On Saturday I was determined to ignore Madison completely. Thankfully she was in the front row, and I was in the third, so it was easy. I tried to pretend she was just some girl I knew from school. I was like, “Madison who? Oh yeah. I think we had art together one time. I can’t remember.”
I sat down and closed my eyes for meditation. The hum of the overhead florescent lights filled my head. I used to hate this part about taekwondo, but now I loved it. I know it sounds weird, but I imagined a cool white fog surrounding me. It made me feel peaceful, and I liked having the chance to think about what came next. Class always started the same way: We bowed; did meditation, warm-ups, and stretches; and then we ran through our basic motions before working on our skill for the day. It was predictable. And predictable was good.
When there were about twenty minutes of class left, Master Kim announced we’d be working on our forms.
“In the ancient days of martial arts, Masters created poomsae, or forms, as a way for students to practice their techniques. Today we carry on that tradition. Forms are a series of blocks, kicks, and punches set in a pattern. They are the foundation of taekwondo. Your form will be one of your requirements at your belt test in August.”
The yellow, gold, and orange belts stood at the front of the room to practice with the teenage helpers. Even though I was trying to ignore her, my eyes were drawn to Madison. Her forms were so graceful and strong. She reminded me of a tiger. And you could tell that the other kids were peeking at her when they got stuck. They were gonna be sorry if they thought they could count on her to help them, though.
Master Kim came to the back of the room to work with the white belts. There were eight of us and somehow I ended up in the front row, smack in front of Master Kim. I was used to being in the back and kind of hidden. I’d forgotten how stern Master Kim looked up close. And with his hands behind his back, his feet planted under his shoulders, and his back straight, he looked like a soldier. I quickly forgot all about Madison.
“At each new belt level, you will have a form to learn,” Master Kim explained. “The first form you’ll be learning is kicho il bo. Say it. Kicho il bo.”
I recited the name with the rest of the white belts. Then I kept reciting it inside my head. Ki-cho il bo. Ki-cho il bo.
It was fun to say, like a magic spell.
I focused as hard as I could on listening to Master Kim explain the first few steps. But by the time I figured out one move, he was already on the next one. Plus, I was supposed to be moving along some invisible line on the carpet. How was I possibly going to remember everything?
Master Kim stopped the group after a few more moves. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go through what we know so far one more time.”
Instead of returning to the ready position, my feet stayed planted. I felt dread rolling up my back. I couldn’t even remember what I was supposed to do first.
But then Master Kim put his hand up and told us to rest for a moment. He went to the front of the room and grabbed three long ropes. “This might make it easier,” he said, laying the rope down on the floor.
“Every poomsae is made up of lines. Kicho il bo’s pattern looks like a capital letter I. See?”
On the ground was a giant capital I made out of ropes.
Master Kim did the form slowly.
Lower block, step, punch. Turn. Lower block, step, punch. With each movement, I could hear the faint snap of his dobok. I watched his feet. It really was the letter I. I could see it!
Then Master Kim took us through the form a few times.
I kept forgetting to kihap when I was supposed to, but other than that, I got it. One, two, kicho il bo. One, two, kicho il bo.
It was kind of like a dance. A dance my arms and legs could do.