Love & Light (3 page)

I put my boxing gloves on. “Are you right handed or left handed?”

“Right,” Kori says.

“Me too. That means we’ll have the same lead hand and rear hand,” I explain. “Your left hand will be the lead, your right the rear, okay?”

She nods. “Got it.”

“The first punch is a jab. It’s just a quick, straight punch with your lead hand.” I demonstrate by jabbing my left hand at the bag a few times. “You keep your rear hand up by your chin as kind of a defensive move.”

“Seems simple enough,” Kori says.

“Want to try it yourself?”

She shakes her head. “Why don’t you show me the others first?”

I nod. It’ll be easier to show her all of them first, rather than keep passing the gloves back and forth. I’ve only got one pair, and I don’t want her hurting her hand attempting to box without gloves. I have no idea how hard she might end up hitting the bag. “Okay. Next is the cross. It’s a straight punch with your rear hand.” I show her by punching the bag with my right hand. “It’s probably the most powerful punch you have.”

“Because it’s your stronger hand,” Kori concludes.

“Yeah.” I smile at her. “You’re a good student.” I hope that carries over to Psychology.

“You’re not a bad teacher.” She returns the smile, something I haven’t seen much from her. “What’s the next one?”

“The hook. It’s a semi-circular punch with your lead hand to the side of your opponent’s head. Or in this case, the side of the bag.” I let out a chuckle as I demonstrate a few hooks. “I like this one. It’s helped me a lot, pretending it’s that asshole’s head.”

“Do you know what he looks like?” Kori asks. “Did he go to jail or anything?”

I shake my head. “No, just a ticket. Can you believe that? Son of a bitch gets off with a couple hundred dollar ticket, meanwhile my mother is dead.” As I say it, I feel some anger coming back to me and I hit the bag harder, this time thrusting my right hand upwards as if I’m hitting his chin.

“What’s that one?” Kori wants to know.

“Uppercut.” I grunt a little as hit the bag again. “One of my favorites.”

“Yeah, I noticed a little increase in intensity there,” Kori says, and there’s a trace of amusement in her voice. She lets me get in a few more jabs and uppercuts, then says, “Okay. Let me try. This is supposed to be therapy for me, remember?”

Therapy. I’ve never called it that, but she’s exactly right. It is a form of therapy. Maybe not the kind my dad got or stepmom does, but it works for me. Maybe it will work for Kori too. “Sure thing.” I pull off the boxing gloves and hand them to her. “Here you go. Let’s see what you got.” I step back away from the bag.

“I’m still not sure about this,” she says as she tugs the gloves on. “I don’t have a tangible thing to be angry at and pretend I’m hitting.”

“No, but you can still let some steam off,” I tell her. “Come on, give it a jab.”

She does, but it’s a pretty weak one. I swallow the ‘hit like a girl’ remark and try to encourage her. “Try a little harder. I know you’re angry. Let’s see it. Take it out on the bag.”

This time, Kori hits the bag harder and lets out an “Oomph.”

“There you go. That’s more like it,” I say. “Now try a cross.”

She does, then follows it up with a hook, another cross, and then an uppercut that has some power to it. “I like that one too,” Kori says with the hint of a smile before hitting the bag again.

I watch her for a few minutes and try to encourage her. She might be a natural at this, and I hope it’s making her feel better. Then, suddenly, she starts to cry. Tears stream down her face, but she’s still hitting the bag, until she stops and wraps her arms around it.

What the heck?

My dad’s told me before that there are very few sights worse than a crying woman, and I think he’s right. I’m frozen for minute, unsure what to do, then I walk up behind Kori and put my arms around her. “It’s okay,” I say. “Let it out. Let it all out.”

~Kori~

I admit I was skeptical about the whole boxing thing, but it’s not like anything else has worked. So what the heck, why not give it a try? My first punch is pretty weak, and I expect Landon to make some typical guy remark about me hitting like a girl.

He doesn’t, though, just encourages me to hit a little harder, so I do, and then I start to get into it. Jabs here, crosses there, then an uppercut. Yeah, I can see why that one’s his favorite. Even if I don’t have a ‘face’ to be angry at and to pretend I’m hitting, this still feels good. Like I have a little power over something for a change.

That’s the hardest part about being mired in depression—the feeling of being powerless. It’s been like that for too long. Powerless to help my mom, to make her feel better, to do anything to keep her around. And now that she’s gone, I’m just stuck. Unable to let go, unable to move forward.

Why her, anyway? Why such a good, beautiful person? Why was she taken from us so soon?

She hung on just long enough to see me graduate from high school. I know that now. At the time, I told myself she was getting better. She seemed stronger, at least in those last few weeks before graduation. The doctors said she didn’t have much time left, but they were wrong. They had to be wrong, because she was stronger. She even left the wheelchair at home and walked into the auditorium herself, with only a cane and my father to help her.

She was getting better. She could beat the odds. She
would
beat them.

Three days later, she was gone, and I knew the truth.

My mother willed herself to stay alive long enough to see that special moment and then she let go. She was at peace then, she was ready. That’s what people tell me. But what about me? I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t at peace.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until the tears blur my vision, and then suddenly I can’t take it anymore. My arms are heavy, and I don’t have the energy to hit that bag anymore, so I stop and just wrap my arms around it.

The next thing I know, Landon’s arms are around me and he tells me to let it out. So I do.

“I hate it,” I say. “I hate that she’s gone and I’m still here.” I turn around so I’m facing him, but his arms are still around me. “Did you ever feel that way?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” he says softly. “Doesn’t solve anything, though. It won’t bring her back.”

“I know that, but I still hate it.” He pulls me closer and I sink into his chest, and he puts a hand on my hair, stroking it. For a second, I wonder if he’s going to try to kiss me or put some sort of move on me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just holds me while I cry.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, but finally I feel all cried out and I pull away from him and wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. “Sorry for blubbering all over you,” I say.

Landon looks down at his sweatshirt, now wet on the front where I cried into it, and shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s washable.”

“I should probably go wash up,” I say, nodding in the direction of the restroom. I’m a little embarrassed, both for breaking down like that and for clinging to him the way I did.

“Sure. I’ll wait, then I can walk you back to your dorm.” He’s being cool about all of this, but I figure he’s had enough of me by now and I want to give him a chance to get away, so I shake my head.

“No, it’s okay. You go on ahead. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” He looks at me uncertainly.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll see you later.” I get a few steps away before I turn back around, and Landon’s still standing there. “Thanks for dinner. And the therapy.”

––––––––

~Kori~

M
y visits to Dr. Morris always start the same way, with him asking me how I’m doing. Seriously. My mother’s dead. How the hell does he think I’m doing? He’s been my doctor my whole life, though, and he’s a nice old guy, so I tolerate the insipid question. Besides, today I have some news that I think might make him happy and get off my case a little bit about trying therapy.

“I met someone,” I tell him. “I have a friend.”

Dr. Morris nods, his expression kind. “That’s a hopeful sign. Do you want to tell me more?”

One of the reasons I’ve been resisting therapy is I feel like I can talk to Dr. Morris. Sure, he may not be a trained therapist, but I’ve known him a long time and I feel comfortable talking to him. Why would I want to open up to a complete stranger? “His name is Landon, and he’s a pitcher on the college baseball team,” I say. “You told me I should get outside more, so I started going to watch baseball practice, and Landon came up to me the other day and talked to me.”

Okay, so it’s Landon that initiated the conversation, not me. I didn’t ignore him or shut him out, though. I engaged. That has to count for something.

“And now you might have a new friend.” Dr. Morris smiles. “That’s very encouraging, Kori.”

I shrug my shoulders and stare out the window. “I suppose. Anyway, he’s also in my Psych class and we’re going to study together.” At least assuming Landon still wants to after I cried all over him last night. “Oh, and his mom died a few years ago.”

Dr. Morris’ mouth opens, then closes. “So you have something in common with him,” he finally says.

“Yeah, but he’s doing a lot better than me. He seems happy, adjusted. And I’m totally not.” I hate it too. I want to be normal. I want to feel normal. Whatever that is.

“You’ll get there,” my doctor assures me. “The grieving process takes time. Your friend has had longer. Your pain is more raw. Do you think the medication is helping any?”

I think about that before answering. I mean, I’m still depressed. I still don’t like being around other people, except maybe Landon. But I’m crying less, at least aside from last night, and I haven’t thought about ending it all for at least a couple months. “I think so. Maybe,” I say. “I seem to be doing a little better.”

“I’m glad,” Dr. Morris says. “Psychotherapy is still an option, though. Have you given that any more thought?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to do it.” My answer is always the same. “I’ve already got a lot going on with school and everything. Why can’t I just talk to you?”

“Korinne, you can always talk to me. You know that.” He smiles that same kind smile that reminds me a little of my grandfather. “I’m just a small town family practitioner, though. Perhaps you can benefit from seeing someone better trained to help people through grief and loss issues.”

I’m quick to shake my head. “Not right now. I really do think I’m doing better, and I may have found a new way to cope with things and let some steam off.” I tell him about the boxing lesson Landon gave me last night. “He says it helped him a lot. I’m hoping it will help me too.”

“I hope so. I’m encouraged by this new friendship, Kori. I think it could be a good thing.”

“Yeah, me too.” I smile. “And all because you told me to get outside a little bit.”

I talk with Dr. Morris for a few more minutes and he gives me a refill on my prescription. There’s still time before Landon’s practice starts, so instead of going back to campus right away, I decide to stop by home to say hi to my brother.

Noah’s fifteen, pretty shy, and having a tough time dealing with our mom’s death. Like, who isn’t? I try to be there for him as much as possible, and he was one reason I wanted to still live at home this year and commute to campus, but my dad got on his kick about me having a regular college life.

Whatever.

“Noah? You home?” I call out when I walk in the house.

“In here,” my brother yells from the living room. Sure enough, he’s playing some stupid video game.

“How’s it going?” I greet him.

He shrugs and doesn’t look away from the TV. “It’s going. What are you doing here?”

“I had to see Dr. Morris, then I thought I’d swing by and say hello.”

“I’m glad you did,” Noah says, turning around to face me. “You’ll stay for dinner, right?”

I hesitate. If I do, it means missing baseball practice. This is my little brother, though, and besides, it’s not like I promised Landon I’d be there. He probably thinks I’m a basket case or a freak now, anyway. He’ll probably be relieved I’m not there.

I reach out and muss Noah’s hair, even though I know he doesn’t like when I do. “Yeah, squirt. I’ll stay for dinner.”

~Landon~

I hate the way I left things with Kori last night. I wanted to walk her back to her dorm, just to make sure she was okay. I didn’t want to pressure her, though, especially if she felt like she needed to be alone. I can totally see why my dad says what he does about crying women, because it sucked seeing Kori that broken up and not knowing how to help her.

We didn’t have Psych class today, so I spent the whole day kind of restless in anticipation of baseball practice, hoping she’ll show up. I don’t have her phone number or any other classes with her, so it’s my only chance to see her.

I hurry to change into my practice gear, and naturally Jaden notices.

“I know you’re one of those guys that doesn’t mind practice that much, but you’re pretty wired today. Is something else going on?” he asks. “Something about that girl?”

I’m not sure how much to tell him. He may be my best friend since eighth grade, but he’s not above some good-natured ribbing. Especially when it involves the opposite sex. “I’m hoping she comes to practice,” I say. “I don’t like the way we left things last night.”

Jaden lets out a whistle. “Oh boy. Trouble already? You just met her, Grayson.”

“It’s nothing like that.” I bend down to tie my cleats. “Kori’s going through some tough stuff, and she was a little upset last night.” Hopefully that’s not revealing too much.

Jaden’s eyes narrow. “And you don’t have anything to do with that?”

“Not directly, no.” Maybe a little, because I was the one that suggested the boxing thing, but hey, she didn’t have to agree. Besides, in some way, I think it probably helped her. “Just because a girl’s upset doesn’t always make it a guy’s fault, does it?”

“I hope not,” Jaden says with a laugh. “Girls might disagree, though.”

“No kidding.” I put on my ball cap and grab my glove from my locker. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go see if your girl showed up.”

“She’s not my girl,” I say as we walk out of the locker room to the practice field. “She’s just a friend and I barely met her.”