Ballerina and the Boxer

I stood against a brick wall in line with at least 75 others. Most of them were male, muscular and quite scary. I had never seen a woman in a netted crop top that only covered the nipples, let alone 20 of them. Sure I'm all for short skirts and crop tops, but I couldn't imagine even trying something like that on my body.

The line finally began to move and once I reached the front, a bald, built man wearing all black asked for ten dollars.

"I have to pay?”

If I knew I had to pay I would have said no, or at least asked Samantha for some money. But the man laughed as if he had swallowed a handful of rocks.

"Look, I'm just here to record the match for my friend. Her son is performing tonight.”

I fidgeted with my bag, hoping he'd just let me in. But soon I heard laughs from those around me along with the body guard.

"Well, whose son is performing?" he laughed again. I suppose perform wasn't the correct term.

"Umm, Harry, Harry Styles.”

"Ahh, I see." The man rubbed his chin with his sausage linked fingers and nodded. "Fine, go on," but only cos' it's Styles.

I smiled graciously and walked in as he opens the door for me. And now for the match.
Walking to the ring was just as I expected. It smelt of feet and urine. Beer lingered and I almost enjoyed that scent more. Sweaty men and women filed through, pushing into me as if I were invisible. No 'sorry' or 'my bad', just a 'watch yourself’.

I found a spot close enough to record the match that seemed to have multiple angles. I had only ever seen one match on television when my ex-boyfriend went through his "I wanna be a fighter" stage. I remember blood being flung onto the tattooed opponents face and someone's arm being twisted in a way I don't think it's ever supposed to be twisted. Just thinking about the three minutes I watch on tv made me cringe. How was I supposed to sit through the real thing just feet away from me?

The room began filling up until there was almost no room to move. I had just enough space to hold my arms up to record her son but between the two men on each side of me I wasn't completely sure I'd get much of anything.

I was grateful as the lights dimmed; it was obvious I was not in my comfort zone. Just my choice of tan shorts, light blue button-up , and burgundy fedora screamed outcast compared to the band tees, shorts that some could consider underwear, and heels that would break my neck in point two seconds.

Soon a single light shown in the middle of the ring and three figures stood in the middle. One man, scrawny compared to the others, and two women in what looked like bikinis stood with their arms around him. Everyone cheered until he began talking, explaining the contenders.
First was a man called T-Rexington. He was a two time champ in his division and just completed a tournament winning first place two weekends ago. Next was Harry, who simply went as Harry Styles. Apparently, he was good.

"And, Harry Styles! Our undefeated champ of 2015!"

It was only April but four months of being a champion was pretty damn good.

Harry and T-Rexington began warming up with their coaches; jumping from foot to foot and shaking their arms by their side. I watched as Harry finally pulled down his towel and inserted his mouth guard. His coach, I suppose, had both hands on either side of his head and was giving him some advice before smacking his bottom into the ring.

Harry watched T-Rexington as he finished pulling his gloves on as I watched him. His shorts clung to his hips then fell out to his knees. His chest was bare and already sweaty. He has his hair back into a bun and I tried to imagine it down, most likely perfect. Because his body was perfect. Even where there were bruises. As much as I disliked the sport and the people surrounding it-Harry Styles was some kind of god.

I fumbled with the camera and decided it was a good time to start as the announcer came on for the last time, initiating the fight.

Holding up the camera, I tried not to flinch after each hit. Harry was definitely better than his opponent but that did stop Rexington from fighting. The first round was over and it seemed Harry was in the lead as everyone was cheering for him. I sat down for the short time I’d have to get myself together and took a deep breath.

“Hey, girl,” I looked to my left where a rather large man with tattoos hitting every inch of his skin up to his chin spoke. “You Harry’s girl?”

“Um, no, I’m just-“

“Don’t let him see that camera then. He doesn’t like people recording him. Especially if it’s for another boxer to scout.”

“No, no,” I felt a tingle run up my spine hoping to God Harry wouldn’t see me now that the thought was put in my head. “It’s for his-“

“Round two!” the announcer began again and I huffed, deciding against explaining myself.

I held the camera closer to my body, hoping he wouldn’t see me even more than before as he rolled his shoulders back and bounced from toe to toe. I could see him saying something under his breath and eventually watched his fingers touch his forehead to his chest and then to his two shoulders. Was Harry Styles saying a prayer? For some awful reason I found that hilarious.

Again the boxing began and I cringed. This time I tried to keep my eyes open but when Harry popped Rex square in the nose and blood flowed like Niagara Falls I was done. I couldn’t be there any longer. I shoved the camera in my bag, and tossed my bag over my shoulder.

When I looked up once more, the ref was pulling Harry off of Rex and our eyes connected for a few seconds. Blood was all over his tatted chest and the creases on his forehead smoothed for a nanosecond until a scowl took over, realizing who I was. I shook my head almost as a sorry and made my way through the crowd.

Once I got outside I took a few deep breaths of the refreshing air and walked quickly away; my heels clicking louder than usual. I was not happy with Samantha-not at all.

Notes