open. He was bigger and stronger than me and even though I tried to fight him off, I couldn’t. I was six and he was twelve. The knife glinted in his hands, and he sneered at me.
“I told you there would be consequences if you told,” he said and stuck the knife deep into my side.
I screamed and thrashed on the bed as he laughed at me. The lights switched on and he was pushed away from me. Angry eyes met mine and I swallowed as my blood seeped through my fingers as I tried to stem the bleeding.
“Fuck! Maureen! Call that doctor guy from across the street, the one that does those alley abortions! The dumb kid needs stitches!”
Phil left me on the bed and dragged Johnny out of the room. It had taken twelve stitches and Dr Philmore said if I woke up in the morning, I probably didn’t have internal bleeding. I was scared shitless to fall asleep but the next morning I woke up and I survived.*