Caged (Essay‪)‬

When we touched gloves, I felt the energy of his body. The enigma he had been became human. This was his first weakness, his transformation from a question, a mystery, into nothing more than flesh and blood. I could hurt flesh and blood; I could only punch through the specter of an enigma. The tattoos that covered his body told a story about a boy who wanted to hide behind a skull and cross-bones, a boy afraid of his own fear. But I knew the way the needle bit his skin, the way he clenched his teeth to keep from wincing. I could see the pierced holes in his nose and ears, even his nipples. This was a costume he never wanted to discard; this was the costume I would have to tear from him. As we did the ceremonious glove touch, I realized I had the ability to destroy him. Any weakness he exposed would allow me to end his life with my bare hands, if it weren't for the rules, if it weren't for the referee. When I was fourteen, my father severed all ties to me. He'd fought for custody, tried everything--alcohol, lies, violence. My body was still frail, just starting its own fight with puberty, when I saw dad hurl my sister into the garage door, when I flew at him and ate a backhand. What are you supposed to do? What's left except to make sure your mom and your sister are safe? I slept each night only after I knew my mother and sister were asleep. I checked the locks repeatedly, got out from the warmth of bed at the slightest stir, and often sat on the porch alone at night, watching, listening to the neighborhood. With my father gone, I was the man of the house. Mom worked sixteen hour days so we could live comfortably, and I desperately longed for a father figure.