Neighbourhood Watch

…
The crowd counts: ONE, TWO, THREE.
Kevin, his mouth bleeding, shouts with everything he’s got left LET’S GOOOOO, BIG! GET UP!
Big lifts his head. Manages to get up. FastAss jumps on him, grabs him by the neck, pins him.
Kevin freezes. Something like the end of the world.
* * *
The shoes are soaking in the kitchen sink. Mélissa has emptied the contents of the cupboards onto the floor.
She searches through the bottoms of empty bags. Comes up empty.
Opens the fridge. Takes out the jar of mayonnaise.
Sits at the table and finishes the jar of mayonnaise with a little spoon.
Mélissa doesn’t cry.
* * *
Red night on Ontario, Kathy is being chewed out by an enraged gang member.
He holds her by the hair, her head thrown back, face tensed, she screams, Kelly jumps on him, bites him, but he’s so much stronger, shoves her off, she crashes to the ground, the dogs are barking in every direction, the guy makes a fist and punches, hits Kathy’s stomach, once twice three times, Kelly screams, then goes quiet, absorbs every blow; Kelly is crying, frozen as she watches. The guy shoves Kathy, who ends up sprawled on the ground, hands knotted at her stomach, which is on fire. Kelly jumps on her, wracked in sobs; she rubs her quickly all over, kisses her with haphazard little kisses, hurt, helpless.
People in the street just kept walking. Like the blows were a light rain, they walked faster.
Kelly holds Kathy in her arms. This is the only end of the world there is.
* * *
FastAss is strutting like a peacock around Big, who is still, shoulders slumped, out of breath …
Behind the mic, the master of ceremonies shouts in an echo.
‘KILL! KILL! KILL!’
The crowd shouts with him:
‘KILL! KILL! KILL!’
Bam! Big takes a head-butt to the stomach, he is hurled into the ropes, then thrown to the ground. Kevin watches in silence.
A voice somewhere: ‘LOSER!’
Kevin feels it. Like a shot from an m16 right in the gut. He spins around, searches for the source.
‘LOSER!’
Again.
‘LOSER!’
Stop.
‘BIG, LOSER!’
Kevin reels.
The crowd rubs it in: ‘LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!’
He plugs his ears.
Everywhere: ‘BIG, LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!’
Kevin looks around him. It can’t be. Big has never lost. Big is a winner. He can’t lose now, like this. He can’t.
‘LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!’
Kevin gnaws on his lips again, is dizzy. This is how it happens? The end of the world?
‘LOSER! LOSER! LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!’
It drops on Kevin like a nuclear bomb. Exhausted, he turns back toward the ring. His eyes burning, lips wet, forehead damp. Big lost. He lost. Kevin looks at him. It was the only place he was still winning. He had no right to lose. No right.
His face covered with sweat and blood, Kevin shouts at the top of his lungs, louder than anyone else.
‘LOSER! … LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!’
Big, pinned to the ropes, weak, turns toward Kevin. Looks at him. Right in the eye.
Kevin looks back at him and keeps shouting.
‘LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!’
Tears on his enraged face.
‘LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!’
FastAss delivers his final blow, fatal. Big crashes to the ground. He lost. The audience is going wild; the champ is lifted up in the air, his picture is taken, the loser is booed, and beneath the cries of the crowd and the music, killkillkill, under Kevin’s glare, his cape is torn off and thrown to the ground.
Kevin in a fury drowning shoves the crowd snatches the cape from anonymous hands and rushes outside.
In the ring, the disgraced old champ calls out to him: ‘Kevin!’
Kevin runs. As fast as he can. The red cape floats in the wind. On a wall behind him, graffiti yells, The poor stay poor. In his head, a hammer, killkillkill …
Mélissa, teetering on her shoes, goes down the stairs. Her face pale and her body in lace, she knocks on a door. The guy who collects the rent opens. Looks both ways before letting her in.
At the back of an alley for a break. In the city, a long body, insect-like, slowly curls up and lets out a hoarse cry. A crack in the night.
Meg.
Backstage, FastAss signs autographs and high-fives the fans. The master of ceremonies brings him a cold beer. More guys are getting ready around him.
Sitting on a stool in the corner, Big unties his shoes.
His makeup has run on his damp face.
‘Steve, want a beer?’
Steve doesn’t answer. His face is hard. Tensed.
FastAss opens his beer, downs it.
‘Let him digest his defeat. A one-eighty like that can’t be easy … ’
The master of ceremonies raises his beer to Steve. ‘Cheers, man!’
Steve stays bent over his shoes, fingers tangled in the laces.
Silence backstage as the tough guys lower their voices out of respect for the defeated champ. Steve hates their whispering. He hates the smell of their sweat and their compassionate looks. Steve is ashamed. A tear falls on his shiny shoes. Steve gets up. Picks up his things. Leaves in silence.
* * *
Steve walks into the apartment.
‘Kev?’
He knocks on Kevin’s door. No answer.
‘Open the door, Kevin, come on … ’
No answer.
In the bedroom, the furious sound of guns. Nothing else. Steve is tired.
‘Jesus, Kevin, Christ, it’s just a game! That’s the first time I’ve lost, come on! … It’s no big deal … ’
Gun gun gun.
‘And I’m not going to take it lying down. You’ll see at the next match.’
Silence.
Steve rubs his forehead, sighs. At the end of his rope. At the end of everything. He leans his head against the locked door.
‘What were you doing there anyway? Eh!’
Gun gun gun.
‘And I’ll find another job soon … They said they might take me back at the garage … That would be pretty good, eh, Kev?’
Gun gun gun.
‘Maybe you could even help me fill up the blue Mustang that smells like the old days!’
Gun gun gun.
‘Eh, Kevin? … ’
Gun gun gun.
Sigh.
‘You’ll see. Everything’s going to be all right.’
Gun gun gun.
‘It’s going to be us two … We’re going to stick together … ’
Silence.
‘It’s going to be okay.’
Sigh.
‘Kev, you listening?