Warrior Angel by Robert Lipsyte

getting physically fit than it is about trying to feel better emotionally, a kind of self-medication. This is dangerous if it means you don’t deal with the issues that trouble you.”
    â€œMy, my, so that’s what I’m trying to say.” Alfred rolled his eyes. “Amazing how these guidance counselors can read your mind.”
    Lena smiled and touched Sonny’s hand. “It’s been a hard time for you. Give yourself a break.”
    â€œGot a fight in three weeks,” said Sonny.
    â€œYou might want to talk to somebody,” said Lena.
    The girls staggered in, sleep in their eyes,hugged Sonny, grabbed bowls of cereal, and staggered off to the big TV in the living room.
    â€œSaturday-morning rules,” said Lena. “Only time they can watch TV on their own.”
    â€œShe runs this house like Mr. Donatelli ran the gym,” said Alfred.
    â€œHave you ever thought about seeing a therapist?” Lena wasn’t giving up.
    â€œA therapist?” said Sonny, stalling.
    â€œA sports shrink,” said Alfred. “Talk about why you can’t pull the trigger on combinations.”
    Sonny thought about Dr. Gould and remembered what Hubbard had said. The new mot-to in sports: You gotta get shrunk to get bigger.
    â€œI’m serious,” said Alfred.
    â€œThere was this psychologist in Vegas. Hubbard called him.”
    â€œWorked for Hubbard?” Alfred made a face.
    â€œDoctor didn’t think so. Hubbard fired him.”
    Lena said, “You liked him?”
    â€œHe was all right.”
    â€œMaybe he could recommend somebody in New York,” said Lena. “Or I could ask around.”
    Sonny tried to sound joky. “I’ll come talk to you.”
    â€œI’m sure I could help to a certain extent,” said Lena. The way she was sitting and looking at him, Sonny thought of Dr. Gould, friendly and interested. “There’s some things you just have to think about.”
    â€œLike what?” asked Sonny. He was surprised to find that he was interested, too. He thought of all the questions Starkey had asked. Or tried to ask.
    â€œWell, the running away, to begin with. People do that for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes they’re scared of being hurt, rejected, so they leave before they can be left. Sometimes they’re afraid of being trapped in a relationship. They don’t want to be under another person’s power. Or they don’t want the feeling of people depending on them.”
    â€œThis is a little heavy for breakfast,” said Alfred. He looked uncomfortable.
    â€œI don’t know when I’ll have another chance,” said Lena. “Are you okay with this, Sonny?”
    He nodded. His throat was dry.
    â€œA lot of people are afraid of something, Sonny.” She reached out again and put herhand over his. “Just remember that Alfred and I are with you all the way. If you want us. Just think about it.”
    Lena sat back and bit her lip. Out of the corner of his eye Sonny saw Alfred give her a thumbs-up. Lena smiled. “More orange juice, Sonny?”
    After a second, Sonny croaked, “Thanks.”
    They ate in silence for a while, glancing at the newspaper, smiling at each other, yelling at the girls to lower the TV. There was something in what Lena had said, something he would think about on his own. It could help answer his own questions about himself. But not right now. He wanted to wallow in the sweet comfort of the morning.
    They were almost finished with breakfast when the front door banged open and a chubby young black man with round glasses on his owl face burst in. “Yo, Tomahawk.”
    â€œMartin Malcolm Witherspoon, the Writing Brave,” said Sonny. He wondered if this was a setup. He felt too relaxed to care.
    â€œHow many eggs?” asked Lena.
    â€œHow many you got?” said Marty. He gave Sonny a light punch on the arm. “How youdoin’, man? Great