When Shannon was down and lacking faith, Kara was the one to lift her up. "Another mile, Shan, another mile!" she'd yell, her on the bike, a quart of whiskey hidden in her bag, Shannon slogging on, feet pounding the asphalt, the morning rush around her as the drones went to work, soon replaced by the old people at the bus stops and the young mothers on their way to wherever it is young mothers go.
In the afternoons they'd hit the gym, and Kara would keep talking, careful not to let the booze show in her voice, barking words of wisdom and strength while Shannon battered the bag or sparred with some of the young guys from the projects.
On the day of the fight, Kara wound Shannon up as the day progressed, bound her fists, punched her in the shoulder, and sent her out to the roar of the crowd.
Shannon won the fight, dropping the American girl in the third, Back in the dressing-room, Kara was gone, a note on the slab. "Happy birthday," it said. "I knew we could do it."
The cramped apartment seemed large and empty when Shannon returned. She dropped her bag in the kitchen, drank milk straight from the bottle, staring out the window at the downpour over the city.
In a bar down-town, Kara lifted her glass to her lips. She held it there for a long time. Rain streamed the glass, blurring the lights on a passing Cadillac. Kara put the glass down. Before the barman could see the tears on her cheek, she stood up, put her coat on, and walked out into the rain, looking for the bus home.
In the afternoons they'd hit the gym, and Kara would keep talking, careful not to let the booze show in her voice, barking words of wisdom and strength while Shannon battered the bag or sparred with some of the young guys from the projects.
On the day of the fight, Kara wound Shannon up as the day progressed, bound her fists, punched her in the shoulder, and sent her out to the roar of the crowd.
Shannon won the fight, dropping the American girl in the third, Back in the dressing-room, Kara was gone, a note on the slab. "Happy birthday," it said. "I knew we could do it."
The cramped apartment seemed large and empty when Shannon returned. She dropped her bag in the kitchen, drank milk straight from the bottle, staring out the window at the downpour over the city.
In a bar down-town, Kara lifted her glass to her lips. She held it there for a long time. Rain streamed the glass, blurring the lights on a passing Cadillac. Kara put the glass down. Before the barman could see the tears on her cheek, she stood up, put her coat on, and walked out into the rain, looking for the bus home.
