by Jo Knowles
I woke up and found teeth marks in my hand.
Now, in this room hundreds of miles away from that real place of my dreams, I still hear the screaming.
It is above me. It doesn’t stop like it usually does. I get up and pace the floor. Waiting for someone to soothe him. But he just keeps crying. Why the hell doesn’t someone help him? I pace faster. I cover my ears. But he’s still screaming.
I punch Jackie Chan’s face. I punch every inch of that ridiculous poster until I punch one of the thumbtacks sticking out of the wall and cut my hand. Then I punch harder. I punch it and punch it, getting blood all over that stupid face until Larry comes running in and pulls me backward, wrapping his huge arms around me. He hugs me so hard I can hardly breathe. I am sobbing. Choking. But he holds on and tells me it’s OK. It’s OK. Until finally the screaming stops, and Larry lets go of me. We sit on the floor, leaning against my makeshift bed, panting.
“You can tell me you’re fine a thousand times, Josh. But you’re not. You need help.”
I fall back onto my bed, still shaking.
“I know,” I say.
I know.
Larry grabs a tissue from the box on the bookcase and I press it against my hand to stop the bleeding. “Tell me what happened,” he says.
“You know what happened.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Maybe I need to hear it from you. Someday, you’re going to have to talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the only way to get over it.”
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m not like you. I’m not — good, like you.” I see Ellie again. Pounding on the glass. And her mouth, forming the word No.
He sighs and puts his strong arm across my back, squeezing my shoulder hard.
“You are in your heart, Josh. I know you are. And I’m going to lift you up. I’m going to lift you out of this.”
A true karate man lifts those who have fallen, no matter how low. I can imagine him thinking this as he looks at me. That he’s going to be a true karate man and get me out of this mess. But he doesn’t know everything that happened. He doesn’t know what I did. He doesn’t know how low I’ve gone.
I turn away from him. “I just need to be alone,” I say.
“That’s the last thing you need.”
“Please.” I cover my face with my hands.
I feel him hovering nearby. Waiting. Wondering what a true karate man would do.
“Please,” I say again.
He sighs. “I’m here when you’re ready, Josh. I just want you to know that.”
“I know,” I say. “Thanks.”
When I’m sure he’s gone, I pull Stella’s rock out of its box and squeeze it. But I don’t talk to it. I don’t want her to hear what I’m thinking. I just need to feel . . . something. As the rock warms in my hand, my eyes get heavy. Clover climbs up from the foot of the bed and rubs the side of her head against my face, then settles down next to me, purring. I try to go back to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see Ellie. Silently screaming. No.
If they knew the whole story, they wouldn’t be here.
Not Larry. Not Stella. Not even my parents.
None of them would.
Not even the damn cat.
“If the envelope is big, that’s good news,” Jason tells me as we hurry down the hall after our last class. “If it’s thin, don’t even bother to open it.”
For the past few weeks, everyone at school has been obsessed with college acceptances, even though it’s only March. You can tell who all the early-acceptance people are, because they walk around without a care. Everyone else seems completely stressed, especially the ones who tried for early acceptance and didn’t get it.
“My parents are totally freaking out,” Jason says. “I swear my mom’s going to have a nervous breakdown if I don’t get an acceptance letter soon.”
“I’m sure you’ll get your top choice,” I say.
“Thanks.” He hikes his backpack over his shoulder again. It’s so stuffed with books, it keeps slipping off.
“What about you?” he asks. “Any news?”
“Nah,” I say. I don’t add that I’m starting to freak out just like everyone else. Maybe even more so. But not because I care about which school I get into so much as whether or not I get into any school.
We don’t talk for the rest of our walk to the library, where we find our usual table and get to work. This is our basic routine, now that Jason finally accepted the fact that he is never going to be included in the after-school meet-ups with the in-crowd. Sometimes we hang out on the weekend and catch a movie or something. Stella is still seeing Britt, and therefore not allowed to be seen with me outside of karate practice. Larry and Arielle spend every spare moment together, and while they always make an effort to invite me to go out with them and their friends, I know they’re just being nice. Who wants to hang out with a dopey seventeen-year-old on a Saturday night? I know I wouldn’t.
Besides, even though Jason isn’t the kind of person I would’ve been friends with back home, this isn’t home. And I’m not that guy anymore.
I spend about a half hour rereading the same paragraph before I decide to call it quits. Stella and I are testing for our purple belts tonight, and I’m really worried about passing. The test requires us to demonstrate bow katas, which are the hardest for me. Stella’s bow is smaller than mine, and we just seem more out of sync when we practice them together. Stella says the bow makes her feel like a warrior. She’s amazing at handling hers. But mine just feels like this thing I’m wielding around awkwardly. Larry, of course, says we’re both naturals.
But the only reason we do so well compared to most of the others is because we come to practice all the time. Most people can make it to class only once a week, so it takes them way longer to memorize and master the katas to earn each belt. Sometimes I worry that we’re moving up a little too fast, but it makes Larry happy. Stella seems as crazed about us moving up as he is. It would suck if she passed and I didn’t. I would like to say this is just because I’m competitive, but I know there’s a lot more to it than that. If Stella moved ahead, we wouldn’t stand next to each other in the same row anymore. And I’ve come to really like being next to her, even if that’s as close as we’ll ever get. Maybe because that’s as close as we’ll ever get. It’s safer that way.
I say good-bye to Jason, who offers to come cheer me on at the test, but I tell him it would only make me more nervous.
At practice, I start stretching while Larry and I wait for everyone else to arrive. Stella comes in late as usual. Britt brings her to practice now. I don’t know why, but I assume it’s so he can spend more time with her. I’ve noticed she brings her karate equipment bag to school with her. This means she must go off with him after school and then he takes her straight to practice. God forbid she spend any time alone with her pre-Britt friends. Or me. I just hope this is her choice as much as it is his. Because otherwise? I would be starting to worry.
“Hey,” Stella says, coming up next to me. I can tell she’s been crying again. She’s always coming to practice with red eyes.
“Hey,” I say. “What happened this time?”
“This time?” She’s annoyed. She’s always annoyed when I ask her that.
“Never mind,” I say. “Are you OK?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. And we drop it.
Larry comes bouncing over to us in his happy puppy-dog way. “Tonight’s the night!” he says. “Purple!”
After we do our stretches, Larry asks each person testing for a belt to perform the required katas. Jacob and some other black belts are there to help judge us and decide if we should pass. When it’s time to spar, I get nervous, as usual. Stella and I bow to each other.
“Remember, don’t think you have to win. Think you don’t have to lose,” Larry says, referring to another precept.
“We nod, then start our pivoting dance,
waiting for each other to look the wrong way for a split second so we can get a hit.
“Come on, now, someone make a move!” Larry says as he pivots around us.
I feel a sharp pain on my shin. Stella grins at me. Larry blows his whistle and makes us step back.
“Stop treating her like a girl, Sammy,” he says to me. “Show us your skills.”
We go back and forth, each of us getting OK hits on the other after that. By the time Larry finally lets us stop, we’re both covered in sweat. But it’s over. One by one, Larry calls us each up and presents us with our new belts. After all the belts are handed out, we untie the ones we have on, drape them over our necks, and tie on our new ones. Then Larry gives a little speech about how proud he is of all of us, but especially me and Stella, which is embarrassing, but also nice.
I keep thinking about my old life and how I never, ever would have done something like this there. I would have said it was lame and gone out drinking with Caleb and Dave instead. But here, there’s something about Larry that makes me want to try harder. At everything. “You need to strengthen your hands, Josh,” he’s always saying. It’s part of the saying we do at the beginning of each class. I’m supposed to strengthen my hands so that I can “lift those who have fallen, no matter how low.” Larry always holds out his own hands when he says this. Just like my dad’s, they are enormous. Like baseball mitts. It’s like he was born to lift people. Even me.
Larry passes around a plate of brownies he made and we all congratulate one another. Stella punches me in the arm and says, “Great job.”
“You, too,” I say, punching her back.
“Save that for sparring,” Larry says. “Arms are for hugging.”
Stella makes a gagging gesture.
“Very ladylike,” Larry tells her.
“Don’t treat me like a girl,” Stella says.
“Touché.”
Yes. He really said touché. Unbelievable.
After the last kid gets picked up, the three of us finish cleaning up and head for home. At least Stella still walks home with us. Maybe Britt’s OK with it because Larry’s with us, so it’s not like we’re alone together. Who knows.
On the way home, Larry’s pumped about us getting our brown belts by the end of the year. There isn’t a whole lot more to learn to move up, and we both did really well on tonight’s test, so we’re pumped, too. “You guys are the best students I’ve ever had,” Larry tells us. “I’m not just saying that.”
Stella and I goof around, doing a bunch of exaggerated crescent kicks and blocks as we walk down the sidewalk while Larry cheers us on.
“That’s because we have the best instructor on earth!” Stella calls over her shoulder.
“Yeah, baby!” Larry yells back
When we get to our building, I notice my face feels weird. I rub my mouth and realize it’s because I’ve been smiling the whole way home.
Larry calls Arielle to say good night, and I head to my room and check my phone.
Caleb: r u coming home 4 spring brk?
Dave: SPRING BRK PARTAY!!!!!!
My mom: Can’t wait to c u soon!
No, no, and sorry.
I told Larry I wanted to stay here for break. I expected him to say, “Of course. It’s part of your journey,” but instead he just said it was my decision. I get the feeling Larry is starting to wonder about my journey and where I’m headed. He tried to get me to start seeing a therapist back in December, but I refused. Then he tried to be my therapist, but that didn’t really work out, either. He showed me this picture book he loved as a little kid. It’s called We’re Going on a Bear Hunt. It’s about all these obstacles these kids come to on their journey to find a bear. Why they want to find a bear, I don’t even know. But basically they learn that they can’t go over some obstacle and they can’t go under it; they have to go through it.
“Josh,” Larry said. “This is where you are. You are on a quest to face your bear. You are trying too hard to get over something, but the whole point is that you can’t. You can only go through it.”
And that ended our one-and-only fake-therapy session.
Because I’m not five.
“Knock, knock,” Larry says, standing in my open doorway.
I close my cell and look up at him.
“Just wanted to say good night.”
“’Night,” I say.
“You doin’ OK?”
“Yeah.”
He always asks me. And I always answer the same, even when I don’t know if it’s true.
When he leaves, I open my phone again and find the picture of Rosie and the Christmas tree. I leave it open and put it next to the picture of Dave, Caleb, and me that I keep on the nightstand next to the clock. Then I get out Stella’s rock and turn off the light. I stare up at the stars and Larry’s smiley face. Sometimes if I concentrate really hard on something — anything — else, I can manage to get myself into a deep sleep and doze through the two o’clock wake-up. That, and Larry gave me this nasty-tasting herbal stuff that helps me sleep. He thinks the baby will start sleeping through the night pretty soon, and everything will get easier.
Maybe.
I close my eyes and picture Stella and me punching the air as we walked down the sidewalk. I picture her laughing at me. And me, finally laughing back. And I think, maybe there’s a chance. Maybe she’ll wake up tomorrow and realize there is more to life than Britt. Maybe she’ll see me as more than a karate partner and secret friend she shares a rock with.
Maybe.
But when I fall asleep, it’s not Stella I dream of, it’s Ellie.
Ellie behind glass.
Silently screaming.
No.
And I wake up the same way I always do. In a cold sweat. Shaking. Remembering that night, and all the awful ones that followed.
No.
The word she should have said out loud.
The word I felt, but ignored.
The word that could have saved us.
No.
Larry hired Stella and me to help him teach karate camp during spring break. I don’t think I’m very good with kids, but Larry says part of being a true karate man is sharing your skills and rising to the challenge. OK, then.
On Monday morning, the classroom is insane. All the little kids are running around, pulling on one another’s belts, making karate chops in the “air,” but actually making contact.
“There is no first strike in karate!” Larry quotes. But the kids don’t listen.
“Accidents arise from negligence!” Stella quotes back.
Larry looks like he wants to hug her. But the scene is still mayhem.
Two kids start crying within the first twenty minutes. Finally, Larry yells, “Line up!” in this huge voice I’ve never heard him use before, and all the kids practically jump out of their skins and start circling around because they have no idea how to line up. Larry explains.
Stella and I are the highest in rank for this class, so we stand in the front row facing Larry. All the kids are quiet as Larry talks them through how the class will run. Then he has us kneel, facing him. “Stella, what is a true karate man?”
“What is a true karate man?” Stella says.
“What is a true karate man?” we repeat. As we say the words, I watch Larry. Larry, the true karate man. I think about my life so far this year. How amazingly different it’s been. Back at home, the biggest excitement of the week was stealing beer from the fridge, picking up Caleb and Dave, and driving to some parking lot and getting wasted before we set out to find a party. For a while, that seemed to be all that mattered. Until last winter. Then it was all about finding a place where we could be alone. To drink and think and — in my case — forget.
Since I came to Larry’s, I haven’t been wasted once. I haven’t even missed it.
“The ultimate aim in karate, therefore,” Stella says, “lies not in victory or defeat, but in the perfection of the character of its participants.”
Larry bea
ms at all the kids, like their characters are getting more perfect at this very moment. He grins at me, as if to tell me mine is, too.
Larry claps his hands, and we get to our feet. Then he has me and Stella demonstrate some basic moves from the first kata for all the kids to practice. Larry has us walk around the room and assist the ones who need extra help. One kid gives Stella a high block to the chest, and she falls over backward. Larry goes running over, but she’s OK. I make a point to keep my groin and the rest of my body out of whacking distance.
During lunch break, we sit on the floor and eat. The room smells disgusting once the various bologna and tuna-fish sandwiches come out. The few girls in the class all pile next to Stella and watch her eat as if she’s the girl version of Jackie Chan. Only one kid bothers to sit next to me. A little boy with glasses and a sniff.
“I have a pet rat,” he tells me. Sniff.
Gross.
“That’s nice,” I say.
“No. He got his tail bit off from my cat.” Sniff.
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
“My dad likes rats.”
“Hmm. But I don’t think your cat does.”
“Nope.” Sniff.
As we discuss the length of the rat’s tail, Stella looks up from her groupies and winks at me, like she approves of my sitting with the creepy kid. When she does that, it feels worth it.
For the second half of the class, Larry tries to liven things up by having the kids take turns sparring. All the safety equipment is way too big for them, and they look like backward Ninja Turtles behind their chest protectors. A few kids seem to have a pretty good natural talent, but most are so wound up from the cookies Larry shared with everyone at lunch that they kick and block like maniacs.
Finally, Larry tells me and Stella to suit up and show them how it’s really done.
We get our gear on and face each other. “Ready to go down?” Stella asks.
“Are you?”
