Page 36 of The Vow

Thirteen

The Zenith Arena was buzzing with energy. The spectators come from all cultural backgrounds, and every walk of life. It’s considered a large venue for our area of town, big enough to hold a thousand people, and is considered the go-to place for sports events. I was ready to throw up.

After my weigh-in yesterday, a local news anchor left me dumbstruck with their series of questions. Most of them had nothing to do with the fight. Instead, they played on my Italian background and asked me which pasta shape I prefer, and if I’d ever consider moving to Italy. Cable pushed me to answer because fans want to think of me as a real person, and not a machine.

“Why?”

“It’s sadder when a real person dies.” Followed quickly, by “I’m fucking with you, kid!”

Of all the interview questions I’ve answered over my career, their questions were the most personal. When the reporter asked me about my relationship status, I had no choice but to admit I was single and prayed that Alex wouldn’t watch the 6 O’clock News.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Brago.”

“Why do you only call me that before a fight?”

“You have to earn your name, kid.”

“So... I’ve earned it?”

“You’re sittin’ here, aren’t you?”

I was already dressed in my shorts, vertical stripes of green, white, and red, to represent the Italian flag. Cable was massaging my arms, and legs, and stared at the crucifix around my neck like it was a malevolent charm. Before I left the house, Alex had slipped it over my head. I thanked her and told her I couldn’t box wearing it. She said, “I know. It will still protect you. Besides, I want a piece of me there with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I told Cable. “I’ll take it off in a minute.”

“You the praying type?”

“It’s... from a friend.”

“Sure, it is. And I just parted the Red Sea. You ready?”

“Do you think I am?”

“It’s what you think.”

Without this win – and the prize money – I wouldn’t be able to honor the vow I made to Alex. Defeat was not an option.

“I’m more than ready.”

“That’s what I want to hear. For the record, I’m proud of you, Pip.”

Cable hobbled off. Alone, I did what I always do before a fight. Staring at the ceiling, I asked pop to help guide me and lend me his wings so I could dance around Anvil.

“You got this. Remember why you’re here.”

“Just keep telling me that, Stan.”

I’ve had the same cornermen for years. Stanley used to fight himself and is well-versed in the rules of the sport. He’s still young, and when I asked him why he gave up fighting, he replied that he fell in love, and the joys of being a husband, and father, far outweigh the glory of the game.

“You hear that? The people are waiting,” Cable said, back by my side. “It’s now, or never.”

My fans are largely members of the Italian community. I know Nick and his wife are in the crowd, along with a few guys from the gym, and as they chanted Brago, Brago, Brago, all I could hear was Alex, Alex, Alex.

“Now,” I said.

My windshield wipers are working overtime. Nick offered to take me home and said he’d have Brenda drive my car back in the morning. Doc Neville had disinfected the cut on my eye and gave me the all-clear, so while I was grateful for Nick’s offer, I wanted time to myself before seeing Alex.

The heavy rain reminds me of sitting in a car wash. Two cars with blinking hazard lights are parked on the side of the road. I should join them, but my ribs are killing me, and I want to get home and ice my side.