Thinking About Her by Ophelia Alexander

Author:Ophelia Alexander [Alexander, Ophelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-21T04:00:00+00:00

11

The Complications of Friendship

While sitting at a red light and pointedly ignoring the wall of increasingly aggressive notifications from my friends, I reversed the GPS directions from Chicago to back to Grand Forks. As the light turned green on the empty street, it dawned on me that I could just stay. It’s not like I’ll make it back in time for the party anyway. Gripped by unholy indecision, I sat at the light until it turned yellow. I’m staying. Flipping a quick u-turn, I sped back towards the Angry Scotsman’s Boxing Club. I just hope I haven’t missed anything!

The narrow and sterile corridors made each step I took through the gym feel heavy. The directions the receptionist had given me seemed straightforward enough, but I felt lost, both physically and emotionally. I nearly jumped out of my skin as a roar erupted from one of the doors to my left. The cacophony swelled as I pushed it open and walked into a large arena with a raised boxing ring surrounded by rows of bleachers on three sides. The side bereft of bleachers had a raised ringside table with three people taking notes and talking among themselves.

I had no idea what to do, surrounded by people who appeared as if they stepped foot in a church they would burst into flames, until I saw Hilda the ring. She was sitting on a stool in the furthest corner from me with Richard. The pink boxing gloves she was wearing made her stand out, and helped calm me down enough to find a seat. I only realized as the bell for the next round began that her opponent was a man.

The rounds flew by as time’s relative nature moved at lightning speed. Not being able to hold it in a second longer, I shouted, “Kick his butt, Hilda!” She obviously didn’t hear me, but it didn’t matter. I heard me, and it felt amazing to shout along with everyone, to be able to get excited because I wanted to be excited and not because I was expected to be. “Hilda! I . . . I love you!” I shouted right as Hilda connected a powerful uppercut into her opponent's chin. The man named Warren, I knew was his name by almost everyone around me shouting it multiple times throughout the match, staggered back and dropped to a knee.

The referee dropped next to Warren and pointed for Hilda to go to her corner. A few seconds later, the referee stood and made an X with his arms toward the judging table. After that, the ringside bell rang three times in rapid succession as the crowd exploded into cheers and claps. When I looked back at the ring, the only thing I saw was Hilda. I said I loved her—out loud—and nobody cared.

After the fight, the door to the locker room opened, and I immediately heard Hilda’s voice cut through the evening air. She was wearing a long-sleeve black hoodie and matching sweatpants, and I could tell she was freshly showered.

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