They say in the most defining moments, your life flashes before your eyes.
All I can think about tonight though is Mamie. It's the biggest night of my life and I can't focus on anything but her.
She ain't my mama, o' course. My mama left before I even opened my eyes for the first time to take a look at the world. Everybody says Mamie is my grandma and Uncle Georgie was my real pa. Story goes, Uncle Georgie fell in love with my mama and married her in spite of everybody telling him he was a damn fool. Real pretty, Mama was, or so they say. I remember once we were on the tram into town and a woman says to Mamie; "Is that Joy Carter's boy? I'd know those long eyelashes anywhere!"
Mamie just held my hand in her gloved one and turned her head away as though she couldn't hear. The lady tried to talk to me again but Mamie shook me and made me turn my head so I was lookin' in the white people section and ignoring the talking lady.
I asked Uncle Georgie once, what the best thing about my mama was. I was too little then to know that such questions weren't allowed. Georgie surprised me though, he told me it was her laugh. Joy was the most aptly named person he ever met, he said, because her laugh sounded like bells tinkling in heaven. Mamie told him to shut his big mouth and stop putting ideas in my head.
I can't help but laugh at the memory of Mamie, sitting in her hair curlers and housecoat, snapping at Georgie.
No, Mamie wasn't my mama. Not in name anyway, but if God told me he would take me back in time to change anything, I wouldn't do it for the world. Why, I just have to close my eyes and I can almost hear Mamie's loud laughter as Georgie teased her. It was a happy childhood, Mamie and Uncle Georgie were all I needed to get on in this world. And despite everything I put her through, she never left my side.
If that ain't a real mama, I don't know what is.
***
The boy near me glances at me slyly. I smile at him but he quickly looks away, he ain't supposed to bother me. I can hear Louie making his way down the corridor outside, talking loud, as always. Sure enough, within seconds the door swings open and there he is, puffing on his cigar nervously.
"Wheres my boy?" He grins around the room and as usual, the smile is almost as oily as his hair. He walks over to me, flicking ash on the floor. One of the guys he's with stays over by the door and the other follows him to stand in front of me. Louie flicks his head to the boy and luckily for him, the kid reads the gesture and runs out to the corridor to keep watch.
"How ya feelin' kid?"
"Fine."
"Good, good. Ya remember what we talked about?"
"I ain't likely to forget."
"Just you make sure you don't. Now listen here boy," The jolly voice is gone as he bends down to me. "You go down in the second round, right?"
"I know-"
"Just you make sure you do, kid. There's members of the goddamn mob out there in the audience and I don't fancy winding up with a hit on my head. Ya got me?"
"I know."
"There's millions of dollars in bets riding on this. Don't you dare fuck it up, boy. You go down in the second round and you stay down. Right?"
I nod. I just want him to leave me alone.
"Second round. Go down. Stay down." He slides one of his fat fingers between the vast pink flesh of his neck and his collar and tries to loosen it. "Nice fat paycheck for you, nice fat paycheck for me, the mob is happy and all the bookies want to commit suicide." He chuckles. "Just remember, go down tonight and you're richer than you ever dreamed, kid. Next time, you get ya fair fight. Your big comeback. Everyone's a winner, amiright?"
I wait for him to leave.
My gloves are next to me on the bench, waiting for someone to come and lace me in. See, even now, I can never look at a pair of gloves without thinking of Mamie.
***
Mamie went damn near crazy when Georgie bought home my first pair of boxing gloves. I've still got them now.
Even when he presented them to me, the red was already worn to pale pink. The leather had split open in places and instead of laces, they had worn string.
Mamie had cried blue murder, saying that my handsome face would be all bust open. I think, if I remember this right, it was the only time Georgie overruled Mamie. It was the one time he made a decision about me, and I really think that made all the difference to Mamie. If it was really so important to Georgie, she wasn't going to stop him. Sure she would chew his ear about it, but she wouldn't stop him.
Course, there was a reason Georgie bought me those gloves. He never intended me to carve a career out of them, he would have been horrified at the thought.
When I was growing up I was an easy target for every kid with a grudge, every kid who needed to vent, and there are were so damn many of them. I was the runt, skinny with a stammer. I didn't have parents, or siblings. I might as well have walked round with a bullseye on my forehead.
It was one day when I was eleven. I can still remember the terror of it now, Kingston Jones sitting heavy on my chest, offering a prize for whoever could come up with the best punishment for me. Punishment for what, I never did find out. One of the boys said I had to eat a slug. Another said they should take my pants and shoes and make me walk home.
Kingston decided it in the end, as he always did. He decided that I had to stand with my back to the wall and take a punch from each of them. They placed me against that wall and I tensed my stomach. The first blow was so hard I felt like I was going to vomit there and then. I managed to take the next as I fought back tears. I was winded so hard, I could scare breathe.
It was as I waited for the third that I saw him.
Never, before or since in my life, have I felt such shame as I did when I saw Georgie walking towards me in that moment.
He grabbed the boy who was about to take a swing at me by the ear. They scattered immediately then stood a safe distance away, shouting awful names at Georgie. He didn't flinch. He told me quietly to walk as straight as I could, then he lead me away. It wasn't until we were round the corner that he turned to me. He took my chin and raised my head so I had no choice but to look him in the eye, but God knows I felt so ashamed I didn't want to do it.
"Son, I'm gonna tell you something. There ain't no shame in losing. The only shame is in not fighting back. When you don't fight your corner, you lose all your power. I never want to see you be the outlet for another man's anger ever again. Ever."
The next day he came home with the boxing gloves.
***
"Uh.. Prince... D- Do ya want a drink?"
The small boy from earlier is watching me, scuffing his too big shoes against the lino. He looks for all the world like the kid who took those punches all those years ago.
"A drink would be good." I rummage for a couple of quarters. "See if you can't get us a bottle of lemonade each."
He takes the coins and runs off, leaving me alone.
***
Poor old Mamie. Georgie never told her about the boys, to save my shame I guess. She might not have liked me boxing, but she was so proud of everything else I did. I remember hearing her brag to the neighbours; "My Prince is top of the class in everything he studies, you know."
If I wasn't before then, I made sure I was after. Mamie's entire life revolved around me and Georgie and our achievements were hers. So far as she was concerned, I was headed in the same direction as Georgie, working in a nice office.
Georgie worked for some white folk in a small office. They were good people, so far as Georgie was concerned. They paid him well and they treated him like a friend. They even sent a present home with Georgie every Christmas for me. I used to meet him from work sometimes after my boxing class and we would walk down past the stream together. Georgie had a huge fondness for books, he would read just about anything he could get his hands on. It was my favourite time of day, me and Georgie, walking back home past the river and he would tell me the most wonderful stories. You wouldn't ever think it to look at him, but he had poetry in his soul, did Georgie. With just his words he would take me to the deepest jungles and the ancient baren deserts. Sometimes he would recite entire poems or passages of books he'd read.
Most black folk in our side of town couldn't read so good, Mamie being one of them. She's as illiterate as the day she was born, but she made damn sure that Georgie and I learnt to read. In fact, her greatest pleasure in life has always been to have someone read to her. It doesn't matter what you read, she gets swept away in it, laughing and crying in all the right parts. She always says she doesn't know how folk can write such fantasies down so well.
Whilst I loved reading out to Mamie, my hour walk home with Georgie was my favourite. In the years that have past since then and now, I still think he was the most intelligent man I ever met.
It started on those walks home. They were on push bikes and the first few times times they passed us, they just shouted out. They shouted that hateful word that they use to mark us, to degrade us. I've always hated that word. Georgie taught me early on that although I might have to hear it everyday, it never gets less ugly. Georgie ignored them. He kept right on walking, didn't even break his sentence.
I wonder now, if that just made them more angry.
Soon afterwards, Georgie told me I wasn't allowed to meet him any more.
Now I always respected Georgie, so I did as he told me, but there was one day I just had no choice. My boxing class ran late and I knew Mamie would worry if I took the longer walk home and I'd most likely get an earful. I figured Georgie would already be nearly home, so I set off along the riverbank.
I was almost halfway home when I spotted him.
There they were, the men who had called us n----rs. The scene didn't seem to make sense. I must of been 12 at this time and so far as I knew, Georgie was to be respected. He was a grown up and in my mind, he inhabited that world of grown-ups, where they are untouchable, not bound by the playground rules that govern children.
Two of them were holding Georgies arms as the third punched him in the stomach. Two, three, four times.
I couldn't move, I clamped my hand over my mouth and sank down to the ground, trying not to make a noise.
It didn't take long. They threw him down and walked away laughing. But it was what Georgie did next that broke my heart.
He stood up, and with trembling hands, he retucked his shirt and scrambled to pick up his bag, dusted it off, then carried on home to me and Mamie, staggering just slightly.
After that I came to recognise signs of the days that he encountered them. His hair would be a little ruffled, maybe Mamie would scold him on his dusty clothes.
At first I was angry with him. How could he tell me to fight like a man when he wasn't doing the same?
But slowly I came to understand.
Georgie wasn't angry about me taking the blows. He was angry because I had the choice to fight back, but I didn't. When those white men hit Georgie he didn't have a choice. He knew already that I was living in a world where I would have to take some harsh, unjust blows. He was trying to teach me how to be a man, a good, strong man, when the world is already stacked against you.
***
The boy has returned with our lemonade. He drinks his as he drums his feet against the wooden planks of the bench, glancing at me every now and again.
"That good?" I ask, as he sips noisily at his drink. He nods and I smile. "What's your name?"
"George."
"George? Thats a good name. The greatest man ever knew was called George."
He doesn't answer, he just keeps glancing at me. Louie hires these kids to run any errands I might want but usually I haven't the heart to order them around.
"You're the best fighter. Me and Pa have been to most of your fights." He mutters.
"Thank you."
"You've never lost a single fight." He tells me, as if I didn't already know.
"That's right."
"You'll win tonight." He shrugs, scratching at some peeling paintwork on the bench.
***
Even at the age of 14, I was unbeaten. They said it was because of my stance, my arm reach, my steel jaw. I always thought it was because of Georgie. He never really praised me for winning, but I sure as hell didn't want to go to him and tell him I'd lost.
Strange but that gave me the drive. I never wanted to look at Georgie and tell him I'd lost anything ever again. Knowing what he was going through without complaint meant that I had to succeed for us both. My triumphs were his.
My only focus was training. I didn't give too much thought to anything else. But now, when I look back, I can see Mamie in the background of it all. When I came home exhausted, she was there, ready with a bowl of something hot to feed me. When my muscles knotted and cramped, she'd be there with her hot towels and wrinkled hands to try and massage it out. Even when I needed to vent my anger, she was there to listen. When I tried to skip church to train, she was there to drag me over to the chapel by my ear.
Then I hit that age. That horrible age of a young man who is angry and wants the world to know it. Around that time I started running with the wrong crowd, boys who didn't have the focus and drive Mamie and Georgie had tried to instill in me.
And it was one night, one night I was walking home through a bad area when a voice called me over. At this time I considered myself a strong man, I didn't fear no one, so I swaggered over. It was a boy I knew by sight and he gave me a toothless grin as he said; "Prince, you want me to take you to meet your mama? I know where she's livin."
All of my foolish bravo left me then. Of course I wanted to meet my mama, more than almost anything else.
And that was the first time I met Joy Carter.
She was working as a prostitute in a different part of town, although, naturally, she never divulged her profession to me at first. She welcomed me with open arms and introduced the collection of drunk people in her room to her 'handsome son'.
I was a fool. Because she was my mama, because finally, I had found my mama, I pretended I couldn't see it all. I pretended the men in her rooms were her friends, the drugs weren't hers, even that she loved me. Without telling Mamie or Georgie, I went back the next day and the day after that. When she asked me to move in with her on the fifth day, I decided to do it.
Of course, when I went home to pack Mamie begged me not to go, she even cried. Then I said the thing I ain't never forgiven myself for.
I said, you ain't my damn mother Mamie.
After all she had done, I shrugged her off with those cold words. Georgie tried to square up to me, but he was a small man and I already had 4 inches on him. And to my shame, I shoved him to the side. I shoved him so hard that he fell. I can still see the look on his face in my mind. He looked hurt, but I could also see that he forgave me straight away, he wasn't angry.
That man who had treated me with such kindness and love, I shoved to one side like he was dirt. I ain't never forgiven myself.
It didn't take long for things to sour at mama's house. Mamie and Georgie had taught me not to drink and Mama tried to force it on me. On an evening at home I would listen to Georgie reading to Mamie, or laugh at Mamie's stories of old. We'd eat good food every night and play cards.
Being with Joy wasn't like that.
Men in and out constantly, parties, fights. Joy would start drinking somewhere around noon, when she finally got outta bed and she wouldn't stop until the early hours. She was a mean drunk and more than once I had to restrain my mama when she attacked me. I spent most of my day training in the gym, but I had to go back sometime.
Mamie used to send someone round to the gym every day with a lunch she'd packed up and some clean socks. The messenger, usually some local kid, would tell me how heartbroken and worried she was, but I would always pass on the message that I was fine and happy. I was too young at that point, too young to know that it's ok to be wrong. It's ok to make mistakes and own up to them.
Truth be told, I was too ashamed to go home. Not only had I made a mistake, I would have to look Georgie in the face, knowing that I'd pushed him down. And the idea of talking to Mamie after speaking so cruel to her wasn't one I could handle.
I was too proud to go home, and somehow, Georgie knew that. Maybe because he didn't think it would work out, or maybe, as I've always thought, he knew his son better than anyone else has ever known me.
I had been at Joys for 2 months and I could feel my mind sinking into a dark place. I could often hear her, either screaming at someone or sleeping with different men through the walls. My room there was the most depressing place I've ever been in, even the memory of it makes my stomach twinge.
This night Joy had insisted that I join in with her party. She was drunk already and dancing round the room, swaying and tripping. She had decided she wanted me to drink with her and the more I said "Mama, I'm only fourteen!" The more her friends laughed and asked her where Joy Carter got such a pure kid from.
She was starting to get angry, the way she often did for no reason and I could feel the knot of fear in my stomach tightening. When Joy lost it she would attack you with anything, glass, keys, anything she could grab. I just wanted her to calm down, almost as much as I wanted to cry. I was 14 years old but I knew that none of the adults in the room would help me when she attacked me.
And then Georgie was there. Just like that. There, amongst the trickle of drunken newcomers was Georgie.
"Prince, come on. I've come to take you home."
I swear, never in my life has a voice been so welcome to my ears. He spoke in his usual quiet way. He couldn't have looked more at odds with the people round him.
Before I could speak, Joy spotted him. It seemed to tip her anger right over the edge and she began to scream and shout. He told her calmly that he had come for his son, and lord, the obscenities that left her mouth would've made a sailor blush.
I stood up to follow him and she started on me. The things she screamed and the names she called me tore my heart. No adult had ever called me such words before.
And she was my mama. All I had wanted was for her to love me.
We were almost home before it overcame me and I began to cry, cry like a little boy. Georgie turned round straightaway and for the first time in my life, he hugged me tightly. I clutched on to him and cried as though my heart was breaking.
"You didn't do nothing wrong, Prince. You went looking for your mama and I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry that she treated you like that." A tear trickled down his face and I remember wondering when he had started to get old. "You're a good boy, Prince. Every day from the moment you were born, every single day, you've made me proud."
He patted my hand and then linked my arm in his. It took us a long while to get down the street, I didn't know it at the time but he had taken a bad beating the day before.
I ain't never forgot that night. Georgie wasn't one for emotional speeches, but I realised that night something that has stayed with me. No one will ever love me as much as Georgie. It didn't matter what I did, he would be there, just waiting to show me how to do the right thing, how to find a way to be good again.
***
"Mr Louie said you're not allowed to drink too much water before the fight."
George is looking up at me and the expression on his face makes me laugh.
"I ain't gonna need the bathroom. Do you think I'll need to go when I'm in the ring?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"I won't." I laugh, sipping at my water. "It's kinda hard to focus on your body's needs when you're getting punched in the face."
"Does it hurt?"
"What, getting hit in the ring? Nah. You get this kinda buzz and you can't feel anything. And you ain't thinking neither, you can't hear the crowd, you're just thinking where to get your next hit, how to dodge and swing it at the same time."
"It hurts me when I get hit."
"Who hits you?"
"Just the other boys at school. Sometimes." He shrugs, trying to look brave, but I can see so much of myself in the gesture.
"I went through that."
"You?" His eyes flick up to me.
"Yeah. Fight back when you can, don't beat yourself up when you can't. And never let yourself be an outlet for another man's anger." I can't help a smile. "A very wise man once told me that bit of advice and it's never done me wrong."
***
The next time I saw Joy Carter she was dead.
Mamie didn't want me to go to the parlour to see her casket, but Georgie took me anyway. Joy was laid out, dressed in a white dress and looking far more demure than she ever had been in life. Georgie left me alone with her for a moment, but I couldn't think what to say to her.
Joy was a stranger to me. I didn't love her, I didn't even like her. In the end I did the only honest thing I could and I thanked her from the bottom of my heart for allowing Mamie and Georgie to raise me, even though I'm sure it was out of selfishness rather than concern for me.
When I stepped back to the back of the chapel, Georgie stepped forward. He turned to look and see that my head was bowed before looking back at Joy.
I watched as he pulled the carnation from his buttonhole and placed it gently on top of her hands, then raised his rough hands to gently stroke her hair.
And I understood everything in that single moment.
I understood who had paid for a respectable funeral and casket. I understood why Georgie lived with his mama and son and never sought to remarry.
Georgie had loved Joy. Really loved her. Right up until the end. After all she had done, he still loved her.
I'll never understand why. But that day I guess I learned that love isn't supposed to be understood, it just happens and there ain't much you can do to stop it, even if it's gonna be your ruin.
***
For many boxers its the moment the gloves are on. For some it's the scream of the crowd as you walk down the corridor.
For me, it's always been the boots. The moment I begin to lace the boots, I start to feel as though I can do it, I slip into the role I'm meant to play.
Georges fingers are much smaller and he nimbly weaves the laces through the holes. I jab at the air. Dodge. Hit. Dodge. Hit.
***
I think the hardest thing for Georgie was letting me do my own thing. He'd raised me with the idea that I would grow up to be a better version of him, but of course it was never gonna work like that.
I was 18, ready to grab life. Georgie had aged quickly in the past few years. I think a life with little pleasure and too much work and responsibilities had aged him before his time. That said, he was in his late thirties when he married Joy. By the time I was 18, he was coming up 60.
Georgie had been having some trouble at the office. The old owner had passed away and it had been bought up by some other guy who wasn't so happy about having a black guy working the main office. Of course, because it was Georgie, we didn't know how bad or good it was, he kept his own counsel as always and told us not to worry.
Naturally, Mamie did nothing but worry.
By this time I was making a name for myself on the local boxing scene. This was well before I caught the eye of Louie T. Jones, and my trainer at the time was an old guy named Percy Munroe. He'd been a local boxer himself as a young man and I guess his time training was almost over, until I arrived at the age of 11 and reignited all of his passion for the sport. He was supposed to retire from the gym just 6 months after I met him, but in the end he never did. He came in everyday to coach me, even when the cancer really had a hold on him and he could barely walk, he would just sit and watch, shouting out advice.
He used to say I was the best he ever met, and you know, he's been proved right. The last time he ever saw me in the ring was my first night in Madison Square, with all the TV cameras on me. He died the next day and his wife said he was still beaming with pride as he got the last rites.
I might of been the best he ever saw, but without him I wouldn't have even been allowed to continue. Georgie had started to worry, see. Now he didn't mind me boxing to train my mind and discipline myself, but boxing with the intention of making a career was something else all together. After many whispered conversations with Mamie, who was still worried about me ruining my looks, Georgie decided to put a stop to the boxing and get me a job in a local store.
I knew he just wanted the best for me, but what he couldn't understand was that it was already in my blood by now. You know, I see some boys down at the gym and they fight so neat and precise, every movement methodical and practiced. They know everything about the sport and how it works. But you put them in the ring with a boy who ain't as well trained, but who's got the passion for it, a boy who puts his heart and soul into every fight, and they lose every time. See I had that passion, and Georgie, bless his heart, was not a man given to great passions, so there was no way he could ever really understand the burning need to do something that pulsed through every part of my body.
Of course, because being hot-headed was in my very nature, I was angry. If I was hot-headed, Georgie was equally stubborn and the more I raged, the more the dug his heels in. I don't know where it would have ended if Percy Munroe hadn't decided to take matters into his own hands and go see Georgie himself.
I never did find out what passed between them, all I knew was that suddenly, as well as an increased training schedule, I now had a job at the local store to manage as well.
You know, I think Georgie always thought privately that boxing was just a phase I would grow out of, then I'd be off into the real world to get a proper job. I remember overhearing him say to Mamie once:
"Ma, I didn't really teach that boy to read and write just for him to spend his days getting punched in the face, did I?"
The memory of him saying that, so incredulously still makes me laugh now. Poor old Georgie.
***
"It's filling up out there." Little George glances at me and for some reason he looks worried. "Are you nervous?"
"Me?" I smile at him. "No, I ain't nervous."
"For real?" He tilts his head and squints at me, looking doubtful.
"There ain't nothing to be nervous about. I either win or I lose, being nervous won't change the outcome."
"But you ain't never lost a fight."
"So you keep reminding me." I laugh.
"And everybody says you're going to knock Smokey out tonight. An' if you lose..."
"... If I lose?"
"Well, then you'll have lost. And you ain't never lost." He says again, to emphasize his point.
I laugh as he turns stands back up on the bench and peeks out of the glass window into the stadium.
I could try and explain to him that losing isn't an actuality, it's a state of mind. But he's too young to understand and I don't think that it's a thing you can be told. You have to learn it for yourself.
"You won't lose." He says it like a prayer, speaking more to himself than to me.
"Ain't no shame in losing, kid. The shame is in not fighting when you had the chance."
***
There was only one time in my life that I truly disappointed Georgie. I disappointed him so badly that he didn't speak to me for almost a year.
I feel like there is some irony in the fact that without the job in the local store that he forced me into, it would never have happened anyway. The job itself consisted of stacking shelves, operating the ancient till and wearing a stupid matching apron and hat.
I can remember the first time I saw her. She breezed into the store and asked me where she might find some special oil she needed for some recipe or other.
Now I was 19 at this time and quite the young man about town. I was well known locally because of my boxing and due to my physique and habit of spending all my income on the most slick clothing I could buy, I wasn't short of female attention. I considered myself quite the expert on courting and charming a girl. So I was not best pleased to find myself utterly unable to do much more than point unsteadily at the oil in question and make a noise similar to a distressed cat.
Connie Freeman robbed me of my ability to talk every time she came in the shop. In fact, she later admitted for the first few weeks of knowing me, she thought that I was mentally unwell.
Connie lived just outside of town and the idea came to her eventually that it would be a lot easier to have her shopping delivered. Of course, the job fell to me and that was how I came to be spending two mornings a week in Connie's kitchen, helping her unpack and trying to flex my muscles surreptitiously as I lifted the shopping.
When I found out Connie was 6 years older than me, and married with a son to boot, I should have backed off. But I was addicted to her and she could have been married to the King of England for all I cared, I wanted her more than I wanted anything. When I wasn't with her I couldn't focus on anything, even training. She was like a drug to me from the minute I met her.
Afterwards of course, they all blamed Connie. She was older, they said. She was married, they said. I think people were under the impression that she seduced me, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Connie was lonely when I found her and I pursued her so ruthlessly that she didn't stand a chance. I just knew, see, I just knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that we were meant for each other.
At first of course, no one knew anything. It wasn't until Connie fell pregnant that it all came out. She and her husband hadn't even slept in the same bed in two years, so her suddenly having a baby in her stomach aroused his suspicions somewhat.
If you ain't ever lived in a small town you won't understand how gossip can spread from one side of town to the other in a matter of seconds. Connie utterly disgraced, even the pastor gave his damning verdict on her from his pulpit on Sunday morning as Mamie pursed her lips and nodded in agreement.
Connie was adamant that I didn't tell anyone I was the father. She was more worried about me ruining my standing in the community and my prospects than she was about herself and for about a week I went along with her wishes. She had gone to her sister's house on the other side of town and was being thoroughly ignored by everyone from the local shopkeepers to her own mother.
It seemed to me that I couldn't let this continue. I followed Connie from her house one morning and watched her make her way into town. A few people were brave enough to call names out to her, but most just made a great show of turning their heads away as she passed. I waited until she was right in the square, in the busiest area, before I walked up to her and wrapped my arm around her, kissing her cheek. She gasped and pulled away, but it was too late. By the end of the day, everyone in town would have been told exactly who Connie's baby daddy was.
Apparently when they told Georgie, he almost collapsed. The shock was so great that for the first time in his life, he was sent home from work early. When I arrived home, several hours later, he didn't speak to me. He didn't even look at me, and much to Mamie's distress, this continued for the next 9 months.
He was so deeply, profoundly shocked, I think. Not that I had owned to the baby being mine, he would have been even more disappointed if I made Connie suffer that alone, but just the fact that his son, the boy he tried to raise with his morals and beliefs, would sleep with a married woman.
I did try to explain it to him in later years, but he never really got it. As I said, passion wasn't in Georgies nature. While he might have loved Joy, he didn't allow his emotions for her to drive him wild, as mine for Connie drove me.
Georgie was quiet and respectable and he took pride in that. For him, duty and responsibility would always come before passion and desire and I think that was always the crucial difference between us. We understood each other in every way, except that one. To him, emotions were an indulgence, a controllable urge. While for me, they were a driving force at the centre of everything I did. We had always managed to pass over this difference, but with Connie it all changed.
I truly believe he saw my affair with Connie as a failure on his part. He took it as a personal failure, but it wasn't that. I didn't take up with Connie to rebel against him. I just fell in love. I loved her so deeply and ferociously that everything else, her marriage, the gossip, the disgrace... Well all of that was like a tiny sapling in the path of a hurricane.
***
There's another boy at the door, this one from the dressing room of Smokey, and I have to hide a laugh at the way him and George glare at each other.
The boy is accompanied by Smokey's coach and they both march into the room to watch me get my gloves laced up. It's standard practice but it always annoys me.
I could tell just by looking at the coach that he was going to be difficult and sure enough, he insisted on feeling my gloves several times, then making my assistant unwrap my hands twice before allowing him to continue. Of course it's true, some boxers put stones or weights in their gloves, in fact, my most famous victory was over Joey Malone when he cracked my jaw with the weights in his gloves. They asked me afterwards why I didn't tell the referee he was fighting with weighted gloves and I told the truth, I had an unbeaten record and if I called a halt to the fight he would have been disqualified, but he would always have been the guy who broke the 'Black Prince's record and I would have rather have had a broken jaw than give him that distinction.
That quote snowballed and became front page news everywhere, adding to this bizarre mystique they've built up around me. Mamie went damn near crazy when she heard and asked me what was the point of God giving me a perfectly good jaw if I was out there asking people to break it.
Little George and the other kid have descended into a shoulder shoving match, cut short when Smokey's coach reaches over and bats them round the head indiscriminately.
The gloves are on and I wiggle my fingers inside them. They're like my second skin and I immediately feel more like myself with my hands incased in them.
My coach, Pauly, pats me on the back as he passes, on his way to watch Smokey's gloves get laced on. Little George turns to me, fully aware that the rival kid is watching him, glaring.
"What do you want me to do, Prince?"
I pretend to consider, aware of how important he feels right now.
"You better go with Pauly. Make sure Smokey's gloves are clean." I nod, talking to him as if he's a full member of my entourage.
George tries desperately to look casual but his eyes flick to the other kid smugly before he half skips out of the room after Pauly. Everyone else follows, with the exception of a skinny guy who works for Smokey. I suppose he's here to make sure that I don't magically unlace my gloves and insert some stones.
I ignore him as I stand on my tiptoes, trying to peek out of the window to see if they are here.
***
Me and Connie shared a room in town above a bar. It wasn't ideal, the main problem of course being the noise and the drunken idiots at all times of day, but nowhere else in town would rent to us.
Connie was in a bad way. Her soon to be ex husband had full custody of their son and she was banned from seeing him. She was in a world of pain I couldn't touch and sometimes I used to lay awake next to her, listening to her jagged breathing and wondering if she regretted it all. That was my biggest fear. See, I missed Georgie like crazy, in fact I couldn't think on him too much because it felt like there was a pressure on my chest. One day I saw him in town and he turned his back on me. It hurt me so deep and hard that I came home to Connie and cried. I couldn't stand the notion that the man I adored so much could find it in his heart to hate me.
But you see, although I missed Georgie with every ounce of my heart... I loved Connie. And if he couldn't accept me as I was, I wasn't going to change for him. That was the sort of man he taught me to be, he told me to always know my own mind, and I wasn't going change, even for him.
Mamie though. Mamie was 80 by this this time and she broke the habit of those long 80 years by ignoring the pastor, who by all accounts now dedicated a large portion of his sermon to denouncing myself and Connie weekly. Mamie walked into town every day with her head held high and came to visit us.
It meant more to Connie than anything. Mamie was a respected figure in town and when people saw her with Connie they couldn't say anything. More than that, Mamie and Connie talked for hours. They talked about Connie's son and how she felt and a whole range of other things I could never quite find the words to talk about.
Mamie often said that Connie reminded her of Georgie and that was a good thing, because God knew I was such a hot-headed, silly boy that I needed calm folk to keep me straight.
It was a strange time in my life. I was rising up, Louie T. Jones had been to a few of my fights and word was that he was excited by what I was doing. Things were moving fast in my career. I came home every day to find Mamie, who looked more happy and alive than ever, gossiping with Connie over endless cups of tea. I was more content and excited than I'd ever been, but there was one thing missing.
You see, without Georgie, it didn't mean much. Georgie had instilled so much of himself in me that all these things, the birth of my first child, my first big fight, all these things were tainted by the fact that he wasn't going to share them with me.
I needed Georgie more than ever, because although I wouldn't admit it to anyone, he was the only one I could talk to. I was scared, scared that I wouldn't know how to how to be the sort of daddy that Georgie was to me. I still needed him to guide me so much, so how could I guide someone else?
On 29th December 1942, two things happened that changed my life forever. I won my first major fight against Dante White, the first professional I'd ever fought. I knocked him out in the third round and Louie T. Jones signed me that same day.
Three hours later, my daughter entered the world.
Mamie had helped deliver her just as I was signing the contracts that would take me from a small town wonder to a global name.
Holding Stella in my arms for the first time was the most life changing moment I ever experienced, but what perfected it was the knock at the door. Mamie hobbled over to open it and when I heard that gruff voice my heart sang.
"Well, are you gonna let me in? I've come to see my granddaughter."
***
It's almost time.
The noise from the crowd is monstrous, even from here.
29 years old. 47 fights, unbeaten in all. Not so much as a draw. Smashed every world record and created a few more.
And tonight I'll go down for the first time.
Louie planned it months ago and it's going to be the shocker of a lifetime. People will be talking about it for weeks to come, months, years even. The Black Prince finally took a fall. Louie wasn't joking when he said that there is a fat paycheck, both of us stand to make a million each, the easiest money I ever made.
George is back in the corner, watching as I spring lightly on my feet. Hit. Dodge. Hit. Dodge.
****
To say that Stella and Georgie loved each other would be the understatment of the century. Georgie carried her all around town, showing her off to anyone who would look. People said the reason she never cried was because her Grandpa never put her down and it was true. She was in his arms constantly.
As she grew older, he would painfully manoeuvre his body onto the floor to play some silly game with her. He taught himself to braid her hair and took it upon himself to be in charge of her education. Georgie had never been a passionate man, but every ounce of devotion and adoration he possessed manifested itself for Stella. There was nothing he wouldn't do for that little girl and loved as she was by all of us, she loved Georgie more than the rest.
He used to walk her home from church every Sunday. She would wear her little white dress and he would carry her in his arms, looking so proud. Mamie said time and time again that Stella had brought out something in Georgie that even she hadn't known was there.
I had been stupid for so long. Because I had grown up, I thought the world had grown with me. I hadn't realised that some things can stay the same and for humankind, one of those things that seems to never change is hatred.
The beatings that I had assumed were as much a distant memory for Georgie as they were for me, were still part of his life.
Georgies body was found battered and bruised next to the stream that he walked home by on Stella's fifth birthday.
Clutched in his hand was a small photograph of her.
And you know, that broke my heart more than anything else. When he took those beatings, he held a photo of the person he loved most in the world in his hand.
And when he closed his eyes for the last time on the world, when he took all that wisdom and kindness back home to the Lord, he held on to his beloved Stella until the very end.
***
The roar of the crowd is deafening.
I still ain't seen Connie and I wonder why on earth she didn't come to my changing room before I came out here. It's the first time she hasn't.
Down in the second round
People are screaming my name but my thoughts are oddly disjointed tonight. It's the 5th anniversary of Georgies death, Stella's tenth birthday. Life passes so quickly, I could swear it was only yesterday that Georgie was here, teasing Mamie, laughing, trying to show me the right path.
That was always so important to him. More so than most people. Doing what was right was part of Georgie.
The crowd is still screaming as I reach the ring. Smokey is lapping up the applause but my eyes turn to the crowd, seeking Connie.
When I find her my legs almost buckle from under me.
There, sat next to her, shrunken and almost blind, is Mamie.
In all these years she's never once been to see me fight. She looks so ancient and fragile surrounded by the screaming crowd that my heart twinges.
Louie catches my eye and mouths the words.
Down in the second.
As I step into the ring, I look back up at Mamie and an overwhelming urge to laugh washes over me.
I ain't going down in any round for anyone.
There ain't no shame in losing.
The only shame is in not fighting back.