to one side. All my plans of running away were in tatters. I could never go anywhere now. I had a responsibility. Now when my father was weak and vulnerable to his enemies, I had to stand by him. I leaned against the wall and waited for the strength to return to my limbs. Slowly, I felt the power that had run in the blood of my ancestors begin to seep into mine. I was strong. I could overcome this setback. My plan was no longer to run away, but to stay and fight for me and my family.
When I straightened from the wall, I spotted a vending machine at the end of the quiet hallway.
It was only when I arrived in front of it did I realize I didn’t have a single dime on me to purchase a can of Coke. I almost laughed. Such an apt description of my life … Access to all the money in the world but unable to buy the one thing I wanted. Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. No one else moved so softly. The hairs on my hands were standing.
“Which one do you want?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. “A Coke.”
His large hands curled around my arms. Then he turned me towards the sitting area. “Go take a seat over there. I’ll bring it to you.”
It felt good to have his strong, sure hands on my body. It made me feel like I would not be fighting this fight on my own. I nodded and went to perch at the end of a blue chair. I watched him walk over, his movements lithe and graceful. He handed over the opened can of coke and I lifted the can to my lips. He took a seat beside me.
I consumed half of it before stopping. The flow of the cold, fizzy liquid through my system was just the wake-up I needed. I held the can in my hand and stared straight ahead just saying, “Thank you.”
He took his cap off and glanced at me. “For what?”
I turned to look at him and lifted the coke towards him. “For this, for calming me down, for saving my life, for being there, for protecting me, for … everything.”
He didn’t say anything and I turned away from his beautiful face.
Many seconds passed before he spoke again. “Your father will be fine.”
I nodded, willing myself to believe those words with every fiber of my being. “He has to be. Otherwise, we’re all screwed. Now I realize what everyone’s been trying to tell me.”
“Stay strong. Everything is going to be fine.”
I turned to him again. “How did you end up here? Where’s your family?”
I felt sure he wouldn’t respond. Every time I had tried to ask him anything personal, he had clammed up faster than I could blink.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Boston,” he replied.
“Ah, that is why the men at the gym were calling you Boston.”
He nodded. “I left my family and came to LA when I was nineteen.”
I was taken aback. “Haven’t you been back ever since?”
“No,” he replied.
I stared at him curiously. “Don’t you miss them?”
He turned to me then and stared into my eyes.
The attention felt way too intense for me to hold onto for long. I averted his gaze and pretended I needed another sip from my drink.
“I do,” he said. “But I couldn’t stay.”
I was filled with curiosity, but I didn’t want to push it. He would tell me what he felt comfortable revealing.
Then surprisingly, he kept speaking. “I had to or I would have been sucked into a life not of my choosing.”
I stilled—exactly my situation. He had left, but I couldn’t.
“I wanted to follow a different path from the one they envisioned for me,” he went on. “I wanted to be a champion boxer, they wanted me to take over the family’s business. It was not an easy decision, but it was my life. I don’t tell anybody what to do and I don’t want anybody telling me what to do either. Unfortunately, my father is a bit like yours. It was always his way or the highway.” His smile was sad. “I had two options. Get back on the path, or cut off all contact and get the hell out. I chose the latter.”
I stared at him, astounded. “I can’t believe it. Your story is the same as mine. We’re both being pressured by our