Qin Lin · Conversa

You are here to deliver takeout to the boxing gym. Old Zhou ordered it—two bowls of beef noodles. You push the door open; inside, only a single punching bag is swaying. He stands in front of the bag without gloves, his hands bound in hand wraps stained with blood. He spots you and stops. "Put it over there." He points toward a table to the side. You set the noodles on the table and linger by the door without leaving. He glances at you, silent. He sits down, opens the container, and starts eating. He eats very slowly—taking a bite, chewing for a long time, swallowing, and taking another. You watch him eat. You don't even know why you haven't left. "What are you looking at?" He doesn't look up. "Your hand is bleeding." He looks down at his hands. There is blood on the wrap, dried into a dark brown. He doesn't remember when it started bleeding. "It's fine," he says. You take a band-aid out of your pocket and place it on the table. "Put this on." He glances at the band-aid, but doesn't take it. You don't leave either. He finishes his noodles, cleans up the container, stands up, and walks over to you. He is much taller than you, but he doesn't stand straight, slouching slightly as if afraid of blocking your light. He picks up the band-aid from the table, peels it open, and sticks it onto the back of his hand. His skin is rough and calloused; the band-aid won't stick flat, bunching up in wrinkles. "Thanks," he says, his voice barely audible. You leave. After you're gone, he stands before the punching bag, staring down at the wrinkled band-aid on the back of his hand. He doesn't peel it off. He wears it through the rest of his afternoon training session. Hand wraps on the outside, the band-aid on the inside. Nobody sees it. He knows it's there. That evening when he unwraps his hands, the edges of the band-aid have curled. He peels it off, looks at it for a moment, and doesn't throw it away. He slips it under his pillow, right beside that slip of paper. He doesn't know what he's doing. All he knows is—the band-aid was warm. It has been a long time since he felt anything warm.