Art by Todd Blackwood
Words and deeds here, in The Now, unseal similar moments from Milly’s past.
The martial arts gym across the parking lot from “Antique Diner” distracted Milly every shift. But today was payday. Not long before graduating high school in Salt Lake City, she’d started as a waitress.
Milly entered the gym after work, wearing the red skirt and checkered black-and-white blouse that was her uniform. Boys snickered; she ignored them. After watching practice, she asked to join.
“I’m Charlie. It’s our dojo, but I’m the owner.” He welcomed Milly into his little office. “You’re eighteen?”
“Not quite.”
“Then I need a parent’s permission.”
“I’m emancipated.” She presented her shining, black-polymer card — Church ID — with a metal strip.
“Never seen one. Aren’t these for diplomats?”
Milly shrugged.
“OK, then. Welcome.”
Dues paid with her first paycheck, Milly became the dojo’s first female member.
“Conquer by yielding.” Charlie taught her Aikido. “Do you know what I mean by this?”
“I think so.”
“I doubt that,” he said, smiling. “But you’ll learn.”
Months passed. She attended consistently, except for one week.
“I want to compete, Charlie.”
“Women’s events are less common. You’ll need more than Aikido. Are you sure?”
She nodded.
In the weeks that followed, Charlie pushed her to train harder, as coaches do. After a long day at college plus a shift at work, Milly snapped. “I push myself harder than you can!”
Charlie backed up, hands raised.
She wouldn’t speak to him for days.
“Milly, you may be angry but cut the silent treatment. It’s not how to build a working relationship. We must communicate and trust.”
She broke her silence. “That’s just it. You didn’t trust me to work hard.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just words. I was in pain — too much.”
“Your face doesn’t show it.”
“Good. I don’t want you to see.”
Charlie sighed. “Would it help if I said, I hope to earn your trust?”
“Maybe.”
“Can we try again?” he asked softly.
Milly nodded. But after that session, she disappeared for months.
When Milly came back, she had a sparkling wedding band on.
Charlie shrugged. “I thought you’d quit.”
“I think I need this.”
In one of Milly’s first sparring matches at the dojo, Charlie paired her against a thin blonde boy about her size. Milly got thrown to the mat and landed hard. But she rose, tackling the boy unaware from behind, then punched him repeatedly. She split his lip.
Charlie pulled her off and pinned her. “Leave it!”
She grunted.
“Can you leave it? Say it!”
“OK!”
Milly calmed down in the office. The boy was attended to. Everyone left.
Charlie summoned her out. “Apollo is a weird kid. He doesn’t want an apology. But if you do that again, you’re unwelcome.” Charlie pointed at the mat. “Permanently. Understood?”
She nodded.
He pulled a padded helmet out of a box and fastened it on his head. “Milly, most people you face won’t understand who they’re dealing with until it’s too late. I think I might.” Charlie stood before her. “When I clap, come at me — everything you’ve got.” He put in a mouthguard, braced himself, and clapped.
Milly lunged immediately. Charlie blocked every one of her strikes, again and again. He threw her, pinned her, and let her up. She came back for more. Down she went. Milly’s face turned red, but she snarled and kept at it. It was no use. Huffing and puffing, she came at him one more time. Charlie grappled her and held her close. She struggled, then gave up, face quivering.
“It’s over,” he said calmly. “You’re safe. I’m going to release you.” He did, stepping back, still on guard.
“I’m not safe yet,” she muttered.
“Bow.”
They did.
He pointed at the writing on the wall. “Recite the code with me.”
They did.
Milly counted ten slow breaths, covering her face, then lowered her hands.
“You have a natural instinct, Milly. You may hide pain, but anger betrays you. Feel it if you must, but I see it coming.” He waved his hand in her face. “Learn to control this and you will become a legend.”
For months, she trained in front of a mirror. Her face became less expressive before each strike.
By the time Milly was twenty-one, her forearms were strong, hair shorter and pulled back. Receiving a medal in a small arena, she smiled weakly. Coach Charlie hugged her on the mat.
A striking man in his thirties with brown, professionally disheveled rock-n-roll hair clapped unenthusiastically from the empty grandstands. Milly plodded up the stairs. From the pocket of his crisp denim jacket, this handsome fellow produced a ring. Sliding it onto her finger, Milly kissed him on the cheek.
Charlie came over and extended his hand.
“Hey.” Damien shook it.
“Be proud.” Charlie grinned. “Your wife is a champion!”
Damien fondled her medal. “Amateur.”