Jimmy walked down the steps, on his way out the door, when his eye caught on something. Turning, he saw the back of Lenny’s head, staring at something on the television. And then he heard the sob. Changing direction, he headed towards the sound.
“Len, you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Thanks,” came the reply, sounding congested with tears.
“The fuck you watchin?”
Jimmy came around the side of the sofa and looked at the screen. Rhonda Rousey was on the screen, wearing a blue tank top that showed off her biceps.
“It’s a show. I heard about it at the gym.”
“I can see that, smartass. What the fuck is it about? Why are you cryin’?”
Lenny turned and looked at him, grinning abashedly. “It’s called Why We Fight. It’s about fighting; the people who do it for the love of the sport and not the people looking for a paycheck.”
“And … you’re crying, why?” Jimmy was very confused. From the sound of it, the show was interesting and inspirational. Why would Lenny be crying?
“Because I was moved, motherfucker,” she snarked back at him, without heat and managing a grin.
“Oh you were moved! Why didn’t you say? Are you having a ‘moment’,” Jimmy teased her as she took a playful swing at him. He purposefully used air quotes around the word moment and dropped his voice to sound more suggestive.
“You’re an asshole,” she deadpanned, flipping him off. “It’s a good show. It talks about the camaraderie you find at the gym and the culture that surrounds it.”
Lenny had been fascinated with fighting since she took her first swing on her brother when she was two years old. She’d started working out and working with weights when she was still in elementary school, carefully supervised by the trainer her father had hired for her. By sixteen, she was the junior division middleweight champion of the local mixed martial arts circuit. Now, at twenty-three, she was the current middleweight champion for New England region. She had been training to potentially challenge at a national level when the wreck happened. No sooner was she out of the hospital and she was down at the gym, working with friends who also worked as physical therapists, carefully building her strength back up. Now, eighteen months out, she was back to her pre-surgical shape, and there was no evidence of her femur having been snapped in two. Except now, she could tell when it was going to rain.
“Yes, and you know that I only fuck with you because you can’t kick my ass,” he replied with a wink. “Sounds like a good show. I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”
Lenny waved him off and turned back to the television, rewinding to the parts she’d missed.
The Dirty Oracle
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