"Come on over and put the gloves on this punk!"
Gene and Dan came over and began putting the gloves on me.
"Take it easy on this guy, Hank," Gene said. "Remember he's all tired out from fighting us."
Gene and I had fought barefisted one memorable day from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Gene had done pretty good. I had small hands and if you have small hands you've cither got to be able to hit hard as hell or else be some kind of a boxer. I was only a little of each. The next day my entire upper body was purple with bruises and I had two fat lips and a couple of loose front teeth. Now I had to fight the guy who had just whipped the guy who had whipped me.
Gibson circled to the left, then the right, then he moved in on me. I didn't see the left jab at all. I don't know where it caught me hut I went down from the left jab. It hadn't hurt but I was down. I got up. If the left could do that what would the right do? I had to figure something out.
Harry Gibson began to circle to the left, my left. Instead of circling to my right like he expected, I circled to my left. He looked surprised and as we came together I looped a wild left which caught him high and hard on the head. It felt great. If you can hit a guy once, you can hit him twice.
Then we were facing each other and he came straight at me. Gibson got me with the jab hut as it hit me I ducked my head down and to one side as quickly as I could. His right swung around over the top, missing. I moved into him and clinched, giving him a rabbit punch. We broke and I felt like a pro.
"You can take him, Hank!" yelled Gene.
"Go get him, Hank!" yelled Dan.
I rushed Gibson and tried a right lead. I missed and his left cross flashed on my jaw. I saw green and yellow and red lights, then he dug a right to my belly. It felt like it went through to my backbone. I grabbed him and clinched. But I wasn't frightened, for a change, and that felt good.
"I'll kill you, you fucker!" I told him.
Then it was just head-to-head, no more boxing. His punches came fast and hard. He was more accurate, had more power, yet I was landing some hard shots too and it made me feel good. The more he hit me the less I felt it. I had my gut sucked in, I liked the action. Then Gene and Dan were between us. They pulled us apart.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "Don't stop this thing! I can take his ass!"
"Cut the shit, Hank," said Gene. "Look at yourself."
I looked down. The front of my shirt was dark with blood and there were splotches of pus. The punches had broken open three or four boils. That hadn't happened in my fight with Gene.
"That's nothing," I said. "That's just bad luck. He hasn't hurt me. Give me a chance and I'll cut him down."
"No, Hank, you'll get an infection or something," said Gene.
"All right, shit," I said, "cut the gloves off me!"
Gene unlaced me. When he got the gloves off I noticed that my hands were trembling, and also my arms to a lesser extent. I put my hands in my pockets. Dan took Harry's gloves off. Harry looked at me. "You're pretty good, kid."
"Thanks. Well, I'll see you guys…"
I walked off. As I walked away I took my hands out of my pockets. Then up the-driveway, just at the sidewalk, I stopped, pulled out a cigarette and stuck it into my mouth. When I tried to strike a match my hands were trembling so much I couldn't do it. I gave them a wave, a real nonchalant wave, and walked away.
Back at the house I looked at myself in the mirror. Pretty damn good. I was coming along.
I took off my shirt and threw it under the bed. I'd have to find a way to clean the blood off. I didn't have many shirts and they'd notice a missing one right away. But for me, it had finally been a successful day, and I hadn't had too many of those.
38
Abe Mortenson was had enough to be around but he was just a fool. You can forgive a fool because he only runs in one direction and doesn't deceive anybody. It's the deceivers who make you feel had. Jimmy Hatcher had straight black hair, fair skin, he wasn't as big as I was but he kept his shoulders back, dressed better than most of us, and he had a way of getting along with anybody he felt like getting along with. His mother was a bar maid and his father had committed suicide. Jimmy had a nice smile, perfect teeth, and the girls liked him even though he didn't have the money the rich guys had. I would always see him talking to some girl. I don't know what he said to them. I didn't know what any of the guys said to any of them. The girls were impossibly out of reach for me and so I pretended that they didn't exist.
But Hatcher was another matter. I knew he wasn't a fairy but he kept hanging around.
"Listen, Jimmy, why do you follow me around? I don't like anything about you."
"Ah, come on. Hank, we're friends."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
He even got up once in English class and read an essay called
"The Value of Friendship," and while he was reading it he kept glancing at me. It was a stupid essay, soft and standard, but the class applauded when he finished, and I thought, well, that's what people think and what can you do about it? I wrote a counter-essay called, "The Value of No Friendship At All." The teacher didn't let me read it to the class. She gave me a "D."
Jimmy and Baldy and I walked home together from high school each day. (Abe Mortenson lived in the other direction so that saved us from having to walk with him.) One day we were walking along and Jimmy said, "Hey, let's go to my girlfriend's house. I want you to meet her."
"Ah, balls, fuck that," I said.
"No, no," said Jimmy, "she's a nice girl. I want you to meet her. I've finger-fucked her."
I'd seen his girl, Ann Weatherton, she was really beautiful, long brown hair and large brown eyes, quiet, and with a good figure. I'd never spoken to her but I knew she was Jimmy's girl. The rich guys had tried to hit on her but she ignored them. She looked like she was first-rate.
"I've got the key to her house," said Jimmy. "We'll go there and wait for her. She's got a late class."
"Sounds dull to me," I said.
"Ah, come on, Hank," said Baldy. "you're just going to go home and whack-off anyhow."
"That's not always without its own merits," I said.
Jimmy opened the front door with his key and we walked in. A nice clean little house. A small black and white bulldog ran up to Jimmy, wagging its stub tail.
"This is Bones," said Jimmy. "Bones loves me. Watch this!"
Jimmy spit in the palm of his right hand and grabbed Bones' penis and began rubbing it.
"Hey, what the fuck you doing?" asked Baldy.
"They keep Bones on a leash in the yard. He never gets any. He needs release!" Jimmy worked away.
Bones' penis got disgustingly red, a thin, long string of dripping inanity. Bones began making whimpering sounds. Jimmy looked up as he worked away. "Hey, you wanna know what our song is? I mean, Ann's song and my song? It's 'When the Deep Purple Falls Over Sleepy Garden Walls."'
Then Bones was making it. The sperm spurted out and on the carpet. Jimmy stood up and with the sole of his shoe rubbed the come down into the nap of the carpet.
"I'm gonna fuck Ann one of these days. It's getting close. She says she loves me. And I love her too, I love her god-damned cunt."
"You prick," I told Jimmy, "you make me sick."
"I know you don't mean that, Hank," he said. Jimmy walked into the kitchen. "She's got a nice family. She lives here with her father, mother and brother. Her brother knows I am going to fuck her. He's right. But there's nothing he can do about it because I can beat the shit out of him. He's nothing. Hey, watch this!"
Jimmy opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of milk. At our place we still had an icebox. The Weathertons were obviously a well-off family. Jimmy pulled out his cock and then peeled the cardboard cap off the bottle and put his cock in there.
"Just a little, you know. They'll never taste it but they'll be drinking my piss…"