Stella and the Boxer

Chapter 45

But I only nod, because truthfully, I do. I know that Charlie is smart, and I believe that he wouldn’t want me there tonight if he thought that something terrible would happen. He would never knowingly put me in a position to be upset; I trust that.

This venue is much larger than the one that hosted the fights in Charleston – a small arena. Charlie and Mark lead us towards the back of the huge building, into a tall, concrete hallway, both of them have large duffels slung over their shoulders.

“We’re heading to the locker rooms,” Charlie says, “There may not actually be any lockers, but don’t call them dressing rooms.” He turns back to me with a grin on his face.

“Only cage fighters have dressing rooms,” Mark adds, chuckling at his own joke.  

For now, Mason and Casey are beside me, but only because Mason begged that he at least should get to see where the fight will be, even if he isn’t old enough to stay.

We are all stopped by a man at the end of the hallway, at the mouth of an open room that looks to be an actual locker room, but is divided into smaller sections with black, temporary wall structures.

While the man gives instructions to Mark and Charlie, I notice a boy – a couple of years younger than Mason, it seems – approaching us with his mother. She makes eye contact with me and smiles almost shyly as her son goes straight to Charlie and tugs at his sleeves.

“Excuse me, sir,” the boy says in a voice that is small, but big enough to grab everyone’s attention.

“Hi,” Charlie says, looking down at the boy that is only a bit taller than his waist.

“Could you sign these for me?” The boy holds up a pair of soccer cleats.

“That’s all he has with him, he’s just been to practice,” his mother explains, “I know you’re not a soccer player, but he saw you training at a gym near here over the summer, and when his coach told him that you were a boxer, he wanted to meet you, but didn’t get the chance.”

Charlie has already gotten on a bended knee and agreed to sign for the boy. He speaks quietly to him, asking his name and how old he is. Casey begins to ask the mother if she’s staying for the fight, to which the mother says no, that she’s here only because she has friends who work the venue, and a curious little boy. I turn my attention back to Charlie as he continues to speak to the boy.

“Have you been playing soccer for a while?” He asks, handing the signed gear back to the boy.

“Only for a year.”

“I played soccer too, but I wasn’t very good,” Charlie says, “I’m sure with a year’s experience, you’re much better than I ever could be.”

The boy shakes his head and smiles, “I don’t think so. Thank you for my cleats.”

When the boy’s mother collects him and they begin to walk away, she looks over her shoulder and mouths a thank you to Charlie.

“Does that happen often?” I ask.

“It does,” Mason answers for Charlie, who is far too modest to say anything.

Within thirty minutes, the larger room that we’re in is buzzing with activity. Other fighters have arrived with their trainers and entourages, and I begin to hear a crowd build in the arena past the concrete hallway.

Mason wishes Charlie good luck, knowing that it’s nearly time for him to leave, and Casey hugs Charlie, kissing his cheek and whispering something.