by Robin Hart
She stared, mesmerized at the multiple floors and foreign equipment, while he continued.
“I guess you could say we only want people here who want to do what we do.” He walked over to a desk that was surrounded by counters, under which equipment that looked like weapons and protective gear was stored, sat down, and started rooting through papers.
“Wow, organized.” She said, looking at the pile and leaning against the counter.
“Thanks.” He said. Then he looked up, realized she wasn’t serious, and frowned. “Oh. Rude.” He said.
She put her hands up and laughed. “You should have taken my suggestions to go more electronic with your bill pay and stuff.”
He opened his mouth to correct her, and then decided he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
“Great.” She followed him to the first mat, which had a foamy feeling to it. There was no one else in the dojang. “Is it usually this empty?”
“We don’t open for classes for a few hours.” He said. “Most of our clients are kids, and the ones who are adults work during the day. The teachers will be in a bit before them, to clean up and get things ready for their classes.”
“Cool.” Nicole said, walking on to the mat to go look at something that looked like a punching bag mounted on a thick black plastic base. “What’s this?”
She heard Sean clear his throat, and when she turned around, he was folding his arms and glaring. He pointed beside him, signaling her to come back. “You have to bow in.”
She rolled her eyes and thought he was joking.
“I mean it.” He said. “And you have to take off your shoes. You’ll damage the padding.”
She slumped over and took off her shoes, resentfully. She’d be darned if she’d bow to him.
“The Korean and American flags.” He said, pointing up to the wall across from them, on which was hung a row of different colored belts, with black at the end. “We bow to them as a sign of respect, each time we go onto the mat.”
She could respect a country or two, she guessed, making a slight bow as he did the same.
“What are these?” She said, lightly punching the padded object with her hand to see what it did. It rocked slightly away and then back towards her, and she jumped.
“They’re called Wavemasters.” He said. “Basically a punching bag, but for kicking.”
She looked confused. “Can’t you just kick a punching bag?” She asked. “Why does it have to be mounted from the bottom?”
He waved her to move a bit away from the bag and readied himself, facing it, arms loose at his side, feet shoulder width apart. He grinned at her, then focused again, and lightening fast, spun towards it with a kick that resounded across the room with a loud bang.
She wouldn’t have believed it if she’d seen it anywhere but right here beside him. He’d moved so quick, hitting with the side of his leg so hard that the bag swung back almost till it touched the floor, then slowly righted itself, ready to take another strike.
“That’s why.” He said, looking at her like she should understand now. She felt hopelessly lost.
“I still don’t get it.”
“Come here.” He said, and she came over to stand by him. “Maybe if I show you you’ll see it better.”
He stood the same as he had before, and looked at her as if expecting her to do the same. She did. She wondered if her complete lack of knowledge of martial arts could be partially blamed on being raised with her black aunt. You didn’t see a lot of black martial arts stars, for some reason. Maybe she’d be the first, and a woman too. She laughed, knowing that was ridiculous because she hated working out, but liking the idea of breaking stereotypes. She mimicked his stance.
“Good.” He said. “Now spread your legs a little.” He motioned to his own. “Like this. Good.”
He raised his front leg, bent, slowly, and stayed in a position that looked somewhat like a dog peeing on a fire hydrant. “Now bring your front leg up, like this.”
She did, wobbling, and held it.
“Now just extend it, slowly at first.” He straightened his leg ‘til the front of his shin made contact with the bag. “And that’s a round house kick.”
She tried to do the same and toppled forward, knocking the bag.
“No no no.” He said. “Do you mind if I touch you?”
She shook her head. This was just platonic.
He picked up her front leg, and held it in the position it had been before. If she had thought letting him hold her leg would be strictly platonic, she was wrong. She tingled where he was touching.
“Great, now just straighten it.” He said, keeping one hand on her thigh and holding it while using the other to straighten her leg and guide her foot to the side of the mat. She felt like he was treating her like a child and wanted to punch him, and kiss him. He looked at her face, and his softened, and he dropped her foot. She let it fall slowly, in the awkward silence between them. Both too aware of the other, and too soon after the previous night.
“I’ve got to go.” She said, turning to walk off the mat. Sean didn’t ask her to bow out, as he would have any other student, he just followed her.
“Wait.” He said. “We need to talk about the other night.” He came in front of her and blocked the door.
She loved the way the light played in his dark curls and how bright his blue eyes looked, and she wanted to get away from him so she could forget about it.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She said. “I blew it last night and it’s no use for us to keep pretending that nothing’s changed.”
“What do you mean?” He said, not budging despite her feeble attempts to push him aside.
“Stop it.” She said. “I know you’re just pitying me. You can’t stand to be around me after last night, now that you know what a nut job I am.”
“I’ve always known what a nut job you are, Nick.” Sean said, smiling a smile that faded when he realized she was even more pissed after that comment. “But seriously, I don’t see you any differently.”
“Good! Because I was just a kid, you know? And it’s wrong of you to judge me for it.” She said, keeping tears away by keeping her anger dominant.
“I would never judge you.” He said, the ache from the night before coming back. “None of that was your fault.”
“I saw the way you looked last night when I told you.” She said, seeing it in her mind with clarity. “I’m not stupid.” She sat on the floor in a ball with her arms on her knees, waiting for him to move.
“I was angry.” He said, sitting as well, with one leg out and the other bent. “But not at you.”
“Who then?” She said. “Who else is there to be angry at? I was the slut.”
“Don’t ever call yourself that.” He shouted, and when she flinched, he softened his voice. “I’m sorry. But I can’t stand for you to call yourself that.” He traced a circle on the ground beside him, not caring that it was dirty from hundreds of bare, sweaty TKD feet. “You’re still my best friend.”
“You expect me to believe that?” She said, looking away. “You expect me to think that you’d have been my friend then if you’d known?”
“Of course.” He said. “Are you so damaged you really think that would have mattered?”
“Damaged?” She said, and her eyes were hot, and he knew he was not going to turn this conversation around.
“Yes. No. That’s not what I mean.” He started forward towards her, but she put her face on her arms and started to cry. “I mean, what you think I mean is not what I mean, but I know how it sounded.”
He stared at her. She sat for a moment, and he didn’t hear anything. Then she surprised him by standing.
“You know what?” She said. “Maybe I am damaged, but I don’t have to hang out with you and your goody-two-shoes, look at me I’m so normal, attitude right now.” She grabbed her purse and walked to the door. “I’d appreciate it if you drove me home now.” She opened
the door. “I have a date.” She let it fall behind her and walked to the jeep, waiting by the passenger side, not leaving anything up for discussion.
Dang it, Sean thought, standing and brushing dust from his butt. It wasn’t fair, he was darned if he tried to be good, to be honest, and darned if he did nothing. He was tired. Let the crazy chick go on her date. He had screwed up, but it was true. She was allowing herself to be so damaged that it was impossible not to hit buttons, and she wouldn’t even look at how to correct it. He opened the door, walked over to the jeep, unlocked her door, then went around and got in on his side. He’d come back to the dojang after.
Nicole waited for him to explain himself, to reassure her as they drove back to her aunt’s. He didn’t. She didn’t actually have a date, she’d just said it to put him back in his place, to remind him she had other things going on. And she knew if she called Ben, she could make it a truth. When they pulled up in front of her place and he was still staring stoically ahead, she couldn’t resist leaving another barb in his armor.
“And if I’m so damaged, what does that make you for wanting me, stalking me for so long?” She said.
“I was just trying to tell you that it didn’t make a difference to me.” He said. “And if you want to get butt-hurt about it, there’s nothing I can do.” He slowly opened his door, walked over to hers, and opened it. She jumped out, not taking his hand to get down, and stomped up to her door.
“I don’t need to be fixed, Sean.” She said, her hand on the doorknob, glaring at him like a wounded Amazon, her hair wildly escaping from her ponytail in little sweaty tendrils. “I can take care of myself.”
“Fine.” He said, throwing up his hands and going back to his side of the jeep. “Cause I’m sick of doing it anyway!” He opened his door and slammed it, nearly catching his own foot, then angrily pushed the keys to start the jeep. He shook his head and drove away just as he heard her door slam loudly in the distance. By the time he was back to the dojang, anger had faded into shame, and he pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, wondering how he was going to get out of this one. He hit it with his fist a few times, drew a deep breath, and walked back into the dojang, feeling a million times smaller than the last time he had entered. When he’d had her by his side, interested in his life. Trusting him. Could she really be damaged, when his world was such a small, dark place without her?
Nicole slumped back against her door after slamming it, so angry she could barely see, barely stand. She realized vaguely she wasn’t really mad at Sean. He’d just been convenient. Who was there really to be angry at? Her dad, herself for believing all the things about her that she tried to foist onto Sean. Herself, for being increasingly worried that she was in love with him, and feeling that she’d rather dive from a cliff into a kiddie pool than explore that terrifying possibility.
Yet, she knew the only reason she could have reacted so badly to his statements was because his opinion meant more to her than others. Why had it taken her so long to see, and why was it so much less of a joyous occasion than one would think, falling in love with your best friend? Hadn’t she always loved him somewhat?
She enjoyed the feel of the cool tile beneath her butt and hands and the feel of the door at her back. She hadn’t seen her aunt’s car outside so she figured she was alone, and didn’t have to worry. Even so, sitting by the door probably wasn’t the safest thing that she could do. She scooted to the side and then moved to the couch. She looked out the window to the beach and wondered if she would be fine going for a walk or if she was feeling self destructive enough that she’d be tempted to take a swim without proper safety precautions. She scratched at her inner forearms, hating the pain inside and wondering what the best method of inflicting pain on the outside to distract from it was.
But she couldn’t imagine facing Sean with bandages on her wrists, hiding the cutting like she did as a teenager. She also hadn’t felt this stirred up since then. What was it her shrink had said way back when she’d gone to him? Because what happened involved love, and relationships, she’d feel it a lot more when she was getting involved, or starting to love. She put her hands over her face, remembering the conversation. It had seemed so hateful, so unfair, that just when she would approach something healthy and wonderful, she would be stopped by pain and mental issues because of something that wasn’t her fault.
Maybe it was her fault. She hadn’t told Sean, she hadn’t told anyone, except her aunt, and only a little at first. It was still going when she was 13, and she didn’t feel that her 13-year-old self really had any excuse to still be hiding it…unless she liked it?
She felt cold hands on her arms and sliminess below her waist and saw dark eyes staring into hers, saying ‘you like it, you know you like it’.
No. No she didn’t. She jumped off the couch, rubbing at her limbs as if she could brush off the past and it’s muckiness. She felt shaky, worried.
She walked slowly up to her bedroom, where she felt safest. She plopped on the bed and hoped she could fall asleep for a nap before more thoughts of unpleasant things overtook her. If nothing else, she hoped to cope-sleep. Sometimes her body was just so stressed she could pass out, and as she felt herself drift into darkness, she knew this was one of those times, and sighed, relieved.
Ben came around the counter and handed a beer to his friend, Stephen, who sat on a stool with one leg bent up on a rung and the other hanging down straight.
“A black chick?” Stephen said, pushing brown hair out of his eyes.
“Yup.” Ben said, wishing his younger, childhood friend would just cut his hair. It was annoying how he seemed to think having it in his face and pushing it away was actually sexy to women. Even more annoying that sometimes it worked. “Maybe not all black though, she’s not very dark.”
“Mmm.” Stephen said. “Milk chocolate.”
“You’re so racist.” Ben said, taking a stool next to him and taking a drink from his own beer. “But I know, not my usual style.”
“Not Asian?”
Ben glared.
“I mean, too independent, right?”
Ben nodded, smiling. “Nicole’s different though.” He said. “There’s something weak about her. Vulnerable.”
“Hm.” Stephen said.
“Oh, and you know the funniest part?” Ben said, clinking his bottle on the counter. “She’s got this guy friend. He’s totally in love with her.”
“Really?” Stephen said. Then he sighed. “What chick doesn’t?” He himself tended to be the sap that always got passed over for the hotter, jerkier guy. Till he’d decided to be the jerk himself. That wasn’t turning out great either though. He and Ben had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, white trash, and now they both had a little money (well, Ben had a lot) and they’d only been sort of successful at escaping their backgrounds.
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Oh just that, I think it’s hilarious that this guy would have treated her like a princess, but she passed over him for me.”
“Yikes.” Stephen said.
“She deserves it. Nice guys finish last. Remember our dads?”
“Yeah.” Stephen said, wishing he didn’t. Wishing he knew how to be a better man than that. Someone like Master Peterson, or Mister Sean, at the dojang.
“So I’m just teaching her a lesson. Maybe I’ll chase her right back into his arms.” Ben chuckled. “What’s left of her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stephen glanced at him sidelong with narrowed eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Look Ben.” Stephen said, pushing his bottle away from him and facing Ben seriously. “We need to talk.”
Ben looked at him, with that vacant, neutral stare that Stephen hated. Sometimes his friend could be the life of the party and the coolest guy he knew. And then other times, he could be a real monster. And that’s when he had this vacant face, when his blue eyes looked robotic and gray, and his face looked pale and lifeless. It made Stephen feel cold, lik
e he’d been doused by ocean spray. He didn’t know exactly what had happened in Ben’s childhood to mess him up, but it must have been a doozy.
“This next girl.” He said. “You can’t treat her like the others.”
“What do you mean?” Ben said, tone still eerily neutral, like he was betting in poker.
Stephen wasn’t afraid of him though. He’d beat Ben up if it ever came to that, because Ben hated fighting anything up to his strength or higher. Sometimes Stephen wondered why he even tolerated this coward as a friend. He wasn’t sure if it was pity, or just that Ben made him feel like he was a better person by comparison. Or perhaps what your dude friends did when you weren’t around wasn’t your business.
Ben had taken a break after the last chick, who’d ended up in the hospital, or so Stephen had heard. It was the first Stephen had heard of Ben hurting someone for real. He’d hoped that Ben was reevaluating his life, and he seemed once again to only be interested in Helen, who was the older sister of one of their mutual friends. Ben had had a crush on her as long as he could remember, yet she seemed to be untouchable to him as well. Stephen couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t know if he wanted to.
“If you hurt this new girl. If you hit her…” Stephen didn’t look Ben in the eye while delivering the blow. “I can’t associate with you.”
He heard Ben draw in a long breath, making an unpleasant hissing noise. He heard Ben’s fingers squeak against his glass bottle, then the shattering of the bottle on the floor.
“Hey!” Stephen said, jumping off his stool and away from the glass, grateful he had jeans on.
Ben glared, walked over, put his arms on the counter to either side of Stephen, staring into him with those empty blue eyes. “I didn’t hit anyone.” He said. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I am Ben, but you can’t do that. You’re going to end up in jail.”
“So a little slut is going to be believed over me? My best friend?”
“Ben, there has to be another way. There’s never a reason to hit a chick.”