The Contender by Nick R

Alfred sat there on the bench in the damp locker room thinking to himself. Pondering about why it was so hard on him to win fights, why it made him so sick. The answer was probably inside him, yet he could not find it. Maybe it was the feeling of disabling another human being, feeling an opponents face on the opposite side of your glove. Although it was not clear, all he knew was, he wasn’t proud of fighting. Alfred, now stumbling to his feet, really began to realize that the mentality that a man needs to succeed in boxing needs to be violent and focused.



Walking out into the dampened streets of Harlem , a slight breeze ran across his skin. The air felt nice to a guy that had previously been stuffed up in a small locker room.



Starting to jog home, he remembered a conversation that he had a few days ago with his cousin Ender Wiggin.



“Listen Al,” Ender said, “Fighting isn’t the best thing for you, I can tell, you just don’t have it!”



“I do have it!” Alfred insisted; “I have more drive then any of the saps in here, I know I can be a contender! I know it!” Ender is the kind of kid who obviously has passion about what he does, and respects others passions as well. “Alright kid, if you say so, just don’t push it too far, ok man?” Ender seemed to be concerned. “Yeah couz, I’ll be careful. Only thing about this boxin’ thing is, training is really hard!” Alfred giggled as it came out of his mouth. Ender laughed a little too, and patted Alfred on the arm. “I got to be goin’ alright couz.”



“Yeah, sure Ender, I guess I will be seein’ you later huh?” Alfred said. “Yeah, take care.” Ender turned his back and walked up and around the corner store.



Just turning the corner on his jogging route, the sky over Harlem was turning a light shade of gray and drizzles of rain began to pitter-patter on the tops of cars. Alfred’s sweat pants were soaked from the shoe to the knee, but Alfred didn’t mind. The fact that it was raining, was almost a delight while he was running. The droplets from heaven cooled his skin and allowed him to run the distance home.



Alfred returned home and fell into his bed. “Alfred! Alfred! ALFRED!” The door swung open and there stood his mother, looking down upon Alfred without speech. “Hey mom, I’m going to bed, K.”



“Ok, night.” The door slowly closed shut, and Alfred closed his eyes. Inside Alfred’s head, thoughts rushed back and fourth, as tired as he was, sleep would not come. He sat upright in his bed, looking around his room, almost as if he was lost. Alfred knew that boxing wasn’t for him, but he had to see if it would be a possibility for him to be a contender. Now it didn’t matter, Alfred was determined, now matter how tired he was, he stood up from his comfort lacking bed, and went back to training.