I imagined there would be a roundup of muscly, tattoo-covered guys with names like Moracio (from Italy) and Alain (from France) because they were so cool and multi-cultural. I walked in under a decrepit sign that said, ‘Ju-jitsu World’ painted on a wood panel. I loved the rough and gruff of this place; someone really thought about how to make it authentic, and I appreciated that attention to detail. Great signs, literally.
A sweet, chiseled Asian dude sat behind a desk as he yelled out to the other guys. He had a very strong East Coast accent.
‘New Jersey?’ I asked as I approached him.
‘Boston,’ he corrected. ‘You here for the 3:30?’
I had on tight, Grease-like spandex pants. You know, the ones Sandy wore in the final dance scene? Those. Tight. Pants. I could barely get them over my thighs so the mere prospect of having to pee at some random moment during class made me anxious. That anxiousness actually made me feel like I had to pee. Good thing the pants were black. On top, I had on a white tank with no bra. My nipples were saluting with such patriotic zest they could have been confused for concealed weapons. I was already having fun and class hadn’t even begun yet.
‘Sign the waiver here,’ East Coast told me. ‘You done this before?’
‘Not exactly,’ I said, giggling a little. ‘Unless you count bedroom wrestling!’
He looked at me blankly and then said, ‘Take your shoes off, lockers in back, class starts in three minutes.’
At least he was direct. I headed over to where the rest of the gang congregated and pretended to warm up. A little forward hang towards the toes, a little arm and elbow stretch. My pants were too tight but at least they showed off my womanly figure. To my right stood an older, silver-haired fox. His hair was greying and a few chest hairs sprouted from his formidable torso, his body defying the age his hair’s loss of pigment suggested. I looked down and discovered his wedding ring: a fox doesn’t stay single for long.
To my left was a tall, skinny young black kid with an Afro. He looked over and gave me a ‘what’s up’ nod then turned away before I could return one. The rest of the room was populated by: a rotund Persian man, the Asian East Coaster from the front who joined the class, and a butch but annoyingly attractive girl around my age with blonde hair. Okay, she wasn’t so butch. In fact, she was half my size, but she looked tough. The blonde pulled her hair back as she rose and fell on her tiptoes, apparently her misguided method of warming up. She had a tattoo on the inside of her wrist of two interlocking infinity symbols. What does that even mean? It was hard to know if you liked her or you hated her. She had a scary bitch vibe, but I also wanted to be her friend. And last but not least, our teacher. The man fiddling with the stereo in the corner of the room, whom I had overlooked because his back was towards me, turned around in slow motion and faced us. He was a most beautiful specimen of man. When the music came on, it was like watching Jesus with the music crescendo-ing as he took center stage, the room going black save for the bright light around him.
‘I’m Moses,’ he said as I melted. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. Moses! Moses! I moaned under my breath, imagining, mind wrestling. I couldn’t tell where he was from. I thought he could be Israeli, with his dark curly hair. ‘I think I want to focus on take-downs today,’ he announced. ‘First we’re going to go through form, then we’ll move it into the ring. Okay?’ It was the kind of question that required no answer.
The room clapped in unison. Grunting was detected, as was the patting of men’s shoulders in some show of camaraderie as my heart widened looking at the man who would become the love of my life. Tabitha and Moses. I kept repeating it to myself and, I have to admit, it sounded pretty smooth. Then, just as I was starting to feel comfortable, the door opened and slammed shut and in walked Milk.
‘Milk?’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’
When he saw me, he paused for a moment and did a double take as if it were strange to see me in there. ‘What do you mean?’ he countered as he took off his shoes at the edge of the mat. He threw his keys onto the desk and looked around the room. Everyone was facing him, hands at their hips. ‘Hey guys,’ he said.
‘Hey, Milken,’ the room replied as he walked towards the front mirrors.
‘The man himself,’ Moses said as they embraced with a secret handshake and bow. I couldn’t believe this. How did all these guys, especially Moses, know Milk?
‘So you want to learn how to fight?’ he eventually asked me. ‘Or are you here to meet some fighters?’ He might be dense, but he’s pretty savvy sometimes.
‘I’m already a fighter,’ I said, leaning in. His eyebrows moved up his forehead as his chin and lips moved down into what seemed like an impressed expression. ‘But love is a tango, Milk. My mom thinks that you can just have one fighter in a relationship, but I think both people need . . .’
‘Let’s get started then,’ Milk interrupted, springing into jumping jacks, blowing bursts of air out of his chest. He kept his gaze forward but I could see the grin inching across his face.
Moses immediately followed and by the beat after, everyone in the class had joined in before I could even finish my thought. After about ten jumps I was wasted. The more I jumped, the more jelly-like my limbs became. The bend in my knees dipped increasingly deep, so much so I felt at any moment I might end up sitting on the floor in one quick drop. Finally, we stopped. When I looked in the mirror in front of me, I was beet red.
‘Okay, grab a partner,’ Moses said.
I looked around and wished there were uneven numbers so Moses could practice with me, the new kid, but I was out of luck with a perfect six. There was a moment of slight chaos as people spun in circles, awkwardly looking for a partner. I was thinking about how to tell Milk, ‘No thanks,’ but then I saw Blondie grab his arm and smile her ask. Phew, I thought, wiping my forehead. I turned around and everyone was paired up except for the Persian man and me. He was really hairy.
‘I’m Farid,’ he said.
‘Tabitha,’ I replied. ‘Nice to meet you. What do we do now?’
Before I knew it, Farid’s chest hair was accosting me like a starved homeless man attacks a bucket of chicken wings and I was on the floor, pinned with my arms out. Immobile. Helpless. Confused.
‘Farid!’ Moses called out. His tone indicated that this was something of a recurring incident.
‘Sorry, boss,’ Farid said as his head cowered apologetically. ‘I thought you said go.’
Moses took center stage again and explained a move I couldn’t follow, probably because I had just been unexpectedly body slammed. What I could gather was that Farid and I were practicing what was called a ‘take-down.’ Oh, the men I couldn’t wait to take down. I faced him with my legs wider than hip distance, fearful of the moments to come, face-to-face with this Iranian bull. I looked over Farid’s shoulder for a moment and saw Milk half-smiling at me, half-curious. He winked just as Moses said, ‘Go,’ as if to distract me from my opponent. Milk wanted me to get floored by this giant but he was oh, so, wrong. There was absolutely no way I was going down. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Blondie would choose to partner with him but I guess he was so meek, so feeble, so brittle, that it was probably a choice to stroke her ego. I looked back at Farid and – probably because we both thought it was our turn at the same exact moment – we darted towards each other’s legs in unison, but instead of grabbing his heel as we were instructed to do, I was once again pounded by a block of bristly black chest hair, body odor and sweat. I bounced off him like a ricocheting shuttlecock. Pop. Land. Skip. Slide, I went, across the floor.
‘It was still my turn!’ Farid yelled at me. I nodded to let him know I was okay, and he hadn’t hurt me, in case he was wondering.
I looked over at Milk, furiously. ‘You winked to distract me!’ I accused him.
Of course, I would have loved it if it were Moses’s soft fuzz, sweet smell, and glorious sweat. An imagined world in which he and I wrapped around each other like monkeys in he
at warmed me, taking me away from the harsh realities of my opposing partner in this less romantic world. I wanted Moses to show me the moves, to grab one of my legs and take me to the floor. Pin me while twisting arms behind my neck and giving me no place to go but to submit to his domination. I looked over to Moses again and said, ‘Hey! Can you—’ but before I even finished Farid had a hold of my ankle and I was whipped to the ground with brute force. Why people don’t use deodorant I will never know.
Farid was over me now, breathing heavily. I thought he might even collapse on top of me and that would be my death.
‘Nice work, Farid,’ Moses said as I got up again from the floor. It was like no one noticed I was being tossed around like a rag doll. Milk was ignoring me now, pretending to be taking his take-downs seriously. He clearly had no idea what he was doing because he was being so gentle and tentative with Blondie. I overheard him saying things like, ‘Are you okay?’ to her every now and then, and, ‘Tap out if it hurts.’ Of course she didn’t because she was trying to show how tough she was.
‘Okay, everyone,’ Moses instructed. ‘Let’s switch.’
I was hoping he meant switch partners, but I soon realized he just meant it was my turn to take Farid down. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: my hair was disassembled from its original ponytail, so much so that most of it was sticking out, flying up and around my head, a remnant of a former bun. I looked like Bill Murray in Kingpin. My complexion was splotchy. I was itchy all over. This was no way to start a Wednesday, let alone a relationship.
‘Do you have chicken pox?’ Farid asked me. The guy with the Afro behind me laughed.
‘Give her a break,’ Milk intercepted. ‘She’s never done it before.’
‘I’m fine!’ I said as I pulled my top down and rearranged myself into my fighting stance. I saw Moses nod to the class to indicate a ‘Go’ and I was off, dipping, pulling at Farid’s heels but his feet were so slippery from sweat I couldn’t grab on. Each time, I face-planted. Each time, I ate shit.
‘I need some help,’ I said with bursts of breath, whatever I had left in me. From my periphery I witnessed Milk teaching Blondie how to maneuver around him with more efficiency. ‘You have to use my body weight against me,’ he told her. ‘Otherwise, it’s not a fair fight because biologically I have more strength. You have to be strategic about it. It’s physics.’ I couldn’t believe it; he was flirting with her. I always thought of Milk as being small but next to Blondie he was towering.
Farid must have caught me listening and said, ‘Milken is a master at Wing Chun.’
‘At what?’
‘A martial arts practice called Wing Chun. Bruce Lee did it. Milken teaches it here on Tuesday nights. He even has a free class on Sundays for women’s self-defense.’
Is everyone stoned? Milk doesn’t know a thing about martial arts! He’s never been in a fight before! I think I would have known about this if it were true. I mean, I’m very observant.
‘How do you know him?’ Farid asked me, barely flinching as I mauled his heels.
‘We grew up across the street from each other,’ I huffed as my palms slapped together with each failed grab at his glistening, hairy feet.
‘Terrible about his dad,’ Farid said. ‘My grandpa had Alzheimer’s too, but Milk’s dad is so young. Such a shame.’
Weird conversation to be having while trying to practice take-downs but at the same time, it seemed to flow effortlessly. Wait, what?
‘Alzheimer’s?’ I said, inflecting up. ‘Jeff?’ I laughed. ‘I think I’d know if he had Alzheimer’s!’ My laugh came out more like a cough from a lodged hairball.
Farid looked at me with eyes of an abandoned child. If I were a dog, I would be put to sleep. I looked over at Milk again, standing there in a headlock, letting Blondie have a go at him.
‘Does she have a crush on him or something?’ I asked Farid.
‘Who doesn’t,’ he said. ‘He’s the king around here.’
‘He’s just a student!’ I said, not understanding. ‘If he were so great, he’d be the teacher.’ I was ignoring the fact that Farid just said he taught Wing Chun.
‘He owns the place,’ he said, shutting me up. ‘I thought you said you knew him.’
Milk owns a fighting school? Yeah, right. Like I’m going to believe that. How had he duped everyone into thinking he knew about martial arts?
‘Well,’ I said. ‘If that’s true, why is he in the class and not leading it?’
‘It’s his style. He likes to be immersed so that the teachers learn to teach better, so he can evaluate them from a student’s perspective.’
‘A bit relaxed, I’d think.’ As I said this, I laughed. Throwing my head back for emphasis like Rainbow Dan did when he talked about being a lion. ‘He’s so annoying!’ He’s just so nice, it’s infuriating. He needs more bite, more jazz. Some chili, some spice. Always has.
I jumped as Milk body-slammed Moses on the other side of the room in demonstration. I panicked at the thought of losing the man I’d love before we even had a chance so I tucked past Farid and ran to Moses, leaping into the air and landing on him and Milk. We were all screaming.
‘Break it up!’ I yelled. ‘Break this shit up!’
‘What the . . . ?!’ Moses screamed.
‘Tabby!’ Milk shouted. ‘What are you doing?’
As I was spread out like a stubborn starfish on top of the two of them, Milk and Moses started laughing, which confused and angered me at once. ‘Milk, get off of Moses! You’re hurting him!’ I was the only one moving on the pile, legs and arms flapping around as Milk disentangled himself calmly and gently. He picked me up and placed me to the side. Moses scrambled away as he dealt with his confusion.
‘Tabby,’ Milk began. ‘We weren’t really fighting, you know. We were practicing because, well . . . that’s what you do in fight class.’ I was still on the ground, now turned over, facing up. Milk had his hands on his hips as he peered down at me and my legs and arms continued to flail in a silent room, kicking and punching the air.
‘Are you done?’ he asked. I stopped and let him help me get up.
I looked around the room and now everyone was chuckling. I even detected a faint eye-roll from Blondie which made me want to run over and punch her right square in the face, but I knew that wouldn’t be a smart move in front of Moses since our relationship was so new and first impressions were everything. I realized I needed to do something to get him close. I had to be strategic.
Moses addressed the class. ‘Let’s move on to the single-leg take-down,’ he said. ‘So this move is one of the most effective, swift and powerful take-downs for grapplers. Single-leg take-downs can’t be forced and you have to learn how to efficiently move with the power of your opponent for it to work. But when it does, it’s deadly.’
Yes! I’m good at these.
‘I’m going to demonstrate this once for the newbies,’ Moses went on. ‘Who wants to volunteer?’
I raised my hand so quickly it almost shot out of my shoulder socket. Moses looked despondently at Milk, then back at me.
‘Anyone else?’ Moses asked as I shouted, ‘Hey! Me! Hey! I’m ready! Hey!’
‘Moses,’ Milk said firmly as he nodded in my direction.
‘But, she . . .’ he started but didn’t know how to continue. He must have been choked up with emotion. Bless his little cotton socks! Milk motioned for me to join Moses at the front as Milk scratched his head, perplexed. His hand moved over his ear, through his scruffy chin and eventually across his mouth. I had never noticed his beard before, its dark blond freckled with hints of lighter and darker tones. He was also much taller than the other men in the room. One hand gripped his elbow as the other one stayed planted over his lips as he watched me walk to Moses. I turned around and smiled a thank you to Milk for letting me get this. He must really know how much this means to me. A good friend, indeed.
Moses’s stance became wider the closer I moved in towards him.
‘Okay, s
top there,’ he said, hands flexed. His stance was so wide it looked like he was about to take a standing poop or re-enact moments out of a western.
As he grabbed my left leg and picked it up into the air, he paused my body with his elbow to keep me at range. He said it was because he was leveraging his weight but I think it was because he wanted to be able to look at my face properly. ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Like missionary position.’ I smiled to let him know I was cool with it. There we were, just two love cats holding each other in front of a room of animals, showing them that even tough fighters can be comfortable with public displays of affection. Moses still had his elbow on my chest and used his hand to grab the front of my T-shirt and aggressively yank at me to demonstrate his strength and hold. So glad I didn’t wear a bra; he might even get an early-bird special. ‘See how much more in control of her I am when her balance is off?’ he addressed the class, moving me from side to side, pivoting me on my standing leg. ‘I can do anything to her from this position.’
‘Ready, able and willing!’ I said, smiling. Joyous. In heaven. It was like being in a pornographic video with the commentator right next to you. My balance was, as planned, off but he was holding on to me so tightly I knew I wouldn’t fall. This is what it feels like, I guess. This is what it feels like to be at the mercy of someone else and to be trusting them implicitly to not let you go. This trust, this love, made me so horny I used my abdominal muscles to bend towards him to sniff his neck. I wanted to smell his primal fragrance. As he was pushing me away, I was holding on to his strong trapezoids to hoister myself towards him but I couldn’t get a proper grip as he kept shrugging me off every time.
The Optimist Page 15