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ASBJORN’S FOOTFALLS broke the morning stillness as he ran over the Mass Ave Bridge, crossing from Cambridge to Boston. The weekend traffic was light and the air felt clean and crisp. His breathing was even as he savored the smell of the Charles River. Its muddy notes were lightened by the briny sea breeze coming in off the harbor. His weather-sense warned him of incoming rain, and he broke into a wild grin, daring the squall to catch him before he made it back to the comfort of his lair.
At the end of the bridge he turned right and jogged up the Esplanade. The asphalt ribbon of the path wound through a green landscaped area. He’d already had to dodge several runners, dog-walkers, and cyclists. Their numbers would increase as the day wore on. He leaned forward and picked up his pace, spurred on as friendly wind from the harbor pressed into his back.
This was his quiet time, his not-thinking time. The physical exertion of a long run kept him from ruminating over the past, and bled excess energy off his volatile temper. He let spontaneous images rise in his mind. He’d take note of them, perhaps even revisit them later. The slap of his size-thirteen Asics on the pavement followed him upriver as he crossed streets that led to other bridges. The sound followed him as he wound his way through copses of trees and past children’s playgrounds.
Brown eyes the color of maple syrup... a fall, his hand slapping loud against the orange wrestling mat. Sean stood over him with a scowl on his face. “You’re not supposed to know how to do breakfalls yet.”
“I didn’t want to collide with those guys, sorry.”
“Where did you learn?”
“I forget... Can you throw me again?”
He stopped at a red light and ran in place as he struggled to free a bottle of electrolyte drink from his running belt. Two squeezes, whether he felt like it or not.
Green light go.
Count your breath.
His sense of situational awareness told him who was behind him and in front of him. He passed two runners, gaining on a cyclist ahead.
...and as he knelt next to Sean for what passed as a “finishing technique,” his nostrils picked up the heady smell of a sweat-soaked gi. He leaned forward to inhale the characteristic smell of corn starch and musk. His elbow brushed shaggy hair, and a scent of herbal shampoo flooded his senses. He’d curled Sean’s arm behind his back with care, trying not to linger...
He passed the wooden structure of a theater by the river and soon entered an area where he was closer to the cars on the road. Charles River was to become “Chuckie,” a small, narrow stream where people still fished for smelt every spring. His breathing grew heavier and he slowed on the mild incline. He reached for a pack of energy gel. The sweet goo was as gross as ever, but he downed it fast and chased it with his sports drink, knowing it would prevent cramping a few miles down the road. The vibes of cool competence he got from Sean took him back in time, all the way to Tiger.
“Bend your knees more. Your weight needs to be on the balls of your feet.” Thorpe-sensei pushed against Asbjorn’s fist and adjusted his alignment. “Don’t overextend. There is a perfect spot where you want to be. Don’t go far enough and you won’t get there. Get greedy and punch too far and you’ll get out of alignment again.” His teenage body cramped, but he was determined to grin and bear it.
Anything for Thorpe-sensei’s approval.
Asbjorn’s father had died two years earlier, and now it was Thorpe-sensei who reminded Asbjorn to do his homework, to help his mother with chores, to keep his fist tight and properly aligned. For Thorpe-sensei he’d even try not to get into fights anymore.
The pavement of the Watertown Bridge felt hard and unforgiving under his feet, and breath was suddenly hard to come by. The wind picked up, and as he turned into it, his eyes began to tear.
Tiger...
Asbjorn forced himself to banish that awful, empty feeling from his chest as he focused on his breath. He fought to think of something else, anything, anything but Tiger. Think of p-chem and analytical algebra. Think of Dr. Behrend, animated and intent, standing by the Smart Board in front of the lecture hall. Think of the lab due on Wednesday. He corrected his stride and leaned into the moist autumn wind as fat drops of rain splattered against his face and shoulders.
––––––––
SEAN HAD NO TROUBLE finding the apartment building address. He ignored the weather forecast, took a chance, and got caught in a downpour. He felt like an idiot for approaching his new employer all wet. His hair was plastered to his skull and his hoodie was soaked, along with the thighs of his jeans.
The Student Employment Office had called him with this particular assignment. He would probably end up cleaning somebody’s apartment again or filling moving boxes with books. The jobs varied in the particulars, but they all helped overstressed graduate students and professors with their daily chores. Every dollar would help pay for his used books, beer, pizza, and transportation for occasional visits to other aikido schools.
Sean took the elevator to the third floor and found apartment 301. His knock was answered by a baby’s cry and the sound of swift footsteps. A tall woman with long brown hair opened the door.
“Hi! You must be Sean Gallaway!” Nell Thorpe beamed a smile, and her large green eyes were warm in welcome. “Please come in. Oh, but you’re soaked. Here, take your shoes off.”
He felt her eyes on him as he removed his worn sneakers and sodden socks. She disappeared for a moment. He had just peeled his wet hoodie off when she reappeared with a baby on one hip. With her other hand, she handed him a stack of folded clothing.
“Go change in the bathroom over there. We’ll put your things in the dryer.”
“You don’t have to do this, really....” Embarrassed, Sean eyed her offering.
“Don’t worry, it’s not mine. It was my late husband’s. It may be a bit large on you, but...” The baby began to fuss and squirm, and Nell directed the rest of the sentence to her: “...we don’t want Sean to be wet and cold while taking care of the Stella-baby, do we now?” She cooed at the limpet on her hip.
Sean froze. Nobody told him this was a babysitting assignment. As long as he didn’t drop the brown-haired, green-eyed baby girl, everything was going to be just fine.
That was easier said than done. He was used to younger kids, and he took the babysitting course years ago so he knew what to do in theory, but practice was a lot more interesting. Stella squirmed and wiggled and grabbed his lips and nose and hair. She threw up all over him, and she tried to roll off the changing table when he thought a clean diaper was in order.
Other than the hundred-percent attention she demanded while awake, though, it wasn’t too bad. She didn’t cry... much. He learned to give her a bottle and burp her afterward, and he learned to put a burp cloth on his shoulder before he did so.
The doorbell rang and Sean looked through the peephole. One of his aikido students stood on the other side. He frowned, not expecting company. Covered in baby spit and wearing oversize clothing, Sean opened the door with Stella in his arms. “Hey, Asbjorn.”
“Sean! What are you doing here? What are you doing with Stella?” The alarm in Asbjorn’s voice was apparent. “Is Nell-sen... is Penelopye Thorpe home?”
Sean allowed a sheepish grin. “Nah... I’m babysitting. Care to leave a message?”
He saw his new student hesitate and noticed the other man’s blue eyes lacked their vibrant sparkle.
“No. I’ll call her later.” Asbjorn shuffled his feet a bit before he spoke again. “You’re wearing his clothes.” His tone was accusatory, and he swallowed and looked away.
“Yeah. I got soaked on the way here. They’re just borrowed.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to explain. There was a kind of hunger in Asbjorn’s eyes that compelled him to use a soothing tone of voice.
Asbjorn turned around as though to leave, then suddenly he spun back. His eyes were wistful. “Say, Sean... mind if I say hi to Stella?”
Sean minded very much, as a matter of fact. Before he had a chance to refuse, the soaking-wet man opened the door like he belonged there, walked in, and took the wiggling baby from Sean’s arms.
She cooed as she grabbed Asbjorn’s face with a chubby hand.
“Hey, Asbjorn, I’m responsible for her here!”
“Yeah... I know. Hey, Stella-baby!”
Sean watched the man’s expression brighten as he lifted Stella and blew a raspberry against her tummy, burying his face in its softness. He then looked in Stella’s eyes, kissed her forehead, and handed her back to Sean.
“Thanks, man.” Rivulets of rainwater made their way down from short hair to stern eyebrows and haunted eyes, and then down Asbjorn’s cheeks. “I’ll be seein’ ya,” he rasped, then turned and headed for the bank of elevators.
Sean just stood there with the door open, struck by the odd mood in somebody he knew to be so cheerful.
––––––––
A FEW HOURS LATER, Sean took the money he had earned and stuffed the uncounted bills in the pocket of his dry jeans.
Nell smiled at him. “I made some good progress on my thesis. So how did it go on your end?”
He told her.
She laughed. “I never wear anything I care about when I’m home with Stella. The spit-up stains don’t come out, especially formula.”
He shuffled his feet uncertainly. “This one guy came by....”
“Oh?”
“Asbjorn.”
Nell’s pleasant expression grew somber and her eyes acquired a keen sharpness. Sean worked to remain calm under her penetrating gaze.
“Did he want anything in particular?”
“Asked for you. And... ehm... he wanted to say hi to Stella. He lifted her and kissed her tummy – sort of against my permission, y’know, but it happened so fast.”
Nell didn’t seem concerned about that part. “What did he look like? How did he seem to you?”
He thought back. “He was soaked to the bone. Looked like he’d been running.”
“Did you tell him to come in and offer him some dry clothes?”
Sean looked at her, surprised. “Should I have?”
Nell sighed. “Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t have known. He’s just... lonesome, I guess. Stella and I will check on him tonight.”
Sean knew he should go, but somehow he found it hard to lift one foot and put it in front of the other. “Nell...?”
She looked at him expectantly.
“I know this is none of my business, but... you’re Penelopye Thorpe, right? So you’re married to James Thorpe, the karate instructor? I was just wondering... since he was so interested in what we were doing last year, and then I came back after summer break and.... is he around?”
He watched her shoulders slump a bit as she turned her eyes toward the sleeping Stella’s bedroom door. Her voice was somber. “He died. In a motorcycle accident.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry... I didn’t mean to pry,” he was stiff with consternation.
She put on a smile. “That’s okay. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. We all miss him. I’m glad he is remembered. He spoke well of you, you know.”
Sean didn’t respond. He shuffled his feet, his fists wedged in the pockets of his blue jeans, as her words reverberated in his mind. Moments later he walked down the concrete and brick pavement, noticing neither the wet ground under his feet nor the torn, blue and gray skies overhead. His feet knew the way to his dorm without the benefit of conscious navigation. His mind was preoccupied with Nell’s words.
“Sometimes bad things happen to good people.”
Yes, he knew that feeling. She gave it words. Sometimes one’s mother died giving birth to his youngest sister, leaving the father, son, and four younger siblings to fend for themselves. Sometimes one had to be separated from his family to go to the school of his choice, while his father worked in the sunny San Diego and his sisters finished their basic schooling. Sometimes it was necessary to feel alone.
But sometimes good things happened too. Burrows-sensei had welcomed him into his school all those years ago and had been thrilled when he and his other students started a string of affiliated dojos at their East Coast colleges. It wasn’t too hard – just reserve space with mats, put up a website and some posters, and teach. Now he had his own chosen family – an interconnected network of aikido schools at other colleges, all taught by his childhood friends.
Keep one point.
Extend ki.
Relax completely.
It was hard work at times, staying upbeat and positive, and aikido helped very much. Even if he just had to be a good example to his students.
His mind drifted to Nell. James Thorpe died and she was a widow, yet she didn’t give up. If Nell could be so positive, surely he could too. Despite her soft demeanor, Nell Thorpe looked like a fighter with a core of steel.
It was way past lunch, and Sean’s mild hunger turned into a wild howl that demanded sustenance. He had money in his pocket and knew if he cut up and over, he’d take a shortcut to Mary Chun’s on Mass. Ave. and get the best spicy sesame noodles east of the Mississippi. A glance at his watch revealed it was well after two. He’d better hurry, eat, and then hit the books. Studying at MIT was like trying to take a drink from a fire hydrant – falling behind would be disastrous.
Almost there. He crossed a street full of parked cars and ducked between tall brick buildings to cut through an alley. The savory tang and spicy bite of sesame noodles was almost within reach.
He stopped at the sound of soft thuds and muffled cries. Unconsciously, he shifted his weight forward and took a few cautious steps into the deep shade. What he saw shocked him.
“Hey! Stop that right now!” The words ripped out of his throat like a kiai at the sight of three guys ganging up on one.
The victim was short. His face was red with tears and bruises, and his arms were hunched around his middle as he huddled into the corner between a dumpster and the rough brick wall.
The three stopped to look up.
The one who seemed in charge wore a scarf tied around his head and a down vest. He looked Sean up and down and gave a bellow of laughter that bounced off the alley walls. “What’cha gonna do ’bout it?”
Sean straightened himself.
Keep one point.
Extend ki.
Relax completely.
Just like in practice.
“It’s not right for the three of you to beat up on one small guy like that. Leave him be.”
The leader nodded at his friend, a tall, lanky fellow in a red plaid shirt and construction boots. “Just shut ’im up, Jack, why don’tcha.”
Jack nodded and sauntered over to Sean. With sudden speed, his hands shot out to grab Sean’s shoulders.
Just like in practice.
Sean stepped back. Jack overreached, but Sean caught his grasping hand and shoved the guy’s elbow into his ill-shaven face. Sean spun, but instead of gently letting his uke down, he allowed him to gather speed.
The man’s sandy blond head hit the dumpster with a sickening thud.
Sean let go of Jack and let his body to slide down the rusty surface. A glistening trail of something wet and dark smeared against the remnants of bright blue paint.
Tsuki kokyu nage. A timing throw.
He assessed the other two with a hard look as he repeated himself once again. “Leave him alone.”
“Fuck, man, no way. You’ah payin’ fo’ this.” The leader spun toward him.
Sean noticed a faint glimmer of a gold hoop earring. The air reeked of refuse and rage.
Both of them rushed Sean.
He dropped to his knees at the last moment and curled into a ball. Their boots tripped against his ribs as they flew over him.
Sean stood back up and centered himself.
They scraped themselves off the filthy, broken asphalt. Now that theirs faces were scraped and bruised from the hard fall, they approached with more caution. The smaller one threw a quick punch. Sean sucked it in on his abs, captured the errant wrist and stepped backward, bending it in a direction it wasn’t meant to go.
Tsuki kote gaeshi. A wrist lock.
Oops. His elbow got stuck under the guy’s extended arm. He heard a sickening pop as the joint gave. The guy howled with pain right before Sean drove him into the wall, hard.
Outnumbered, he couldn’t afford niceties.
A rough hand grabbed Sean’s shoulder, and he grasped for it but missed. Next thing he knew, he was staring into the barrel of a gun.
Time slowed to a crawl. Sean felt himself move as though through molasses; even the sound of his heartbeat thudded deep and slow.
A glint of blued steel in the dim light.
A shift of weight, a subtle move.
His body was on autopilot.
Now outside the line of fire, he grabbed the slide of the gun. A deafening crack split the silence and reverberated between the walls of the alley. He felt the heat and pain from the vibrations of the discharging gun. Shocked, he let go just as the big, strong guy crumpled to the ground by his feet.
Sean’s stunned gaze met the wide eyes of the short young man.
“I found this old bottle, so I brained him! I hope you don’t mind.” His dark eyes peered out from under the punch-swollen eyelids. “You didn’t get shot, did you? Because if you did, I can help. I’m a paramedic. I’m a nursing student! Thank you... thank you for helping me. I am Steve. I was actually okay. But you helped a lot.”
Steve would have rambled on if Sean hadn’t put his hand up. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m Sean. Let’s just call the cops.” Dialing three digits has never been so hard. His hand, the one that grabbed the gun, was still numb from the vibration of the discharge. He misdialed the first two times, not understanding his sudden loss of dexterity.
Three cruisers of Boston’s finest appeared on the scene. The police asked Sean to stick around for a preliminary statement while they took pictures.
Sean leaned against the wall. The rough brick had a solid, reassuring quality and the bits of stone that scratched through his clothes helped him get anchored to the here and now. He was trying not to watch a group of paramedics tend to the two wounded attackers. When they loaded the two perps into ambulances and took them to the hospital, escorted by two police cruisers, he sighed a breath of relief.
“So the two guys were beating up on the one,” Sean heard a voice to his right. He startled a bit, but then he gave the tall policeman a tentative smile.
“It was three guys,” he said. “The two with head injuries, and the one with the gun. He was the one in charge.”
The officer looked up from his notebook with a frown. “Three? Not two?” He pulled out his radio and spoke a few coded words into it.
“Describe the third attacker,” the officer said. Sean did, recalling his approximate height and weight, recalling the glint of an earring. It all happened so fast. First he was off to get some Chinese food, and minutes later there was an APB on a man described as “armed and dangerous.” The third guy, the one with the gun, was missing.