Homecoming King

Following a mandated one-week suspension from the medical examiner, I decided to return home. The bulk of my week after the fight was dedicated to recuperation, an incremental and challenging journey. On Wednesday, the stitches were taken out, and as the sun rose this Friday morning, feeling slightly better after a jog, I decided to pack my belongings and secure a bus ticket back to Dale County.

Earlier in the day, I had cashed a check from the "Panat Boxing Committee." The checks arrived surprisingly late, but it was a delightful shock to find two of them in the mail, amounting to $15,000. The first check was $12,500 for the victory, and the second, a bonus of $2,500, commending what they considered a 'stellar performance.'

"Congratulations," the bank teller exclaimed with unusual excitement as I handed him the check for $2500.

"Thank you, sir," I replied, returning the smile.

The rest of the day unfolded with the virtual press club meeting, both conducted in light of the National Holiday.

The meeting kicked off with the usual excitement as members joined the video call, and familiar faces populated the grid view. "Hey everyone, let's get started," Kelly announced, wearing a smile. "First off, huge congratulations to Eddie for the win last Friday!" The virtual applause echoed through the screens.

I couldn't help but smile; it felt great to be acknowledged by the club, especially as someone new to the whole experience.

Andrea added her voice, "It was certainly an intense fight to 'participate' in. How's the cut, Champ?" She asked, grinning.

I nodded, appreciating her concern. "Thank you all. I really do appreciate it. Oh, and Andrea, we don't 'participate' in boxing." I quipped, eliciting synchronized laughter from everyone. 

"About the cut," I continued a smile stretching across my face. "It was pretty gnarly, but I'm all good now. Healed up and ready for the next one."

The meeting moved on to discussing upcoming projects and assignments. We were covering the school's spring events, and there was a lot to coordinate. 

The meeting ended just in time for me to receive a call, I ran across the apartment as the familiar tone of my phone rang out. It was a video call from "Brooke Bennett."

"How's the eyebrow holding up?" Brooke inquired, her words muffled by the energy bar hanging from her lips.

"Not too shabby, Gaffer. It's healing up nicely."

"Let me take a look," she said, turning her attention to the screen for the first time since our call began. "Have you had a chat with Mikaela?" she asked.

"Uh, no. No, I haven't," I responded. I wasn't exactly adept at pep talks or consolations, so even if we had spoken, I wouldn't know what to say to Mikaela. Furthermore, not having any means to contact her added to the convenience.

"Ok."

"How's she doing anyway?" I asked.

"I don't know; ask her yourself," she responded, and with that, a third grid appeared.

Brooke took a bite from the energy bar. "How you doing, Champ?"

"Don't talk to me while you eat, Brooke," Mikaela replied, feigning a disgusted look.

Brooke opened her mouth wide, displaying the contents of what she had been eating.

"Eww!" Mikaela responded as she turned away.

"Oh, come on, Brooke, that's..." I began.

"What?" Brooke inquired, her mouth still open.

We all burst out laughing at the childishness of it all.

"How's the eye Champ?" Mikaela asked.

"Could be better," I responded. "And you, how are you holding up?"

"Ugh. Mandated medical leave sucks!" she replied, setting her phone down on the bed with a crash, leaving only the view of her ceiling.

"...Of course, I wouldn't know anything about that," Brooke chimed in, alluding to the fact that she had an unblemished record.

I let out a subdued chuckle.

Mikaela picked up her phone, bit her bottom lip, and lifted her hands as if to slap Brooke. "I would smack that pretty face of yours if I was anywhere near you."

Brooke rolled her eyes in indifference.

"And Eddie, what's amusing you?" she quipped. "Oh, finding it funny, huh? Alright then," she said, nodding playfully. She took a deep breath, her eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. "It's tough, you know? I was in control, and then... I wasn't. This is just a detour, not the end of the road."

She let out another breath, her voice was now breaking. "It's tough at the top you know, so-so tough at the top."

Brooke nodded her strategic mind already at work. "We've all been there. It's about what we learn and how we come back. It happens to the best, Mikaela. We'll analyze the footage, work weaknesses, and come back stronger."

"One hundred percent" I chimed in.

Mikaela's voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the vulnerability she felt. "Physically, I'm sore but nothing's broken. Emotionally, it's a rollercoaster. I keep replaying that moment in my head, wondering what I could've done differently."

"Max, sit! Bad dog!" Brooke yelled. She turned back to her screen and continued as though nothing had happened. "Physically, you'll heal, and we'll work on your conditioning. Emotionally, we're here for you, every step of the way."

Mikaela burst into laughter, tears now rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of both her hands. "Hey! Don't yell at my Max."

"Uh, Eddie, some other time, yeah?" Brooke asserted.

I sensed that a private discussion was about to take place, so I took the cue.

"Sure thing, Gaffer. Stay safe, guys. See you soon." I ended the call.

I placed my phone down, carefully going through the items I had acquired earlier in the day, deciding which ones to bring on the trip and which to leave behind.

By 5:00 PM, I reached the station. Settling into the worn-out seat, memories of the fight replayed in my mind. The crowd's cheers, the distinct ring of the bell at the end of each round, and the image of my hand being raised—it all felt surreal. I was now the champion. As I gazed through the bus window at the city lights, they blended into a vibrant mosaic of colors, mirroring the whirlwind of emotions within me.

The bus trudged through familiar neighborhoods, each passing street sign marking a step closer to the homecoming I had been yearning for. The championship belt rested, holstered in its custom case on my lap.

As I turned the key in the lock, a wave of excitement washed over me.

"Hey, Mom! I'm home!" I called out, my voice filled with happiness. There was no answer.

Confusion knitted my brow as I scanned the living room, venturing further into the apartment, my eyes darting around in search of any sign of her. The rooms were empty, and an eerie quietness replaced the usual sounds of our home. Something wasn't right.

I noticed the unopened envelopes scattered on the table. With a sinking feeling, I picked up one of them, and my heart dropped as I read the words printed on the page.

"Eviction Notice."

Dread tightened its grip on me as I sifted through the other envelopes—overdue bills, warnings, a stark reminder of our financial struggles. Panic set in, and I called out for Mom again, my voice tinged with worry.

"Mom?" there was no response. The silence in the apartment became deafening.

I rushed to her bedroom, hoping to find some clue of where she might be. The room was empty, the bed neatly made. 

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. The joy of victory and the excitement of returning home quickly gave way to a sinking feeling of despair.

I grabbed my phone, fingers trembling as I dialed her number. The call went straight to voicemail. 

I took a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. I needed to find my mom, assess the situation, and come up with a plan.

Leaving the apartment, I locked the door behind me and headed to familiar places she might frequent. As I walked through the city streets, the glow of the evening lights seemed dimmer, mirroring the uncertainty that clouded my mind.

I retraced my steps, anxiety gnawing at me with each passing moment. I decided to visit Mrs. Morrison, hoping she might have some information about my mom's whereabouts.

As I approached her house, I could see the warm light emanating from her living room. I knocked on the door, and after a few moments, Mrs. Morrison opened it, wearing a concerned expression.

"Eddie, dear, is everything alright?" she asked, her eyes scanning my face.

I hesitated for a moment, then mustered the strength to speak. "Mrs. Morrison, have you seen my mom? I just got back from a trip, and our apartment is empty. There's an eviction notice. I don't know where she is."

Mrs. Morrison's face softened, and she gestured for me to come inside. We sat in her cozy living room, and she began to explain.

"Oh, Eddie, I'm so sorry. Your mom left about a month ago. She said she found a job in Brownsville. I thought you knew."

The weight of her words sank in, and my heart felt heavy. I had been so focused on so many other things that I hadn't been in touch with my mom as much as I should have.

"I had no idea she left," I admitted, a mix of guilt and worry coursing through me.

Mrs. Morrison continued, "Yes, dear. A nice family moved into your apartment after she left, but they were evicted just recently. I heard there were some issues with the landlord, and they had to vacate the place."

My mind raced as I processed the information. I needed to find my mom, understand why she left, and figure out our next steps. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Morrison. Do you have any idea where she might be in Brownsville?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.

Mrs. Morrison reached for her phone and dialed a number. After a brief conversation, she turned to me with a comforting smile.

"I just spoke with a friend in Brownsville. She mentioned that your mom found a job at the local hospital there."

I thanked Mrs. Morrison for her help I had a lead to follow.

Shortly after returning to the station, the attendant greeted me with an unwarranted attitude. He eyed me suspiciously and questioned, "Hey, weren't you just off the bus from Chesher?"

Ignoring his inquiry, I calmly requested, "One ticket to Brownsville, please."

He persisted, "I asked a question, son."

I felt my fists clenching as I raised my head, keeping my composure intact. "And respectfully, I didn't answer, sir. One ticket to Brownsville, please."

"Next!" he called out.

I seized his shirt through the window, my fist almost connecting with his face when I suddenly felt a pull from behind.

"Let it go, champ. He's not worth your time," Frank advised, his face barely visible through the hoodie. "Wouldn't want to end up back in the can now would you," he added.

"Uhm, I'll take one ticket to Chesher and another to Brownsville Freddy."