A Arate Love Story

I know many of you are looking for the "good stuff." I'll warn you, I like to establish the characters, setting, and premise for what happens. Just stick with me! I'll make it worth your while.

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A Karate Love Story, Ch. 01

"In the Dojo"

I stood motionless in a cat stance, sweat pouring down my face and soaking the back of my

"Sink in that cat stance!" shouted Sensei. "Green belts and above have no excuse! You cannot progress without a good cat stance!"

In the mirror, I could see heads bobbing as people of all belt colors tried to "sit down" better in their stances. I was proud that I already had a better cat at blue belt than some of my seniors, but the drawback at times like this was that I'd been doing it correctly for a minute longer than some of them, and my back leg was burning viciously.

I really need to practice this at home more

, I thought.

I surreptitiously put more weight on my front foot for a moment to relieve the discomfort, then quickly shifted back as one of the black belts roaming the room neared me. I felt a little stab of guilt as I remembered one of Sensei's favorite admonitions: "Do the right thing always, not just when I'm watching you!" I sank more deeply than required to make up for my little transgression.

Eat bitter

, I thought desperately.

Eat bitter, eat bitter, eat bitter . . .

Yame

!" Sensei called. "Switch legs!"

The entire dojo sighed in relief, then circle-stepped quickly to the other side, everyone striving to make this one perfect. Sensei grabbed his

shinai

and began circulating around the room with the other black belts. The

shinai

, a bamboo sword that made a loud cracking sound on contact, was more a reminder than any kind of real threat. Sensei Tom liked to pretend he was hard on us, that

one day

he might actually take out someone's knee to punish a weak stance, but I couldn't imagine a more gentle-hearted, giving person. Of course, I would

not

want to be the idiot that tried to mug him on a dark street . . .

As usual, Sensei began one of his long, instructive anecdotes as we sweated and fought to maintain perfect stances. "I had a brown belt one time – did NOT want to practice his cat stance," he said as he stepped neatly between two blues further down the second row from me and began to inspect the third line. He tapped a green sharply on the back leg with the

shinai

, and the woman promptly sank. "Well, he had some other issues too. Wanted to learn a lot of flashy stuff, wanted to go to tournament. Wanted to walk around like a big shot looking for a fight so he could prove how big and bad he was. Got mad because I wouldn't promote him fast enough for his ego."

He paused again and spoke quietly to a blue, gently adjusting the man's shoulders to the proper angle. "I held him back because his pride kept him from practicing the fundamentals that are so important to doing

kata

properly, and he did not exhibit the humility and willingness to learn that should be characteristic of the higher ranks."

My back leg started to tremble despite my efforts to remain still, but I refused to let myself give in to the temptation to rest it. After all, I wanted to learn to protect myself, and an attacker wouldn't step back and give me a break to rest my aching muscles.

Yame

!" Sensei called again. "Stand in ready position; I won't make you hold that cat all day. Of course, if we were on Okinawa, I could leave you there, go make a cup of tea and a snack, and come back in thirty minutes." We all smiled; he loved to pretend despair over his soft treatment of us. We gratefully stood up straight with our fists held low in front of us in ready position. The white belts up front wiped their foreheads quickly and adjusted their

gis

, while the rest of us stood proudly motionless, still disciplined despite the easier stance.

Sensei continued to walk around the dojo as he told his story. "Yes, this young man did not want to practice a proper cat stance, nor did he want to practice

kata

over and over and work on the fine details. So he went to another dojo across town; found himself a teacher that would promote him and take him to tournaments. He's something like a third-degree black belt today, but still can't do a proper cat stance." Sensei shook his head in disgust.

One of the circulating black belts, Jack, neared me. I subconsciously lowered my chin a bit, knowing it improved my profile, then silently cursed myself for an idiot. Jack had to be the hottest and yet nicest man in the dojo. Amazingly, he was single, having recently gone through a divorce. I was sure he wouldn't remain single for long, though – he's one of those men who just

looks

married and probably makes a depressingly perfect husband. Well, depressing for us girls unlucky enough

not

to be married to him. I'm sure his wife would be deliriously happy. It made me wonder what kind of idiot his ex-wife was.

Jack was a military man – army, I think, and in good enough shape to qualify for special forces if he wanted to. He wasn't bulky, but he wasn't too slim, either – just a nice, average size with hard, compact muscle from neck to foot. I had often fantasized about feeling his strong arms around me, caressing the back of his neck and losing myself in the warm, passionate, perfect kiss that he

must

be the master of, considerate and intelligent as he was. These thoughts always made me blush when he was nearby. I pushed those thoughts ruthlessly away and worked on my "stone face" in the mirror as the sleeve of his

brushed past mine.

Focus

, I told myself sternly.

Sensei finished telling his story, then, since class was about to run over time, nodded to his black belts to resume their positions at the side of the class. The senior brown belt present called for the various bows, Sensei clapped sharply twice to dismiss us, and the dojo broke out in conversation as everyone made their way back to the lockers and water fountains. I pulled my waist-length blonde hair out of its sweaty twist and started to shake it out.

"Audra." I turned to see Sensei approaching. I returned his easy smile, bowed slightly, and waited respectfully to see what he wanted. "Let's go to my office for a few minutes; I have something to discuss with you."

"Okay," I replied, then followed him back through the locker room, past the bathrooms and into his office at the end of the hall.

I have always loved this office. It wasn't very big, but it was decorated tastefully and appropriately in Oriental fashion. I wasn't sure what the heck constituted good

feng shui

, but I suspected his office had it.

Shoji

screens with black frames and almond-hued panes lined three walls, and the wall behind his black lacquer desk held an assortment of swords and traditional karate weapons, common Okinawan farm implements turned to a sterner purpose under the Japanese oppression. His desk was much cleaner than mine (I work in a law office and have many precarious stacks), tastefully displaying a few special items the dojo had given him for birthdays and other occasions.

He gestured to one of the chairs, then sat down behind his desk with a small sigh of relief. Expert martial artist that he was, I knew his knees weren't what they once were. Not that anyone would figure it out from watching him. Sensei truly knew how to eat bitter.

I studied him discreetly as he shuffled through a small stack of papers next to the computer. At 53, I thought he was much more attractive than the pictures I'd seen of him as a younger man. Being older suited him. His hair, a mixture of iron-gray and black, was pulled back into a short pony-tail. With his weathered skin and salt-and-pepper beard, he could make a very convincing "Samurai face" that never failed to make the children's classes giggle. If I were just ten years older, I might wish he wasn't happily married. As it was, he had in many ways filled the empty spaces left in my heart when my father died several years ago.

He found the paper he was looking for and handed it to me. "You said you would be interested in watching a tournament, didn't you?" he asked.

I shifted forward in my seat. "Yes," I said. "I know you aren't a fan of them, but I thought it would be neat to watch, and to meet people from other dojos."

"Well," he said, gesturing at the flyer in my hands, "there's a tournament downtown this weekend. Some of the black belts and I have decided to go because some old friends will be there." He hesitated. "I wanted to talk to you about this in private because we aren't making it general knowledge that we're going. You know that I disapprove of training for the sole purpose of going to tournament, and I'm afraid that most in the lower ranks would find it very seductive if they were to go."

I swelled with pride inside at his implication that

was not so easily tempted. Sensei and I had had many conversations about various aspects of martial arts, and he knew I was serious about the art and the personal quest – mind, body, and spirit – and was not interested in showing off and seeking any recognition beyond belt ranking.

"I'd love to go!" I exclaimed. "When is it?"

"It's a two-day tournament, Friday and Saturday. Since we like to,

ahem

. . ." he looked around in mock embarrassment and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "indulge in a few adult beverages on Friday night when we go to these things, we generally get hotel rooms in town. Saves some driving, too. Of course, if you prefer, you can drive home Friday and come back the next morning . . ."

"No," I replied, trying not to act quite as excited as I felt. "The hotel would be fine. It'll be like the vacation I haven't had in three years!"

"Great! Lisa's going, so the two of you can room together if you like. Jack and I will get a room next door so we're all together."

We discussed a few more details, then I rose, bowed slightly and left to retrieve my bag of gear. My mind was in overdrive – a tournament! And Jack would be sleeping next door! Of course, that was probably the closest my bed would ever be to his, but still, a girl can dream . . .

* * * * * * * * *

To be continued – coming very soon, Ch. 2, "The Tournament."