Girl's Night

Originally Written 3/2/2019

I tease my hair into a puff that floats around my head like a raven halo. I bat my long lashes at the mirror, adoring myself and the way the neon-colored makeup makes my dark skin, pop, and my green eyes sparkle against the clash of colors.

I play Madonna in the background, sliding on a black laced glove-like she wore in the MTV video “Live to Tell”. My purple slashed lips sing along as I pull on my black fishnets, red leather miniskirt, and a magenta v-neck top. I throw on the technicolor jacket I just bought. I slip on my Air Jordan’s, the same ones Cindy Lauper wears, and I pause to admire my reflection in the mirror as I head for the door. I look as flashy as Vegas and smell like flowers and success.

I make my way to the street corner and hail a cab. A strange man watches me but I ignore him.

 “Las Vegas Hilton please,” My voice is peppy, full of excitement as I slide into the mold-scented cab. I’m bouncing in my seat and the driver looks at me in the mirror.

“Ya going to that fight, little lady?” He raises a brow.

I smile wide “I sure am mister, so step on it before I miss my Tyson!” I giggle furiously, ever the boxing groupie but I don’t care.

The driver shrugs and makes his way there. It’s not far, I rented a hotel close by just to attend. I follow Mike Tyson like a bee follows pollen.

When we arrive, I quickly give him his fee and leave the change. I’m out of the cab in no time and making my way through the crowded, beer-scented, sweaty venue. I can hear the screams inside and I love it all. 

I arrive at my seat but don’t bother to sit. I’m too busy looking toward the ring. My ticket is perfect. I smile the largest smile of my life and I know it won’t leave me for the rest of the night, win, lose, or draw.

A scent catches me in the midst of the booze, body odor, and food. I remember it from when I hailed my cab and I turn to find it. Just behind me is the strange man from the corner. I raise my brows but he’s not looking at me. It has to be a coincidence. After all, I tell myself, this is the fight of the century.

Tyson comes out, he has a stone-cold look on his face. I can tell, at twenty and only two years older than me, that he knows what I know; All his fights have led him to this Heavyweight Championship match against Trevor Berbick. I worship Tyson, he’s undefeated and all I want to be.

The first match happens so fast. Berbick tries to wrestle with Tyson but the referee keeps breaking them up. He knows he can’t beat him at distance. The first round ends with Berbick going down. I cheer and then I feel a tap on my shoulder, it’s the strange man. His eyes are blue and his skin pale. He wears a cowboy hat and smells musky.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he drawls and I glare at him. He opens his mouth to say something else but I stop him.

“Not interested. Just leave me alone. I’m here for him, not you.” I turn away, I get creepy vibes from this man. I focus on the fight instead but I know he’s at my back and it unnerves me.

Tyson bounces like a wildcat at Berbick and as he hits him three consecutive times I feel that musky scent surround me and feel the pressure of a man’s body against my own. I tense and feel my lips turn to a sneer. 

I can hear the crowd cheering as Tyson gives Berbick hit after hit. I feel the power of my idol course through me and turn around. I pull my fist back, then dart it out and slam it into the center of the stranger's face, just as I hear the crowd explode with cheers. I turn to see Berbick struggling to get up, just like the stranger, before Tyson is declared the winner by TKO.

I don’t bother to look at the man who’d I’d knocked down. I feel, as I walk through the screaming crowd and back to my cab, that both Tyson and I have won something tonight.