Glass Jaw

I had to lower my pace so the man on my right could keep up with me. His thick Boston accent rang loudly in my mind, all of his past and present advice.
"Remember, kid. Keep a low profile. Move quick, strike hard, subduing blows. You're relatively small around here, so you need to use that natural speed. Keep up the footwork."
I listened to the advice roll around in my head, and fell a few paces back. The man on my right was quite a bit taller than me. About a foot over my head. Not saying much, since I'm about 5' 5", but this guy was tall. Where he had weighted muscle of practiced and repeated weight lifting, I had lean muscle and stubborn tendencies.

We got to the end of the hallway, and his black jumpsuit made an absurd amount of noise in the relative silence. He nodded at me, his dark hair fell over his eyes, and then he turned and walked off. Leaving an echo rebounding from the tile every step. Expensive leather shoes will do that.

I withdrew from my heavy jacket and set it on the hook, and pushed the doors open. I emerged into the light. It's hard to imagine what it must be like, to be 5' 9" minimum, and at least 170 or more pounds of muscle and strength, and then see a little man, 5' 5" and 135 pounds in a loose fighter's shirt and pants.

I tightened my gloves once last and stepped down toward the mat. Across from me on the mat was a bully from my elementary school days. He comes from a pretty upscale family, and used his money to get into the same academies I did through generous donations, whereas I had to study. He followed me throughout all of the school system, bullying me the whole time. After school was nearly coming to an end, I got into martial arts classes. The teacher and school were relatively unheard of, and the style was built for people like me. Aikido and judo hybrid, both having relatively little striking and lots of throws and momentum-dependant movements. My bully, named Martin Shores, was easily a bigger guy on the streets, maybe 6' 2" and more blunt muscle than toned, but still threatening none-the-less.

The referee whistled sharply and stepped back from between us. Martin charged me, and I tensed for combat. I saw his right hand twitch, and I side-stepped toward it. It flew out at me with practiced speed. I caught his arm at the wrist and pushed it outward, away from me. His arm moved where I wanted it to, and now he was off-balance in front of me. There was a particular number of nasty things I could do from this position. But, this was a friendly sparring match, so I stuck I foot under his leg, and with his already obscured balance, he fell simply. I knelt over his form and made a quick jab-motion. Ref whistled, and held up a blue flag. I offered my hand to Martin. He rolled and got up, glaring at me.

One point for me. This is going well.

The referee stood between us, and whistled, stepping back. Martin charged and threw his knee up at me. I leaned to my left, pivoted on my heel, and pulled at his shoulder. Re-directing him away from me. He switched feet and turned with a massive hand toward my head. I ducked and, too late, saw his foot get between mine. He pushed, and I fell sideways. He fell onto me, but I caught his fist just in time, flattened my back on the mat, and put my foot on his chest. Then I hoisted hard. He fell, and I lifted him off the ground on my leg, which sent him spiraling over me onto the mat. I got up quickly and faced him. He got up slowly and cracked his knuckles.

His fist came hard from the left, I grabbed it and jerked. His balance held, though. And his right was coming quick. I sidestepped it, but didn't manage to get him in a grapple. He continued his flurry of punches, and all of them were very restricted in angle and draw-back. It made them weak punches, but with such little room to maneuver, I couldn't throw him around like before. Well, he forced me…

I batted at his flurries, barely misdirecting them just wide of my torso. They kept coming, each quick and efficient. I sidestepped hard on one of his right hand jabs, since he was right-handed, and forced him to pivot quickly. This left me and opening, but instead, I watched his movement, then, as he reclaimed his balance, he launched back into flurries of punches.

Bonus points to this guy for having a monster stamina, so wearing him out is out of the question. Instead, I continued to redirect his attacks until one was just wide enough to sidestep. I did this once or twice more, getting a feel for his balance.

On the fifth pivot, he threw the first punch into his series of flurries, and I sidestepped it back to my original position. He threw a hard hook with his other hand, which was just what I was waiting for. I leaned back and threw my fist backward at his elbow. His elbow, as it was designed to do, bent, and sent his punch harmlessly across his own chest. I grabbed hold of his outer elbow and shoved him onto the mat. Made another jab.

The referee whistled and raised blue. Two down, one point left.

He got up and snarled at me. I just smiled back. Something about doing that drives people nuts. As soon as the referee blew the whistle to commence the match, Martin charged me again, reckless and berserk.

I ducked and slide sideways, now in the perfect position for an easy win. Until his charge stopped, and he threw a quick punch. It connected solidly on my cheek, and I fell like a doll.

The referee whistled and raised the red flag. Martin's point.

I got up and felt my jaw. Martin throws a mean punch. And, as small as I am, I'm not meant for battle. I have a glass jaw. Martin almost shattered it with one punch. Whistle sounded and Martin threw a long punch straight for my nose. I barely saw it in time, but caught his wrist and pulled, leaning back away from it. Martin fell into me, and I grabbed his waist and got lower, he was pretty much at the peak of his rising before the fall, so I pulled hard and pivoted as best I could.

Once his back was level with the ground, I released him and tucked my head. He slammed into the mat flat, and thudded hard. I rolled from the suplex. All of the momentum of my landing was directed onto the point of my impact, and I rolled away harmlessly.

Air rushed out of his lungs, and he wheezed to get it back.

I got up and looked at the referee. He shook his head at me, reminding me that such attacks were frowned upon. I apologized, and he merely sighed. "Just, don't let it happen again."

I was hoping he would raise the blue flag… But alas, no such luck.

Instead, he checked with Martin to see if he was okay, then raised the red flag… Two points each. All or nothing now.

Martin got up and rolled his neck and shoulders, breathing a little heavy, and stared me down. The sharp whistle exploded, and I focused hard on Martin. He leaned back on his right, and his left hand flew out. I sidestepped it and jabbed his kidney. It was a weak punch, as all of mine are, but I was going to wear him down a little.

Each punch I ducked, and jabbed his side. Time and time again, he threw predictable punches, and I managed to get in a clear shot. But slowly the punches were closing in, restricting my movements.

I finally saw my chance and let him connect a weakened jab. I tightened my abs just before it connected, and threw a hard punch onto his jaw. He wobbled, and I got my foot behind his and leaned into him. He fell backward, tripping over my leg, and slammed into the mat. Again, the jab. The referee whistled. Blue Flag.

Game. Set. Match. I won.

I just moved over to Martin to help him up, but he kicked me from the ground and I stumbled. He got up and stormed into the corridor behind him.

I paced off of the mat slowly, still pretty sore from taking a full-on punch to the face.

John, my best friend, came down from the bleachers and walked with me into the corridor to the locker room. Our footsteps fell uneven with each others, sending a full concerto of echoes down the long hallway. "Good job, you didn't fail miserably."
I jabbed his arm, "Thanks for your support."
"Don't wuss out on me." He tossed a hand towel on my face. I snatched it off and wiped my brow.
"You're not the one in the ring, John."
"Yeah right. I wasn't the one getting picked on in school. Bullies knew I'd level 'em with one punch!" He threw a jab forward and smirked.
"Whatever." John had no martial arts lessons, but he was a pretty big guy. I can see him getting away without trouble. I got to the locker room and paced lazily to my locker. I twirled the dial distantly, falling back on routine, and pulled up the handle…
And it never unlocked…

John stopped leaning on the locker across from mine and looked at it. "Is your locker broke?"
"Yes, my locker's broken. Usually just needs a good hit to pry it off."
He walked over to it and pushed with the wrist just above the dial. Something internally tumbled, but the lock didn't undo. He brought it back and open-palmed the locker again, much harder this time. The clang was impressive, and the locker wobbled open in recoil from the hit, bounced against the end of the hinge hard enough to closed again. I blinked.
"Good hit."
He shrugged, "Violence solves all problems."
I laughed and re-did the combination. And pulled the handle, and it swung open. "Okay, unless you want to see my manly bits, I suggest you go watch the next match."
"Whatever. Probably nothing impressive anyhow."
I took a jab at him, but he was already out of my range and out of the locker room. I discarded my clothing haphazardly, assembled them in one of the bags I have in my locker, and brought it around with me to collect a towel, and left it right outside the shower area as I stepped into the showers.

Hot water feels nice on sore spots. I let the stream fall over my aching muscles, and enjoyed the steam that was accumulating.

Until someone shoved me against the wall. My back thudded into the hot and cold dials for the shower, and I slumped in pain. Martin stood over me, in his birthday suit, and his one-meat-two-veggie right in my face. "Yo wuss. I ain't gonna take that loss layin' down."
"I never assumed you to be very smart, Martin, but fighting in the shower?"
He grunted in reply, and sent a brick of a fist at my face. I abused the wet tile and slid lower, with only my neck verticle on the wall. His fist impacted hard on the tile, and his came with a sickening thud.
"Tsk tsk, Martin, you should've known better than that."
I got my foot behind his, and used my spare leg to push at him. His balance was weak on the mat, and on wet tile? No contest. He fell without the help of my tripping foot, and thudded with a sharp crash. No mat and no clothes, his tail bone must've felt that one hard. He slid for a moment, and came to a stop a few feet away from me.
"Now now Martin, leave me alone and let me shower. You've already lost once today. Do we need a repeat performance?"
He snarled and got up. But he was pretty messed up from the spar, and slamming into hard tile wouldn't help. He was more bark than bite now, and I knew it. He lunged and threw a hard hook. I ducked and hooked my foot around his ankle as I rammed my elbow into his spine. His leg went back as his torso went forward, and he fell again. This time on his stomach, with another satisfying thud. He groaned, and lost consciousness.

I got back to my shower and left him there, twitching in pain. After I was satisfied with my cleansing, I hauled him out of the shower, laid him flat on a bench, and addressed any major wounds. Then left on my way. John met me in the parking lot and we went to my martial arts class. He watched and I learned. As was our usual daily schedule.

After it was over, John followed me to my neighborhood and departed my company at this public garden maintained by this nice elderly gentleman in our neighborhood. I waved goodbye and took a brisk jog back to my house.

Early the next morning, during breakfast, the phone buzzed noisily from the living room. I sighed and went to go answer it.
"Thomas residence, what can I do for you?"
"Is that you, Scott?" It was John.
"Guilty."
"…Of breaking the rules… You've been disqualified from the tournament."
"WHAT!?" I slammed my hand on the table. "Why?"
"Apparently, you attacked Martin in the shower."
"I DID WHAT!?"
I could hear papers rustling, "Yep. Right here. You beat him hard."
"He attacked me!"
"From this picture, he looks out, and you're dragging him."
"PICTURE!? Who had a camera in the locker room?"
"Apparently the same person that took a shot of you naked."
"It better be censo-"
He interrupted, "It's the public newspaper, or course they've covered your cock."
"NEWSPAPER!? You mean to tell me…?"
"Everyone in town will hate your sorry guts by tomorrow for attacking this dude in the shower." "Woo! Public enemy number one man! Here to steal your lollipops and make your babies cry."
"Pft… You're still a wimp in my eyes. C'mon, your karate teacher's probably going to want to lecture you."
I sighed, he was probably wrong, but I still didn't want to deal with the repercussions of this slander so soon. I was already starting to feel tired, and it wasn't even noon yet.

Mark Summers, my teacher was a former stunt-double, with roots in underground fighting. A surprisingly small man, like myself, and had patience that no man, woman, or child could rival. He also had lots of muscle, broken bones, and scars. Generally a scary person to look at, but his personality is misleading.
"Scott…" He said, pacing around, "what happened here?"
The newspaper fell at my feet, and I just glared at it.
"He attacked me in the shower. What you see in that picture is me bringing him over to a flat surface so I could treat his wounds."
He turned to me, halting his pace, and arched an eyebrow at me. "And how did he get those wounds?"
I felt my face turn red, "He slipped and fell?"
"With or without your help?"
I sighed, no more dodging around, "With my help."
"Scott. I know I've taught you better than that."
"But, he was going to beat me to a pulp if I didn't stop him."
"Maybe. Were his punches telegraphed and basically screamed for you to take him down?"
"Uhh…" Then I followed up with a fair number of words you shouldn't repeat around young children.
"Ah… I thought you were smarter than that, Scott. You got outsmarted by a bully."
Woo! Where's my dunce cap? "So, what do you suggest I do now?"
"Well, for starters. Formal apologies to the tournament coordinators, Martin's parents, and, of course, Martin."
I sighed, "Could this get any worse?"
"Weeelllll, get up, let's spar a bit."

I got up, moved the newspaper to the bleachers next to John, and bowed to my teacher. He bowed to me, and then we both struck the same stance. His was still, whereas I bounced a bit in place.

I ran out of patience and advanced first. There was wrong move number one. He leaned forward in a mock punch, that I dodged, and got his left hook squared on the chin. I crumpled onto the mat, despite the fact that he held his punch back. It took me a minute to regain my senses and get up. I nodded and him, and we regained our poses.

Again, I lunged first, and threw two feign punches and went for a sweep. He sidestepped away from the second fake, and was lined up for to take a fall when he shifted his balance again and stepped just over my sweep, and my balance was off to the side from the momentum. He now had a chance to bury his fist into my face, and there was nothing I could do about it. Instead he got his hand around my forehead and pushed my head onto the mat.

"Sloppy sloppy, Scott. How on earth did you win that match?"

He offered his hand. I took it, and he hauled me up.
"Okay, there's always something to learn in a loss, Scott. What all did you do wrong?"
"You mean, aside from trying to spar with you?"
"Yes, wise guy, mistakes on the mat."
"Okay, for starters, I rushed you. I should've taken more opportunity to observe."
"Not always, but it probably would've been better than rushing me. What else?"
"Assuming you took the bait on the false punches."
"Right. Never assume, always watch."
"And… Sparing with you."
He sighed, and sarcastically replied, "Ha ha… You're funny."
"You know it."
"Wweellll, jokes are okay. But we've still got a problem."
I looked at him, "Buh?"
"Your name. Soiled. Newspaper. Any of this ringing a bell?"
"My name soiled the newspa--- OHHHH! Yeah… I still have no clue what I'm going to do about that."
"No turning back time, I guess."
I posed goofily, "Quick Mathias! Let us retrieve our science-ing coats and we will turn back time!"
"You are quick to joke, Mr. Thomas, but not to help."
"Sorry. But I'm at a loss for what we should do."
John stood, "Might I make a suggestion?"
I turned, "I'll take just about anything at this point."
"Screw 'em. Who cares what they think?"
"I do!"
Mark interrupted, "Then, letters of apology. Go now."

Dear Martin, go hang yourself. I thought bitterly, staring at the blank page on my desk. There was a steady thump as John bounced a small basketball off of my wall. “C'mon man, it's a letter. Just write it and get it over with.”
“Not that easy, man.”
“Sure it is.” He tossed the ball on the sheets, and leaned over my shoulder. He scribbled a quick paragraph onto the paper. It looked like it was the most sincere apology I've ever read. I looked at John, impressed. “Wow, you are the master of BSing a paper.”

“It's a practiced talent.” He continued for another three paragraphs. “Fix what you want and carbon copy a few times with keywords tweaked.”

“Gotcha.”

After five minutes of changing little details and phrases, John's watch alarm went off. “Whoops. Gotta run, man. Later.”
“Where to?”
“No time.” He strode out the door. I blinked. John's never in a hurry. At least, not to my memory.

“Well, that's a first.”

I finished the letters, and strode out of the door. The aged man was in the garden, moving slowly. Liquid grace oozed from every movement, and he seemed relaxed and nimble, he wasn't even using his cane. Behind him, John followed the exact same movement pattern, carefully following the Tai Chi's movement. I grinned, and wondered if John knew he was doing bone-breaking throws in slow motion as he shifted his weight and snapped the arm from his invisible opponent's shoulder, throwing the aggressor into a painful crash-course to the floor. John finished the movement and grinned at the old man. He smiled a grandfatherly smile and bent to recover his cane. I laughed, “So that's where you learned to hit the locker like that.”

“That, and I'm not a wuss like you.”

We both walked to Mark's gym, and handed him the letters. He looked them over, smiled, and set them aside. “I hope you've learned your lesson.”

I grinned, tossing my bad aside and striking a slow, patient battle pose. “Care to spar?”

Martin bellowed angrily, striking hard into my grip. I turned with the blow and flicked Martin's arm and wrist. Martin spun with the motion, and fell heavily into the mat. I learned over and mimed a jab into Martin's back. The referee nodded in approval, raising the blue flag.

Martin bounced to his feet and stood on the other side of the mat, restless. I crouched, retaking my patient stance. Martin struck, hastily, and I bent with his blow, redirecting his momentum. Once again, he fell, tumbling to the mat.

Blue flag.

A third time, Martin bellowed, charging with a strike so powerful I couldn't possibly redirect it. I stepped lightly forward, into Martin's attack, and completely halted his leverage. He tried to re-align himself for the attack, but I pressed him into a throw.

I held the trophy in my grip, grinning. It had been a year since I was disqualified, and I was quite happy to be able to be in this tournament, much less win it. I smiled and waved at the audience, and they cheered. I bowed once more to Martin and left to catch a shower before the ceremony that night.

Martin growled at me from the shower. “All luck.”

“Martin, Martin, Martin... You never learn.”

He charged me on the tile. I sidestepped, caught him, and pulled him toward the shower's entrance. I pushed him softly, and he stepped out of the shower as to prevent himself from falling. I smiled. “Please, dude. Let me shower.” I waved to the nondescript man in the back of the locker room, black camera in his hand. He glared at me and strode from the bathroom. I took the opportunity to leave the shower area and get dressed.

John and I slowly followed a small Tai Chi routine. Calm was spread over my features as the warm sun poured into the garden. I reflected on my fight from a year ago. Sometimes a bully is just a bully. By pushing Martin around because he was less skilled than me was no better than him pushing me around in elementary school. I finished the motions and turned to John. He laughed, “You make it look so girly.”

He punched me in the arm, hard, and it stung a little. I grinned, and thought about my glass jaw. Any opposition can be overcome with enough patience.

Just took a while for me to figure that out.