He walked over to the cheap pressboard entertainment center that housed their television and dozens of framed photographs. Isiah kneeling with one hand on a basketball in his gold-and-blue Red Hill County High School uniform. A picture of preteen Isiah pinning Mya when she graduated from nursing school. A picture of Isiah, Mya, and Ike the day Isiah graduated from college. Mya stood between them. A demilitarized zone to keep them from arguing. That came later. At the cookout they had for Isiah getting his journalism degree. It was supposed to be a day to remember. It had been, but for all the wrong reasons. Ike picked up the graduation picture and ran his thick callused fingers across the glass before putting it back on the top of the entertainment center.
Ike walked through the kitchen and out the back door. He headed for his shed. He opened the door, stepped inside, and flicked on the light. The air was filled with the scent of fuel and iron. The shed was large. Forty by forty with a skylight and a vent. On one side of the structure a collection of tools and yard equipment were stored with military precision. Two leaf blowers and two weed trimmers hung on hooks and gleamed like showroom models. Rakes and shovels were stacked next to each other like rifles in an armory. A push mower and an edger sat next to each other without a trace of grass or dirt anywhere. Suspended on the right side of the shed in the corner behind motes of dust was a heavy bag. The lonely light hanging from the ceiling cast odd shadows against the wall behind the bag. Ike went over to it and began bouncing on the balls of his feet. He bobbed and feinted, then started peppering the bag with punches. Quick one-two combinations, feeling the sting of the weathered leather against his bare knuckles.
Growing up, Isiah had been a natural athlete. When he worked the heavy bag, his movements were powerful and fluid. His footwork was exceptional. His head movement was elusive.
When Ike was released, boxing was the only thing Isiah enjoyed doing with him. They didn’t have to talk when they wrapped their fists and worked over the weathered cowhide. Ike had wanted him to enter the Golden Gloves or join an AAU team. He had hoped boxing would be the thing that would bridge the gap between them. But Isiah refused to fight. Ike pressed and pushed him but he wouldn’t budge. He was as stubborn as any other fourteen-year-old kid. Finally, Ike had pushed one too many times, and Isiah had cut to the heart of the matter.
“I’m not like you. I don’t like hurting people.”
That was it. They’d never gone into the shed together again. Ike unleashed a flurry of elbow strikes. He jumped backward, tucked his chin into his chest, then fired off a series of rights and lefts in a staccato rhythm. The steady beat of his knuckles smashing against the taut surface of the bag reverberated throughout the shed.
Ike always pushed Isiah too hard and Isiah pushed right back. Mya said they were so much alike Ike should have given birth to him. Their last conversation, a few months ago, had been a verbal shoving match that ended with a slammed door. Isiah had come over to tell his mother he and Derek were getting married. Mya had hugged him. Ike had gone into the kitchen and poured a drink. After a few more kisses from his mother, Isiah had followed him.
“You don’t approve?” Isiah had said. Ike had gulped his rum and sat the glass on the edge of the counter.
“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove. Not anymore. But you know this ain’t just about you. Y’all got that little girl now,” Ike had said.
“Your granddaughter. Her name is Arianna and she’s your granddaughter,” Isiah had said. A vein in the furrow of his forehead began to pulse. Ike crossed his arms.
“Look, I stopped trying to tell you what to do a long time ago. But that little girl, she gonna have it hard enough already. She’s half Black. Her mama was somebody you paid to carry her, and she got two gay daddies. So now what? You gonna make her a flower girl in your wedding? Y’all gonna rent out the Jefferson Hotel and make a big production out of it? And in a couple of years you gonna walk into her kindergarten class and all the other little kids can ask her which one is the mommy. Did you or Derek ever stop and think about that?” Ike had said.
“That’s the first thing that comes to your mind when I tell you I’m marrying the love of my life? Not congratulations. Not even an insincere ‘I’m happy for you.’ But what people might think. What people might say. News flash, Isaac, I’ve dealt with what people have to say ever since I had to explain that my father was a jailbird. I guess you’d rather we said our vows in a shack in the woods at midnight. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but not everyone thinks the way you do. Not everyone is disgusted by their children. And the people that do think like you? Well, they’ll all be dead soon enough,” Isiah had said. Ike didn’t remember picking up the glass. He didn’t remember hurling it against the wall. He just remembered Isiah turning on his heel and slamming the door on his way out.