Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1)

by Jamie Mayfield

  “There are a few kids from the high school in this class, but mostly they’re from neighboring towns.”

  “Sensei, there probably isn’t a person within a fifty-mile radius who hasn’t seen me on the news or in the paper.” To my surprise, I didn’t hang my head when I said this. Usually when I talked about the attack, or even my sexual orientation, I did so with some measure of shame. Since I’d started working with Sensei, I’d learned to hold my head high, no matter what the situation. I had to admit, the pride I felt in myself since starting my training gave me a sense of peace I’d never felt—well, outside of Jamie’s arms, anyway.

  “Don’t worry about it, Brian; these are good kids. Some of them are even here for the same reason you are.” I looked up at him, surprised. He just nodded and started pulling out the protective gear for the night’s session. I took another drink of the water as the other students started to arrive.

  “Hey, Coach!” a couple of the guys called as they walked in, and I noticed they were both from the basketball team. They nodded to me as I stood next to him and tried not to look out of place. The boys were already dressed and ready for class as they dropped their shoes and socks into their sports bags. I recognized these two guys from school, but I didn’t know them well, as they were a grade behind me.

  “Guys, this is Brian. He’s helping me out by teaching some of the younger kids. He’s also going to be working with us here in this class.”

  “Great! We can always use another good sparring partner,” said the taller of the two boys. He had a kind face, long wavy brown hair, and glasses. The other boy, a redhead with a million freckles, nodded in agreement.

  “I’m Jeb,” said the boy with the red hair. He was at least three or four inches taller than I was, but he was skinny.

  “Chris,” said the brown-haired boy, holding one hand up in a half wave. I nodded back at him and watched as a few more kids, mostly boys but not all, came in through the door. As the room started to fill, Sensei got all the students into rows, asking me to stay in the front with him. I wasn’t sure if it was for my safety or if he just wanted my help. Looking up at the clock, he called the students to attention and started us through some general warm-ups and lower-level positions. It was the part I liked best about class because I didn’t have to think about anything but the positions. I could just let my body follow the motions and let my mind stay relaxed and focused only on the movements and not anything else around me.

  About twenty minutes into the lesson, Sensei instructed, “Okay, guys, let’s break up into pairs and practice the block from last week.” I stayed next to him since I didn’t know what the block from the previous week was, and I was just about to ask when another boy came up to us. Slightly taller than I was, he had short, artfully messy light-brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He looked excited but somewhat hesitant, as if one sudden move might startle me.

  “Brian, can we work together?” he asked in a friendly tone. The boy looked perfectly comfortable in his karate gear, almost as if it was an extension of his own persona. Where I pulled and tugged at mine, feeling hot and confined, he just stood looking at ease. As my eyes met his, I saw that they were a brilliant shade of green, almost like emeralds, framed and shadowed by his glasses.

  “Uhm, sure,” I said, feeling a little awkward and wondering what he knew about me. I glanced at Sensei.

  “Adam, since this is Brian’s first class with us, let’s demonstrate the block for him, and then you can work with him,” Sensei told him and then stood in front of me, bowing to me. I bowed back, and then he went through a quick but detailed demonstration of the block I needed to learn. It was more complicated but similar to a few he’d taught me during our private sessions, so I went through it about a dozen times on my own, making sure I had it.

  Then I turned to Adam.

  At first, we practiced with me throwing some punches and a few kicks while he used the block very effectively to deflect my blows. I had worked up a nice sweat by the time we were ready to switch. Sparring with another person made me realize the moves I was learning to defend myself were working.

  Bowing to Adam, I stood in my defensive stance, waiting for him to start. He took a deep breath, then asked if I was ready. I nodded, bracing myself to deflect his strikes. When he pulled back his arm to throw his first punch, all I could see was Brad Mosely. For the briefest moment in time, I was back in that room, on the ground, my body exploding in pain. I dropped my arms and shrank back from him, completely forgetting about the block I was supposed to be practicing. His blow landed directly on a tender area over my ribs, and I cried out in pain and shock.

  “Oh my God, are you all right?” Adam asked, his face very pale.

  “What happened?” Sensei asked as he jogged over to us.

  “I… I can’t…,” I stammered, the room where they’d beaten me only just receding from my mind. Looking around, I saw I was in the dojo and everyone was looking at me. “I can’t do this!” Turning quickly, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, forgetting I was barefoot.

  “Brian,” Adam called out after me.

  “Brian,” Sensei called out as well, nearly drowning out Adam’s voice. Then he told me quietly, “Please, go wait for me in my office and we’ll talk.” Looking around the room at all the faces staring at me, Adam’s with a mixture of horror and fear, I sighed and headed for Sensei’s office.

  “Let him go,” I heard Sensei telling someone as I pulled the door closed behind me.

  As I sat down in one of the old wooden chairs in front of Sensei’s desk, the scene replayed itself repeatedly in my head. Even though I’d been dreaming about the equipment room for weeks now, some of the dreams worse than others, it was the first time I’d ever freaked out while I was awake. If I was going to flip out every time someone threw a punch at me, then my career as a karate instructor would be very short-lived. I just didn’t understand. When Sensei and I had practiced kicks, punches, and blocks more times than I could count over the last few weeks, I’d never freaked out. It didn’t make sense that it would happen with this guy.

  My right leg started to bounce in a jittery, almost involuntary movement as I sat waiting for Sensei to come into the office. I felt anxious and out of control. I couldn’t rid myself of the image. The old chair creaked as I stood up and started to pace, trying not to think about it. The images exploded in my head like the pain had exploded through my body. Lying there in that windowless room, the ceiling lights blocked out by the faces and the fists and the legs that were kicking me. I remembered begging them to stop before one of them kicked me in the face and my mouth filled with blood. I remembered curling up into a ball to try to protect myself from the blows, but one of their shoes stomped my chest. It wouldn’t have surprised me if it had left an imprint in my skin. They had mocked me for crying, calling me a sissy. They had kicked me in the head to stop me from screaming as the sounds tore from my throat. I remembered throwing up at one point.

  Mostly, I remembered the suffocating fear and the crushing realization that they were going to kill me.

  Class wouldn’t be over for another twenty minutes, and I already felt like a caged animal in the small, oppressive room. The stark white walls held posters of different karate diagrams, a rack of equipment, and a bookcase full of well-worn books. There wasn’t even a plant in there. Each decoration signified something about instruction of Coach’s sport.

  There was really nothing to distract me from my own head.

  It came as a complete surprise when the door opened just a few minutes later.

  “Are you okay?” Sensei asked, and I shrugged. “Do you want me to take a look at your ribs?” Letting out a deep sigh, I dropped into the chair behind me.

  “No, they may be bruised, but I’m okay.” I felt drained and just wanted to go home.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Sensei asked in a reassuring voice as he sat on the edge of the desk. He sat close enough to comfort me but not close enough to crowd me.
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br />   “I don’t know. I was standing there, in position to use the block, but when he went to throw the punch, I was back in that goddamned room getting my ass kicked. I lost my focus, and he nailed me in the ribs. It wasn’t his fault,” I added quickly, wanting to make sure Adam didn’t get into trouble.

  “Was that the first time you’ve ever had a flashback?” A flashback? I thought that only happened to people who had been in a war. My only problem was that I’d had the crap kicked out of me.

  “I guess. I dream about it a lot, but nothing has ever happened while I was awake,” I admitted quietly. The guilt and the shame from being so weak, the feelings that had been barely controlled for weeks, finally came flooding to the surface. As I sat there, my face starting to heat, I wondered what the point of coming to self-defense was. If I was going to freak out every goddamn time someone came at me, I’d never be able to defend myself. I’d just curl up in a ball and take it. It was all just so useless. Pure rage coursed through me. I had finally gotten a job, and I was going to lose it because I was a wimp.

  “I understand, Brian; I’ve had them. Flashbacks can be scary and disorienting. You just have to be patient with yourself. I think maybe the problem was putting you with someone you didn’t know and you don’t trust. Maybe if you keep working with Adam, we can help you work through it.” Sensei moved to his chair, linking his fingers behind his head.

  “You want me to come back?” I asked, almost incredulous. How in the hell was I going to do this, to teach or even learn, when I couldn’t have a punch thrown at me?

  “Of course I do,” he said, sitting forward, surprise evident in his tone. “I thought you wanted this job? I thought you wanted to learn from me and teach others. You’re not just going to give up, are you?”

  “No, but how am I going to teach if I can’t have a punch thrown at me?”

  To my surprise, he laughed.

  “You really think you’re going to be scared of a punch from a five-year-old girl?” he chuckled again, and I thought about it for a minute before I felt myself relax. Sensei became pensive for a moment and then cocked his head to the side. “I also give private lessons to Adam. He started a couple of weeks before you did, around the time that boy was killed over in Dalton, which is where Adam goes to school. He’s at about the same level you are. What would you think of combining your sessions? Maybe working with another student will help you feel more relaxed in class?”

  I sat back in my chair and considered his words. Working with another student, combining the sessions, wasn’t an issue for me, but how would Adam feel about Sensei using his time just to fix me?

  “Sensei, if he’s been here longer, why isn’t he teaching instead of me?” I asked with a slight frown.

  “First, Adam already has a job. He works over at the pharmacy. Second, Adam doesn’t have the patience to teach small children. Do you remember when I told you that you had the personality to teach, and that I would help you with the rest? Well, Adam is a great kid, but he doesn’t have the temperament to work with children.”

  “Do you think he’d be okay with me taking up part of his time?” I asked tentatively.

  “Let’s ask him. I’m sure he’s still outside. He was waiting to apologize.”

  “Why the hell would he apologize?” I asked in utter disbelief. “I was the one who freaked out, not him.”

  “You’ll have to ask him,” Sensei said with a small smile, and then he walked over to the large bookcase and pulled down a book, handing it to me. It was a battered self-help guide on post-traumatic stress disorder.

  I smirked. I couldn’t help myself.

  “A do-it-yourself guide to shrinking your own head?” I asked, and he shrugged.

  “Are you already seeing a therapist?” he asked patiently.

  “No,” I admitted. “To be honest, I’ve put the Schreibers through enough. Besides, I don’t really believe much in therapy.”

  “I believe in making things happen for yourself, and that book did help me through a few rough patches.” Sensei pointed out a few marked pages that were dog-eared, some with highlighting. I could only imagine the kinds of flashbacks a man got from war.

  “Thank you,” I said honestly as we both got up to walk out of the office. I felt his hand on my shoulder and briefly wondered how I would have made it through the last few weeks without all the people who’d stood by me. Richard, Carolyn, Kyle, and Sensei had made such a difference in my life since Jamie left, and it hurt to think about leaving them behind in the summer.

  We were already starting to come up on Christmas, and I was shocked at how fast the time was going. Once I’d decided to follow Jamie that rainy day in August, I thought time would crawl until I could finally take off to find him, but it seemed as though time was moving almost too fast. I only hoped when the time came for me to leave, I would be ready.

  “Brian,” Adam said as soon as we had emerged from the office. I noticed that the rest of the dojo was empty. “I am so sorry.”

  I put up a hand to stop him; there was no point in his apologizing when he’d done nothing wrong.

  “Adam, it wasn’t your fault. I don’t know how much you know about me,” I said, looking over at Sensei, feeling better when I saw his encouraging nod. “I was attacked a few months ago and beaten, and I haven’t really had much experience sparring outside of my personal sessions. When you came at me, I guess I had a flashback of my attack, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault at all, Adam, it was mine.” I shrugged as he started to shake his head.

  “It’s not your fault,” Adam said quietly. “It’s Brad Mosely’s fault.” My eyes met his, and I saw sadness there, and something else—anger, maybe. “I followed your story in the newspapers and on the news. I really admire your courage; it’s one of the reasons I wanted to work with you today.” I couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped, and his face flushed slightly in embarrassment.

  “I’m not brave, Adam. In fact, I’m pretty terrified most of the time, but I appreciate what you said about it not being my fault.”

  “Adam, Brian and I have been talking, and I think it would be good for him to work with another student in his private sessions. Since I’m also working one-on-one with you, I was wondering what you would think about combining your sessions with Brian’s? You’re at about the same level, and I think it might be good for both of you.” Adam’s face broke into a radiant smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “I’m fine with that, so long as Brian is,” Adam said, looking at me. I nodded. “Well, then, I guess that makes us partners.”

  21

  ADAM turned out to be a great sparring partner, patient yet determined. Working together every day for the past couple of weeks, we had begun to make progress. I was starting to be able to block his attacks and had gained at least some confidence. We didn’t have class during that week because of the Christmas holiday, but I hoped we could start some more advanced topics when our private sessions with Sensei resumed. Richard had prescribed a mild anti-anxiety drug he wanted me to take, at least in the short term, to counter the stress I felt during the sparring sessions. He’d tried to get me to see a therapist, but I explained that I wanted to try to work things out on my own because soon I’d be on the other side of the country without any real access to pills or shrinks, and I needed to be able to deal with this.

  A few days before Christmas, Carolyn and I were picking up my prescription at the local pharmacy where they’d recently installed kiosks for copying and printing pictures. I’d brought the one of Jamie and me in order to make a copy for my parents’ Christmas gift. I had made the gift myself in an effort to save every dime I could. It would be my first gift to them as my parents, and I wanted to make it special.

  When I went up to the counter to have someone help me make the copy, I was surprised to see Adam standing there in a blue smock with his name emblazoned on his nametag. He grinned when he looked up and saw me standing at the counter.

  �
�Yeah, I know, it’s not as cool as being a karate instructor, but it keeps gas in my car,” he said as he set down the box he’d been using to stock candy bars on a back counter. “Oh, I mean, is there something I can help you with today, sir?” His voice was deep and falsely serious, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Well, since I’m a defective karate instructor, I’m not sure it’s really as cool as it sounds,” I said with a snort. “And actually, there is something. Can you help me copy a picture?”

  “You’re not defective,” he said, suddenly serious. I shrugged, and he changed the subject by asking, “Is it copyrighted?”

  “No, it’s just a snapshot taken on a church outing last summer,” I said, trying to fight off the feeling of sadness that threatened to drown me, thinking about how much fun Jamie and I’d had that first day of the retreat. The picture was the only one I had of Jamie, and it meant everything to me. Even though a couple of guys had spoiled the retreat because of their anti-gay hatred, we had gotten through it together. Back then, we had gotten through everything together, which was one of the things that made his leaving so hard.

  The picture itself was a reminder of that, since a couple of the harshest guys were in the picture with us. The outing leader had taken the picture, and I’d stolen it from a bulletin board at the church the day Mrs. Mayfield had found us in the tree house and dragged us to Pastor Moore. I held it up to show Adam, reluctant to let go when he reached for it.

  “Brian, you have to let me see it if you want me to copy it,” Adam said with a chuckle, and I finally released it. When he looked down at it, his expression abruptly hardened. I don’t think I’d ever seen the normally jovial Adam look quite so fierce.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked tentatively.

  “Their names are Bobby and Karl, aren’t they?” he asked quietly, and I nodded. “They’re friends with this kid I go to school with, Jimmy Mavers.”

  “I think I’ve met him; there was a Jimmy on that retreat too,” I said, curious at his reaction.