Dancing in Starlight: Part 4

[Gael]

The next two years or so, while not necessarily uneventful, can be summed up like this: I attended school from Monday through Friday, came home, did my homework and chores around the house or outside as circumstances and weather required. I would watch television some evenings but more often would listen to the radio or sometimes Elspeth would read to me or we'd play games. On Fridays after school she would take me into North Bay and I would stay with Master Quing until Sunday evening; learning lessons I enjoyed far more than those I had to study in school. On Sunday evenings, Elspeth would pick me up and I would return home.

 

Any advantage I had over the children of my own age when I started school leveled out during this. Some of that, I will admit, was because of unvoiced prejudice against me from teachers and still being picked on by fellow students. Most of that, though, I fully take the blame for because what Master Qing taught me was far more interesting than boring textbooks and droning teachers. And another part was what, at first, Elspeth read to me and then I began reading on my own.

 

Wells, Verne, Tokien, Melville, Homer, Clarke, Heinlein...

 

I still got picked on. And those first few weeks training with Master Qing were actually the worst. Someone would say something, I would get mad, and a fist flew. Then I would have to admit that failing to Master Qing and that would inevitably earn me a rap on my forehead.

 

"You have a thick skull," He'd say, "Do I need to crack it before you learn?"

 

He would then have me hold this position or that form for an hour or more until muscles and limbs burned.

 

In the summers, I would often spend a week with him, then three weeks back home; with the promise I would practice what he taught me for at least an hour every day. And I did, because the one time I didn't, the rap to my noggin was even harder.

 

As the school year began again, my forehead had pretty much healed, and I actually made it through the first four weeks without sucumbing to a taunt. That weekend, after Master Qing queried me of my misdeeds, he simply nodded and said, "Follow me."

 

We left his house and went to a large shed in the back yard. It was large enough it could have held half a dozen small trucks or boats and, other than a concrete floor, was pretty much the same style of shed many people had to store items in the wintertime. But the walls...

 

Weapons lined three of the walls. All manner of swords and staves and spears. Flails and things I had no names for.

 

I think I said something just slighlty less intelligible than 'Wow.....'

 

"You want to learn, yes?" Master Qing could speak English very fluently when he chose to. He seldom did because, as he said, "Never let the enemy know how much you know and you will always have a weapon to use against him."

 

I simply nodded, still too awestruck by this...arsenal. I had no doubt he knew how to use nearly every item in the room at that point.

 

"Good," He said and thrust a broom in my hand. "Start with this."

 

That time around, I managed a very educated, "Eh?"

 

Half expecting start of another knot at my browline, I flinched against the expected rap.

 

"I try crack thick skull; make you learn not to fight," He said, shaking his head in sadness. "You just get thicker skull. Hard like my knuckles. So, no hitting. You sweep. You sweep until room clean and you keep sweeping. You sweep until you learn to not fight."

 

So, I swept. All that weekend. All the following weekend. And the one after that. I steamed and I stewed and I swept so much I think I was starting to leave scratches in the concrete floor. After that third weekend, once I had come back to school, the taunting started again.

 

Instead of retaliating, though, instead of yelling back or throwing a punch, I found myself back in that room; sweeping, sweeping. Instead of the dust that no longer dared enter that wonderful room, I found myself sweeping away the insults. Words turned into jumbles of nonsense letters as that mental broom just cleared the floor. Further, my seeming ignoring the other girl's taunts just got her that much angrier. So much so that, by the time we reached the class we shared, she was actually cursing.

 

She spent a week in detention.

 

I went home and read "The Invisible Man."

 

Master Qing didn't ask when I arrived on Friday evening. Something in my expression had already answered the question.

 

"Now you understand, don't you?" He finally said.

 

"If you mean using my enemy against himself, I think so," I answered. "Mostly, I just realized I didn't want to spend another weekend sweeping that floor!"

 

It was one of the very few times I heard him laugh. Really laugh; down from the belly, loose control of yourself, laughter. It was very contagious, too.

 

When we both finally recovered enough to breathe, he managed to get a serious expression.

"This isn't just a game, Miriya," He told me. "I'm not just teaching you to stand in silly poses or punch or kick or block to make you healthy. These things can kill. You can kill. Maybe not yet, but soon enough, you will know enough you could kill someone if you let that temper get away from you."

 

"Then why am I learning?" It wasn't said in anger or irritation but in genuine curiosity. "Why teach me?"

 

"So that you do not fight," He answered. "So that when some idiot tries to make you angry, you will just walk away. He's nothing more than dust to you. But, if the time comes that you have no choice but to fight, you will win."

 

With that, we went back to that shed.

 

He handed me a mop.

"But you said..."

 

"Think, hardskull," He laughed, "You get in a fight you can't walk away from in shool. You think there is big wall of swords for you to grab?"

 

"No..." I admitted, still dubious.

 

"Right. No swords. But lots and lots and lots of mops."

 

By my tenth birthday, I may not have mastered broom, mop, bucket and feather duster styles but the only person who was probably better than me was teaching me the forms.

 

I learned cafeteria tray on my own.

This time, I wasn't the target of the torment.

 

She was a pretty girl, vaguely familiar most as being in the grade ahead of me and someone that, unless I wasn't remembering right, may not have talked to me but also never teased or joined in such. Brown hair to the middle of her back and hazel eyes and a slight tint to her skin that told me she was a Native. The two boys picking on her were big, pale and all but shoving her around.

 

I remember thinking, "This will be worth sweeping for the rest of the year..." as I stepped closer and oh-so-casually pushed the back of the bigger boy's knee joint. Predictably, he buckled then whirled on me. His fist came flying and ended up connecting with the tray holding my food.

 

The menu called it 'Beef Gravy over Mashed potatoes.' It was a nearly translucent sludge with dark bits over a lump of darker brown crud. After his fist connected with it, it was a gooey crown of slop dripping down his croney's head above the red ridge where the edge of the tray had clipped him on the forehead. I still held the tray and I spun about and gave the first a matching mark. As neither had benefitted from having their skulls hardened by iron knuckles repeatedly rapping, the fight left them fairly quickly.

 

"You really should be careful walking when they haven't mopped the floor, " I told them. Told the kids around us actually, I suppose. "You might fall and hurt yourselves." If any teachers had seen what happened, they chose to ignore it. My lunch, such as it might be, was here and there and a little on the floor; at least I hadn't opened my milk yet.

 

"Hi," I heard a voice say, "I'm Jennifer."

 

"Miriya," I replied; stumbling a bit at this very unexpected turn of events.

 

"I've got a ham sandwich," She said as she held up a paper bag, "I'll split it with you."

 

"O...okay?"

 

Thus it was that I had something I'd never really had before.

 

A friend.

[Beeflin Grut]

:-)