12. Self Defense
twelve
Self Defense
“ Y ou ready to start paying me back for the work I’ve done on your car?” Jacob’s voice over the phone has the same effect that seeing him in person does. For a second I can’t answer.
“Jess?”
“Yeah,” I work to keep my voice even. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’m teaching a self-defense class on base, and I need a partner,” he answers.
My heart thumps with the word ‘partner,’ but I try to come off as casual. “So, what, I’ll be the practice dummy?”
“Something like that. I figured with your kickboxing experience you might be able to help me out.”
“I’m not very… I don’t know… I just….” Why can’t I come up with a complete sentence?
“No experience necessary, I just need, well, like you said, a demonstration dummy.”
I feel like a dummy. I wish I had some clue how to flirt like Jaz. “When?”
“The class is Wednesday at 7:00, but I need to be early so I’ll pick you up at like 5:30.”
I’m calculating in my mind. I have a 3:00 swim class that day. If I rush I can make it. “Sure.”
“See you Wednesday,” he says. “Oh, and wear something comfortable. Like what you would work out in.” I hold on to the phone and try to catch my breath for a few minutes after he hangs up.
Jasmine has most of my workout clothes on my bed and she’s digging through my underwear drawer. “You are not going to that self-defense class wearing a t-shirt and basketball shorts.”
“He said to wear something comfortable,” I push the pile of clothes aside and sit on my bed.
“Comfortable doesn’t have to mean sexless. You teach kickboxing all the time. Why don’t you buy some cute workout outfits?” She digs deeper. “I know there are some tanks in here somewhere.”
“I can’t wear a tank top. They don’t work over my sports bra. I don’t like the double strap thing.” I put up my hand. “And don’t you dare tell me to go braless.”
“Don’t worry. You have too much up top to pull that off.
” I make a face and she rolls her eyes at me.
"It's a compliment." She moves to the back of my closet, pushing hangers from one side to the other. “We have got to work on your wardrobe. This.” She emerges holding an outfit that my mom bought for me. It’s a sleeveless spandex top with blue lines coming up the sides and a matching pair of pants cut to about mid-calf.
I was so frustrated that it was too tight when I tried it on that I shoved it in the back of the closet. The tags are still on it.
“It’s too small.”
Jasmine holds it up to me. “When was the last time you tried it on?”
I have to think, “Mom got it for me for Christmas last year.”
She shoves it into my hands, “Try it now.”
To appease her, I put it on. “See.” I turn around for the full effect.
Jasmine smirks at me. “You look great.”
“It’s still tight across the chest, and in the butt.” I look at myself in the mirror over my shoulder.
“It’s meant to fit like that,” Jasmine says. “Tight across the chest is a good thing.” She slaps my behind. “And your butt looks fabulous.”
I turn back and forth in the mirror. She’s kind of right.
“You look healthy. Fit. Better than when you were starving yourself to look good for ‘he who shall not be named,’ I wish I had your tone.” She touches the striation on my shoulder.
Both our reflections in the mirror stare back at me from the mirror. I look okay, good even, until you put me next to a girl like Jaz.
I make another face. "Yeah right."
Jaz stands up and puts her hands on my shoulders. "Learn to take a compliment, Jess. You're beautiful. More than that, you're fierce. Show him your fierce side and our boy Jacob will melt into a puddle at your feet."
I look back at the mirror, forcing a smile. I wish I had Jasmine's confidence.
I’m late. I screech into the driveway in my mom's car, hoping that Jacob isn’t here yet, but it’s too late. He’s already here, leaning on his car, waiting. “Ready to go?”
“Yes. No. I need to change,” I slam the door to Mom’s car.
“What you’re wearing is fine,” he answers. “We need to get going.”
I agonize. He’s waiting and he’s already seen me anyway, no make-up, braid, t-shirt and basketball shorts. I should have taken the outfit with me to work. “Five minutes.”
“Hurry,” he says.
I run upstairs and throw on the outfit. Forget the braid, it will have to do. I put on a little eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss.
Jacob barely looks at me when he opens the car door to let me in. Maybe the outfit switch wasn’t worth making him wait.
The self-defense class is in the cold gym of a large brick building on base.
As soon as we walk in, Jacob gets down to business.
“I’m going to teach you the moves that I’m teaching the class, so you can go around and help me demonstrate them.
But you need to be careful, these moves work and they will hurt.
” He takes my hand. “If you grab someone’s wrist like this, flip it around and push it back towards their body, you can get enough leverage to force them to take a step back, go to their knees, or even break a wrist.”
I practice a few times, then he shows me how to put pressure on fingers and toes. I cringe when he explains, “Anything that blinds your attacker with pain long enough so you can get away.”
As I practice the moves, ladies arrive—more than I expected. “Pretty big class,” I say to Jacob.
“A lot of these women have husbands who are deployed,” he says. “I think being alone makes them feel more vulnerable.”
“How long are their husbands gone?” I ask.
“Usually a year, sometimes longer,” he answers.
“That long?”
He nods and moves to the center of the room. He directs the class into a big circle with him in the middle.
“I’m not going to kid you,” he says, looking serious. “A guy who attacks you is going to be bigger and stronger than you are, that’s just a fact of nature. You are not going to out-fight him. Lucky for you, God gave women the brains.” He grins and the class laughs. “The trick is to outsmart him.”
While he talks, I take in the group. Most are just a few years older than me.
A couple are as old as my mom. A handful are older.
I try to imagine what it would be like to be a military wife and have my husband—I glance up at Jacob—gone for a year or longer, maybe even fighting a war.
I clear that thought from my head and try to focus on what he’s saying.
“Your best defense is a good offense. Stay away from dark places. Pay attention to your surroundings. Stay with a buddy. And most importantly,” his eyes bore into mine, “don’t ever let someone put you in a situation that you can’t control. ”
I look away from his gaze and think about Brad and the party. I wonder what Jacob would have to say about getting myself into that situation.
Jacob calls me to the middle, and I play practice dummy while he shows the ladies the moves he showed me before. Then he divides them into twos and we go around and watch them practice the moves on each other.
When everyone has practiced a few times he calls them back together. “I want you ladies to work on getting mad and hitting something. Be aggressive. Yell. One of the best ways to get into a bad situation is by being nice. The bad guy is looking for an easy target. Don’t be that easy target.”
He hands out boxing gloves and padded shields and they break up into pairs again.
I’m helping an older lady with white-blonde hair named Ellen, but my focus is across the gym.
Jacob is demonstrating a move to a young, pretty woman with short brown hair.
He’s standing behind her with his arms around her back, directing her fists.
“Like this?” Ellen says. She punches forward with less power than you would need to swat a fly.
I turn back to her, “A little more power. Go up on your toes. Use your hips and your thighs to get more power behind the punch.” I show her a couple of jabs, and then she tries again. “Good,” I say, but I keep watching Jacob with the other woman. “Now hit the shield as hard as you can.”
She hits a couple of times, still without much power. “You need to get mad,” I say. I’m getting mad watching Jacob and that woman, even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s not like I have any claim on him. Their laughter filters across the room. I turn my head to see what’s so funny.
The shield is down just for a second. Just long enough for Ellen to get in one punch, probably harder than she’s ever hit anything in her life. Her fist connects with my mouth. My snaps and I stumble backward.
“Oh, no, oh no. Oh, I’m so sorry,” Ellen is really upset. I want to tell her it's okay. That it was my fault, but my mouth is throbbing and I taste blood. “You’re bleeding!” Ellen says.
I back away, covering my mouth. I’m trying to keep from making a scene, but the other sparring partners notice the fuss Ellen is making. They come over to see what’s going on.
Jacob lets go of the pretty brunette and walks over. “What happened?”
“I’m so sorry,” Ellen says again. “I hit her, by accident. I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”
“Let me see,” Jacob reaches for my hand that’s covering my lip.
“No. I’m okay.” My bottom lip throbs and my mouth tastes like copper. “I just need a bathroom.”
“I’ll take you there,” Ellen wraps her arm around my waist. “Could someone find her some ice?”
Ellen guides me out of the gym and into the bathroom.
I lean over and spit blood into the sink.
She keeps her arm around me and keeps repeating that she’s sorry.
I examine my fat lip in the mirror while she wets down a paper towel and tells me to hold it against my lip.
“I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. ”
“It was my fault.” I say behind the paper towel. “I let my guard down. That was a good hit.”
She rubs her fist and sort of smiles. “It hurt my knuckles.”
Another lady comes to the door. “No ice, but I found a popsicle in the freezer. That’s what I give my kids when they bang their lips.”