Dario
At nine o’clock on the dot, I walked into the location of what would soon be my mega boxing club, Wicked. The building was huge and sat in the back of Alameda near the Oakland Raiders training camp, amongst five other multi-level structures. I’d lucked up and spotted the space one day when I was bringing Lennox and Freddie to Harbor Bay to watch the planes take off from Oakland International Airport. The moment I saw it, it caught my eye and I drove straight over to the door and jotted the number of the real estate company down. I would later find out that the space had been sitting for a few years amid the large business park. The red brick made the building even more attractive, and caused it to stand out since brick wasn’t commonly used in California.
I began a short tour of the first floor where all of the various types of hand-to-hand techniques, boxing, and martial arts would take place. I was itching with a kid-like impatience for the grand opening that would be happening in a few weeks. It had been almost a year to the day, since the purchase went through and it was time to get the ball rolling.
Having this boxing gym had been on my ‘larger than life’ to-do list for years, but while I was building my boxing career, I didn’t really have the time needed to give it. However, since my schedule was changing in drastic ways with the onset of my last bout approaching at the end of the year, I had finally buckled down and hired a construction project management firm and things were moving forward.
When the time came, I wanted somewhere to focus all my energy. I’d been boxing my entire life pretty much; since it was the only job that I’d ever known, I knew the void I would feel. I wasn’t trying to go through that shit.
Can’t wait . . . I mumbled to myself. Got big-ass plans for you, I sighed as my eyes roamed over to the fifteen or so stairs that led to a loft-style second floor—home of a full-service juice, smoothie, and made-to-order salad bar. I visualized clearly, the influx of gym members—male, female, young, and old, athletic and not—crowd the floors of Wicked.
“Aye punk!” I heard a familiar echo out.
“Oh, I got your punk!” I called back.
“What’s up man?” my friend Quinton asked as he approached and fist bumped with me before we drew each other into a bro hug.
“Took your ass long enough to get here,” I joked.
Quinton swatted his hand at the air in disgust. “Shit, yo’ punk ass is lucky that you rode in against traffic. I was in the thick of that shit,” he laughed. “Maan, you know this Bay Area traffic ain’t no joke. A bunch of zombies on the way to the money.”
“I know. I was just fucking around with you. I thought you’d be a little later than this, honestly.”
“Well, I’m here.” He looked around, nodding his approval as he scanned the surrounding area. “I see shit is moving right along,” he acknowledged, taking in the progression made. “Legit, man . . .”
I laughed out loud and shook my head, causing Quinton to look at me curiously. I wasn’t going to tell him that I thought about Rai when he said, ‘Legit’, because it seemed to be one that Rai used a lot in his depiction of all things.
“Yeah, it’s pretty legit, right? It’s about time. Been long enough.”
“Hell yeah. You’re sitting on a gold mine over here so it’s about time you got shit up and running.”
“Almost, man,” I said, leading us through the large space, and up the flight of stairs to a small lounge that sat off the side of the juice and salad bar. “Want a water?” I offered, walking to the small cubic fridge.
“Nah, man, but if you got some real beverages up in there, I’ll take something. The hell I look like sipping on water and you brought me here to discuss business.”
I laughed at Quinton. He was crazy as hell, and that crazy was why I liked having him around. I’d known him for several years and had met him through some chick that I was casually hooking up with. We’d hooked up on some double date shit one night with her and a friend, and hit it off immediately. Everywhere we went, that dude got stares because of his likeness to some celebrity. It was either Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, or one of his cousins, the Uso twins.
“What point in the conversation when I called you last night did I say that this was all business? I’m almost a hundred percent sure I mentioned sparring. I know I did.”
Quinton scratched at his temples and chuckled. “Hell, you might have. I was halfway in the middle of some shit when we talked. Her name was—”
“Did I ask?!” I yelled out, against hearty laughter as I sliced the finale of his confession.
“I guess it’s a good thing I came dressed for the rumble.”
“We can do drinks later, though, if you want. I have a few errands after we leave here and then later is good.”
“Yeah, okay, superstar. Drinks later then. I won’t keep you past curfew, and shit.”
“Whoa! Curfew. You know I’ve never been on a leash.”
Quinton threw his head back and smacked at the air with both hands. “Psssh, miss me with that fiction, man? Now, I don’t buy that tabloid shit out the store, but don’t think I haven’t heard about you being seen with a beautiful sistah on your arm. The streets talk, man. I’m just a little hurt that you didn’t tell ya boy.” Quinton started to laugh as he leaned back into the chair and got comfortable. “It’s alright, man. It happens to the best of us. It just hasn’t happened to me yet.”
I remained quiet, not really wanting to speak on the Chanel situation. I already knew that’s who he was talking about and I wanted to stay far away from that topic. But Quinton didn’t.
“So, what’s up with you and your new lady, man? Spill.”
“Nothing is up with us—anymore.”
“What? I’m confused as hell right now, man. What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s over. Months ago. It came and went. The end.”
“Let me guess. You couldn’t do the whole monogamous thing and had to let her down easy?”
“Whatever the situation was, it’s no longer a situation.”
“Well, shit, I wanna say that was quick, but I’ve never even seen you in a rela—”
“You got to witness history. Good for you, dude.”
“Damn. What’s the attitude about?”
“There’s no attitude. But did you come to talk chicks or did you come to spar?”
“Shit, I came to talk business, I guess spar and to check on my friend at the same time. Is that cool with you?”
“It’s cool if you want to talk about some other shit.”
“Alright, so what was the business you wanted to talk about?” he asked. “Because this shit is going left real quick.”
I sighed heavily, regretting my tone with Q. But right now I wasn’t in any kind of mood to offer apologies. “We can talk about it later when we hang out. It was along the lines of us partnering with our gyms. I think it could be beneficial.” I stood from my seat and gulped down my water. “But let’s get there later on.”
“Cool.”
We headed down the stairs to begin our sparring session, but before we could made it to our station, Quinton stopped in his tracks and looked over at me.
“DC, you got a fight coming up—your last one. On the one hand, it’s cool to have this kind of anger or whatever it is you got going on right now because it means that the opponent is in for big shit. But on the other hand, if your head isn’t in the game, then that can cost you big. It’s a double-edged sword, man,” he lectured.
“Since when the fuck do I need a lecture about a fight?” I snapped. “I’m undefeated, Q, so that should say enough.”
“You don’t need to pound on your chest, like fuckin’ Caesar, dude. Yeah, you’re undefeated and I’m sure you want it to stay that way. And look . . .” a crooked smile appeared showing half his teeth. “I see you tensing up already so I’m just gonna say this. I know—”
“Take the shortcut, Q, or don’t say the shit at all. Because in a second, I’m tuning you out.”
“All I’m saying is that your head needs to be in the game. That’s it,” he remarked, shoulders hunched and palms outstretched. “So whatever this is, you gotta either confront it or shake it off. Now, let’s go,” he said posturing up.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I cosigned, sealing my gloves around my hands. “Let me whip that ass real quick and early so you can have the afternoon to recoup before we hit somebody’s bar later on.”