Angus Jackson 'INCHES AWAY'

John could hear the dull tapping above all else. The roar of the crowd, the obscenities, his trainer screaming in his ear, these noises were all distant and muffled. He was focused on the sound made by the red drip falling steadily from his nose and disappearing into his tired red gloves. Gloves that as he rose from his stool felt magnetically attracted to the blood spattered canvas.
John stood 6 feet tall, although with the ever-increasing hump in his posture it’d be hard to tell. His worn-out body was creamy white and soft, his skin worn and blotchy. His hair faded brown, limp and greasy looking. His nose was flat to his face and his mouth, swollen and sore. He had always looked slightly hung over at the best of times, with his sunken dark eyes tinted red and hidden behind thick black bags and stubble that no razor could seem to remove completely. At this stage of his career John walked into fights looking as if he was walking away from one, but although he had lost technical ability he was as tough as he had ever been.
Here we go again, he thought, twelfth round. Plodding slowly to the centre of the ring he imagined the view of those at the back of the hall, his heavy hands way down and his shoulders and back hunched, to them he would’ve looked more ape than man, he laughed to himself, ape man K.O’s human in twelfth, not likely. The hall itself was dingy but very lively, the stale smell of smoke and sweat built up over the years was dominant, and puffs of smoke came up from various parts of the hall through out the fight in defiance of the new smoking ban. The Hall seated around 200 people spread out over 2 separate levels.
Everything had a fuzzy edge for John as he met his opponent at the centre of the ring. He looked at the cocky face, enough to stir some emotion and strength. The young opponent was Tony Allington, he was highly toned if a little underdeveloped but he was only 20. An artificial bronze colour and a ridiculous tattoo of a cheetah on his back, Tony had been thought by many to be world class. Professional at 17 he had won his first ten fights, then at 19 he lost twice in a row and everyone forgot about him. One would’ve thought that would humble a fighter, but he was ungracious in defeat and returned more conceited than ever.
The referee was short and round, his down turned eyes and mouth made him appear miserable, although he was far from it. He screamed to be heard above the crowd “ok girls, last round touch gloves” John lifted his hands, he couldn’t tell if his fists were still tightly clenched or not, he was numb from the shoulders down. Tony slammed his hands down on top of John’s, this kid’s obviously a Rocky fan he thought. Barely hearing the bell sound, he was more focused in on the sound of his vertebrae cracking and his neck muscles crunching as he tilted his head forward and back then to each side. Tony sprung out of the corner like a clumsy sprinter, over eager and awkward. He wanted the knock out. John guarded his body and chin with an awkward cross stance as Tony let loose mostly hitting his arms.
He smiled at how sloppy the kid’s punching was. Although John knew he was way behind on points, he felt more tired than hurt. Growing in confidence, he focused on Tony’s jaw, it was now in the open, and he couldn’t see anything else. Just the square chin flapping up and down as Tony berated him for not hitting back. Not needing a printed invitation, he poked out a stiff left towards Tony’s body then instantaneously launched an over hand rocket which exploded on the young pretender’s chin and sent him sprawling backwards, his knees bent, he landed on his backside then rolled back neatly onto his spine. The crowd almost lifted the roof with their volume, John looked out but he couldn’t see much other than hazy movement, they looked to him like a pot of pasta sauce boiling over. The screams however sounded like a radio on in the next room, muffled and secondary to the deep unsatisfying breaths John was trying to draw in before Tony got up. Scrambling to his feet at the count of six, Tony had tried to get up sooner but had stumbled, his legs visibly weak and a look of shock etched deep on his face.
John’s body now pulsated with energy, spurred on by the crowd whose noise held him upright and sent adrenaline pumping through his muscles and joints, he felt loose. His arms no longer the magnetized anchors he had to struggle against but now extension of his intent moving fluidly. He stormed forward hitting Tony with two sturdy body shots, forcing his opponent to wrap his arms around him to stop the onslaught, and steal a few seconds of respite. The crowd booed so loud at this it seemed to make the ring ropes vibrate. With a forceful shove John pushed Tony away and into the corner letting loose a barrage. Dodging side-to-side Tony desperately ducked and covered his face, as the older fighter in front of him displayed the talent that had served him for so long. Clinging to the man he spun him around to take his turn in the corner while he tried to get close enough to cause damage and regain some precious points. Watching the kid’s blocking arm lower as he focused too heavily on the perfect knockout blow, John focused everything he had on Tony’s chin. He was forgetting to defend himself. Throwing a right hook, the punch carried John’s entire weight behind it, but his glove missed Tony’s jaw by less than an inch and continued it’s downward trajectory.

John woke up feeling groggy, but quite relaxed, as if he had been given sedatives. He was lying in his dressing room, “There he is” said his trainer, “well done John, you were about an inch away from knocking that little shit’s head off, but you did ok today mate, earned your money, I’m gonna go get a drink, you sit tight, wanna cig? Here lemme light it for you, I’ll be back, or when your ready come through to the bar, well, maybe not John, the medic should be back in soon to check you out again, be a bit careful, your jaw might be fractured, maybe broken, not sure John, but yeah, I’ll be back in ten minutes”
John puffed on the cigarette his trainer had lit for him. While the man kept rambling for another couple of minutes John tuned out, he focused on the soft crackling sound each time he took a pull of the cigarette. He knew he didn’t want this anymore; he needed his body to heal. “Hold on” said John interrupting, “what actually happened at the end of the fight?”
“Well” replied the trainer “lets just say you hit him pretty hard in the hand with your face, that shot you threw at the end took all your momentum into him and he caught you”.
Three weeks after the fight John was standing in line at the supermarket, he wasn’t quite used to the hearing aides he wore, one on each ear. The constant beeps from the numerous check out’s made him feel on edge, and he came close to removing the hearing aid altogether. Every since admitting he could no longer fight John had felt dazed and unsure, he found it hard being in public it was as if he was a new person in a foreign place. John was snapped out of his day dream by a voice, “Got the army coming ‘round?” His eyes refocused on a lady of about 30 who had already started enthusiastically scanning his shopping. “No” he replied, “just wanted to stock up my underground layer in case of a nuclear attack”. The girl paused for a second then let out a forced laugh.
“So you’re a boxer then”, she asked
“Well boxer slash model. I would ask how you can tell but with this nose, and these knuckles it’s kind of obvious.”
“Yeah just a bit, I’d love to see a live fight, I’ve been a fan for years, never been though, you got any fights coming up?”
“Not sure, I had a tough one recently, need a bit of time off to reflect.”
“Got battered eh?” She asked with a light smile “No, I’m joking. I can’t imagine how tough it must be to prepare and recover psychologically from something that tough.”
John felt a bit more normal “Yeah it is tough, and after years of it you feel lost.”
John felt the penetrating gaze from the people behind him in the queue. When he had gotten to the front of the line there had been no one behind him. When did they get there? He had barely packed any of his shopping. He looked over to the check out lady, he wanted to continue the conversation but now he felt rushed. He finished packing with help he was quietly grateful for, his hands were still stiff and ached constantly.
“Thanks darling, have a nice night.” She handed John his change with a smile, he was sure she wanted to talk to him more too. As she began to scan the items of the next customer John felt his chance slip away, “what time do you finish?” The words were on the tip of his tongue, he got as far as “wha..”
“Got the army coming ‘round?” The checkout girl looked at the man in the scruffy grey shirt with a light smile, John dipped his head slightly and headed towards the noisy automatic doors, he reached up and removed his hearing aides.