Roxy

There’s a tattoo, in gothic script, written across Roxy’s left wrist ..the name of someone who gave her a set of Dale Carnegie books as a gift. Roxy promotes late night raves ..drives a delivery truck ..and practices Thai kickboxing at a nearby gym. She dreams of becoming pro someday. I admire her single mindedness ..and believe she might just make it. Her mother was a gypsy ..going wherever circumstances led ..her father was sitting at a bus stop in Arizona one day heading for Hollywood ..Roxy never knew him. She and her mother wound up living in places like Italy, California, Maryland and Colorado. She stopped moving long enough to finish high school ..then college. So she’s articulate as well as well-ripped. Tonight she’s scheduled to fight in an amateur bout at the Upland Indoor Sports Arena. “I understand that it's a performance,” she says. “I consider myself a full-contact actress.” Her trainer Chris Reilly, a former pro kickboxer and marital arts expert tells her that the fight is in her head ..you win by letting your opponent to lose theirs. She tries a flying kick, which doesn’t land. Her opponent, a more experienced boxer, delivers a volley of punches that crumples her ..2:46 minutes into the first round. The fight is over. She’s been knocked out. Doctors rush into the cage ..blood trickles from her temple. I’ve never been around the sport ..I don’t know what to say ..the best I can come up with is: “Hey, once in a while ..I have a bad day at the office.”