Several lights being disturbed by insects hung overhead in a boxing ring. Jake stood at the edge of the mat by the turnbuckle side with his shoulders slumped in defeat. An older man, Coach Miller, approached him with a disappointed look on his face.
"Here," Coach Miller said, pressing a few crumpled dollar bills into Jake's hand. "Get yourself home and rest up. Think about what I told you, alright?"
Jake nodded mutely while his fingers closed around the money. He couldn't bring himself to meet his coach's eyes.
"Go on now," Coach Miller urged gently, giving Jake's shoulder a squeeze before turning away. He stood there for a minute, contemplating what to say. Where to begin? Same old story or come up with something new again.
Who was he kidding? As much as he hated to admit it, the coach had tried his best for him. Looking at coach Miller walk away now, Jake could tell this time, hope was lost even as none of them could come to terms with that.
'So much for dreams. You got slept!' he berated himself still feeling the slight soreness from taking a wicked left hook to his temple.
Jake's feet felt like lead as he made his way out of the gym. The cool evening air hit his skin, this was completely different to the stuffy warmth he felt inside. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, taking in the city sounds around him or perhaps just confused as to where to go.
"This is really it, huh?" he muttered more to himself than anyone else before shaking his head and deciding it was best to keep moving since it was getting late.
He wore a pair of faded blue shorts that hung just above his knees and a white tank top that clung to his average build. His gym bag was slung over one shoulder, the zipper partially open, revealing a glimpse of his red boxing gloves inside. In one hand, he clutched his phone and the dollar bills Coach Miller had given him.
At 23, Jake had the look of someone who'd seen his fair share of hard knocks. His sandy brown hair was damp with sweat, sticking up in unruly tufts. A day's worth of stubble shadowed his square jaw, and a small scar above his left eyebrow told tales of fights past. His green eyes, usually bright with joy and optimism, now looked dull and unfocused as he walked on the lonely street.
As Jake began his walk home, Coach Miller's words continued to play several times in his mind: 'Maybe boxing isn't for you, kid.'
The statement hit harder than any punch Jake had taken in the ring. He'd been training for years, pouring his heart and soul into the sport. Boxing wasn't just a hobby; it was his dream, his ticket out of a life of mediocrity.
'How can I give up now?' Jake thought as his free hand clenched into a fist. 'I've come too far.'
His mind drifted back to his childhood, growing up in a small apartment with his grandmother. Money had always been tight, but they'd made it work. Jake had discovered boxing at 18, falling in love with the discipline and the rush of adrenaline. The getting punched part wasn't as fun though but he was a tough kid, perhaps a little too tough for his own good.
He'd promised himself he'd make it big, buy his Nana a nice house, give her the life she deserved. At some point, everyone made same promise. Only this case, Jake belonged to the category of "There's still time, I can still do it" even when things looked like they'd likely turn out the opposite. Jake still had conviction, this was his thing, the one thing he knew in his core that he was good at, boxing!
However, at 23, that dream seemed further away than ever.
Jake's feet dragged him past the familiar storefronts of his neighborhood. The neon signs of late-night diners and convenience stores cast a multicolored glow on the damp pavement. A group of teenagers laughed loudly as they passed him.
'Just wait, a couple of years and you'd search for that laughter to find none,' Jake thought bitterly but had to resign himself to the truth. These kids weren't the cause of his misfortune. He simply never had the capability to be good at anything or be good at one and succeed in it.
He thought about his job at the local supermarket, stocking shelves and bagging groceries. It paid the bills, but just barely. Every spare dollar went towards his boxing training. He'd been so sure it would pay off someday.
'What if Coach is right?' The thought crept in, unwelcome but persistent. 'What if I'm just not cut out for this?'
Jake shook his head, trying to dispel the doubt. He needed someone to talk to, someone to reassure him. His girlfriend, Melissa, had always been his biggest supporter.
Fumbling with his phone, Jake dialed Melissa's number. The phone rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. Jake frowned, checking the time. It wasn't that late; she should be home from her shift at the hospital by now. Melissa was a nurse and worked at the city general hospital.
"Hey, Babe," he said after the beep. "It's me. Just... just wanted to talk. Had a rough day at the gym. Call me back when you can, okay? Love you," Jake said clearing his throat off mucus stuck in it and spitting it out.
He ended the call with a knot forming in his stomach. Things had been strained between them lately. Melissa had been pushing him to consider other career options, worried about the toll boxing was taking on his body and their finances.
She earned more than he did, catered for him where she could and he appreciated that. She was an angel. He was hoping one day when he made it big, he'd show her to the world, this...this was the woman that stuck with him when he had nothing.
As Jake turned onto his street, his phone buzzed with a text message. His heart leapt, thinking it was Melissa, but his excitement fell flat as he realized it was just a reminder about the meteor shower tonight.
He and Melissa had planned to watch it together, a rare moment they could both spend together in their busy lives. Melissa's shifts were diabolical in the sense that she worked probably more than any nurse in the hospital. Jake's case was just as bad as his training was just as time consuming.
Jake paused at the steps of his apartment building, looking up at the night sky. The city lights obscured most of the stars, but he could still make out a few twinkling points of light. The meteor shower was supposed to be spectacular, a once-in-a-lifetime event.
'Maybe that's what we need,' Jake thought. 'A night under the stars to reconnect,'
He climbed the stairs to his third-floor apartment thinking about what it would have been like if he had actually impressed out there today. If only he had impressed the third fight scout for this month that was keen on finding a boxer from an amateur background.
Each step got harder than the last one as he thought of how things would have gone differently of only he didn't disappoint himself and coach miller. He got to his apartment door finally and reached for his keys only for his phone to start buzzing. He looked at the screen and this this time, it was Melissa calling.
Jake's heart raced as he answered. "Mel? Hey, I'm glad you called. Listen, about the meteor shower thing tonight—"
"Jake," Melissa's voice cut him off, sounding strained. "We need to talk."
Rarely did anything good come right after that statement was made. He dreaded the famous "We need to talk" just as much as he feared getting knocked out.
The knot in Jake's stomach tightened. "Okay?" he said slowly. "What's up?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line, long enough for Jake to feel a chill of dread creep down his spine.
"I can't do this anymore," Melissa finally said with her voice barely above a whisper. "Us, I mean. It's just... it's not working." She stuttered.
Jake felt as if the ground had disappeared beneath his feet. "What? Mel, come on. Did I do something?" He asked, unsure if this was a new problem or an old screw up that had somehow resurfaced.
"We can work this out. Let's talk about it in person. We're still on for the meteor shower, right?" Jake said, forcing a nervous laugh that died the moment Melissa's voice came through his phone speaker.
"I'm sorry, Jake," Melissa replied, her voice cracking. "I really am. But I've made up my mind. It's over. I'm with someone else now. Please... please don't call me again."
The line went dead before Jake could respond. He stood there, key in the lock, phone pressed to his ear, as the world seemed to crumble around him.
Everything he'd been holding onto — his boxing career, his relationship — was slipping through his fingers like sand. In the span of a single day, his entire life had been turned upside down.