The Mentor

He was a big kid, like you could see the power in him and when he looked you in the eye, even if he was trying to be nice, you could see the emptiness there.
I just loved to fight, he said. I love fighting.
How do you love it? The mentor shook his head. I don't understand.
The buzz of it ¦ I don't know. It's a buzz. The kid spoke in an accent that was South London with a hint of street Caribbean. I just love fighting, he said. You know. You're black.
The mentor looked at the kid. What does that mean, I'm black?
The kid laughed. Well, you are.
Yes, I am, said the mentor. Is that a problem for you?
No.
Why did you make it an issue, then?
I didn't make it an issue, said the kid.
What then?
You know how it is to fight.
What?
The kid coughed and moved in his seat. You know how it is to fight, he said. Don't pretend like you don't know.
I don't.
The kid laughed. He looked awkward. I don't want to fight any more, he said. I don't want to go back in.
I've never had a fight in my life, the mentor said.
The kid looked him in the eye.
Violence has never been a part of my life.
Never?
No, never. That's what I'm trying to say.
But- The kid went to say something and stopped.
Look, said the mentor, there are different stories. Not everyone's had the life you've had.
I can't believe you never had a fight.
I never have. Never had to.
How do you know you could? said the kid.
The mentor got up and looked out the window. I don't, he said. But I could if I had to.
But how do you know? said the kid.