The Song of David

Henry looked at me owlishly, as if I had just proven his point. Axel started to laugh, and I laughed with him, but Henry didn’t laugh at all. He just wrapped his swollen lips around his straw and drank his Sprite like he was dying of thirst. I waited until Axel turned his attention to Stormy, who had stopped to flirt as she waited tables.

“Henry? Are you having problems with a giant?” I touched my lip and looked pointedly at his mouth.

“The Giants won the World Series in 2012,” he said softly. “In 2010 too. They’re very popular right now.”

I wasn’t sure if there was a hidden message in the popularity of the Giants or if Henry just wanted to change the subject. I tried again, using a different approach.

“You know the story of David and Goliath, right? David’s just a little guy, Goliath’s a huge warrior. David ends up killing him with just a sling-shot and Goliath’s own sword.”

“Your name is David,” Henry said, his eyes on the game.

“It is. Do you need me to slay a giant for you?”

“The Giants’ bench is deep.”

I narrowed my eyes at Henry. He didn’t look away from the television. It was like conversing with Yoda. Or R2D2.

I sighed and refilled his drink again. “When all this Sprite catches up with you, the bathrooms are down the hall on the right.”

I didn’t want to upset Amelie, but when she checked to make sure Robin had come and retrieved Henry, covering her dancing “uniform” with a Tag Team T-shirt and leggings, I pulled her aside and stressed once more that she should bring Henry by the gym. It wouldn’t hurt for the kid to learn how to take down a bully, or a giant, if that’s what was going on.





AMELIE AND HENRY didn’t come by the gym the next day. On Saturday, I thought I saw them once, beyond the wall of windows along the front of the gym, but when I looked again they were gone. I shrugged, deciding Henry must not have been as excited by the idea as Amelie thought he would be. A few minutes later I looked up to see them hovering near the speed bags, Amelie holding firmly to Henry’s arm, Henry looking as if he was about to bolt like a runaway seeing-eye dog and drag his poor sister with him. They were garnering some strange looks—Henry with his crazy bedhead, his darting glances, and jittery hands and Amelie because she stood so still with her eyes fixed straight ahead.

I called a quick halt to my bout, escaping Axel, who was trying to pummel me into next week, and slid between the ropes that cordoned off one of the octagons.

“Amelie! Henry!” I called, noting how Amelie’s face was immediately wreathed in a relieved smile, a smile so wide it spread to her eyes, giving the illusion of sparkle and life. But Henry started backing up, pulling his sister with him.

“Yo, Henry. Hold up, man.” I stopped several feet from them and lowered my voice. “Did you know that Jack Dempsey versus Jess Willard was the very first fight to be broadcast over the radio?”

Henry stopped moving and his hands stilled.

“Do you know what year that was, Henry?”

“1919,” Henry said in a whisper. “The first televised fight was in 1931. Benny Leonard vs. Mickey Walker.”

“I didn’t know that.” Actually, I had only known about the Dempsey, Willard fight because I’d seen a biography on Dempsey on Netflix the night before. God bless Netflix. The mention of the radio had made me think of Henry and the sportscast blaring from his bedroom. “You wanna tell me more?”

“David ‘Tag’ Taggert, light heavyweight contender with a professional record of eighteen wins, two losses, ten knock outs.”

“You checked up on me, huh?”

Henry’s mouth twitched, and he looked away shyly.

“You did! What else did you find out? That all the ladies love me, that I’m the best looking fighter, pound for pound, in the universe?”

Henry looked confused for a second, and I realized he was searching his mind for that stat. I laughed. “Just kidding, buddy.”

“Six-foot three, 215 pounds, most often compared to Forrest Griffin and Michael Bisping?” Henry’s voice rose on the end, clearly seeking approval.

“I’m more charming than Bisping, and I have better ears than Forrest. But they could both probably kick my ass.”

“He said ass, Amelie!” Henry whispered, half shocked.

“Yes he did, Henry. It’s okay. That’s how fighters talk,” Amelie soothed.

“Can I say ass?” Henry whispered again, curiously.

“You can,” I cut in, “after you learn how to fight.”

“I don’t like to fight.” Henry started backing away.

“That’s okay, Henry. There’s a lot of different ways to fight. I can show you some stuff when you’re ready. Some moves are just about protecting yourself. But right now, I’m gonna introduce you to my team.”

“Tag Team?” Henry’s voice lifted with excitement.