“The Lesson”
(By the way, any links you see in here, like certain words highlighted that are bringing up adds... I'm not doing that. So, if it's something the site does, let me know and if it's something the site isn't doing that I can somehow change, let me know. I'm not trying to post adds on this site)
“Keep your hands up, Tammy,” I say, even as she defies me again by dropping them, but landing a one two that smacks against Deborah’s headgear. Tammy looks at me and smiles; she’s trying to get under my skin. And there’s the flap of the blonde hair that makes me roll my eyes as Dan splits them apart.
“On your toes, Deborah,” I say. I know I’m looking more and more frustrated. Deborah’s one of my best students. She’s about 5’5”, chocolate brown skin and dark brown hair, hourglass figure. She was a project of mine when I saw her fighting outside the Good Will I was working at. She was on top of this blonde girl, pounding her and I decided to stop it. She felt my arm on her, swung at me, instinct took over and she was down on her butt holding her solar plexus from my punch. Turned out, the blonde was trying to steal Deborah’s groceries, but Deborah had already been racially profiled a couple of times before. She sort of knew she couldn’t beat me, and she started complaining that she was going to go to jail, no matter what. She went into a whole thing about this being Los Angeles and all these racist cops and so on. But I explained to the police what had really happened. And we had the cameras to back it up. I took her under my wing, gave her some private lessons on martial arts and self defense, and brought her to my martial arts studio.
Deborah’s head snaps back from a hard straight right from Tammy, “Tammy, we’re doing light contact. I keep telling you that. Light contact.” The tall blonde just looks down at me and smiles. Sometimes, I wonder why she’s even here. She comes and participates in the class and she’s already a red belt at another dojo. She insists that she’s ready to be a black belt, but martial arts is about discipline and respect, and Tammy doesn’t show much of either. She’s the type of girl I dreaded back when I was in high school. She’s about 5’10”, has the blonde hair and the blue eyes, the swimsuit model body. When she comes in, she wears fake eyeglasses because that’s in style for some reason and has her hair in a ponytail. Then, she’ll slowly take off the glasses and flap her hair. I admit; I’m a rock when it comes to my emotions in class. But she’s gotten under my skin on more than one occasion and she knows it.
As I watch Deborah tag her with a little jab to the nose that snaps her head back and wobbles her (didn’t take much), it’s her lack of respect that drives me. I’ve had all kinds of tough girls and wannabe fighters, goth girls and princesses come in here and try to intimidate me or tell me how things are going to go. I’m only 5’2”; I’ve got long dark brown hair and brown eyes. A lot of people say I’m a dead ringer for Nia Peeples, and that’s fine and ironic because my name is Sydney, like her character from “Walker: Texas Ranger.” Plus, she’s a martial artist too.
“Uggghhh…” that was Deborah. Tammy just buried her fist into Deb’s stomach and I told her this is light contact. Deborah holds onto the blonde and I feel a twinge of sadness as Tammy looks at me and smiles again, driving another hard shot into the area just above the knot in Deb’s belt. I could say something right now. I could complain to her about how hard she’s hitting or how she doesn’t listen to me, but I told Deb about Tammy a while back. I told her that if Tammy tagged her hard, to tag her hard right back and send a message. This was out of my usual instruction, but like I said, Deborah is my project.
Deborah swings hard with a winging right and Tammy just moves her head, as opposed to blocking the punch, like we’ve tried to teach her. She lands a hard downward chop to Deb’s shoulder and my girl goes down on one knee. The body shots have affected her. I always tell her to throw straight punches when appropriate instead of telegraphing them. Deb gets back up just to take another shot to the stomach and she drops down on her hands and knees.
“Does this mean I win, Syd?” Tammy says with a smile at me as I curl my toes and narrow my eyes at her. The smiles gets wider because she knows she made me break my calm.
“Ms. Tolliver, how many times do I have to tell you that there is no winning or losing in sparring?” I respond, stepping in closer to her while the other senseis assist Deb to her feet. “And it’s ‘Sensei or Master Rockford.’”
“Well, I’ll be black belt soon,” she says, doing that annoying hair flap again, “So, we’ll be on equal terms. I was just trying to get used to calling you by your first name… Syd.”
She towers over me. She’s trying to intimidate me, but I’ve been through this song and dance and put down much bigger than her.
“Ms. Tolliver,” I say, taking a breath to calm my words, “You will address me as Sensei or Master Rockford, and you won’t get to be a black belt with that attitude. Attitude has a lot to do with the process. And by the way, the knot in your belt is supposed to be on your navel. It’s sagging down… and straighten your collar and close your gi. Your cleavage is showing and you‘re not presenting yourself as a lady.”
“And you did?” she says, “You weren’t always so ladylike yourself.”
“It’s not who we were and what we used to do that matters, Ms. Tolliver,” I say, trying hard not to give away how pissed I am at that comment, “It’s who we are and what we’re doing now. Remember that.”
I saw her go over and sit down on the floor with the others. I heard her tell Tisha, her brunette buddy, “She’s just mad because I beat her girl. That’s all. Bitch wishes she could fight me herself, but I’d beat her too and I’d be running this place, hee hee.”
I ignore that on the surface, but it sinks in a bit. I glance at some of the pictures of me on the wall, back when I was younger. I’m 30 years old, but I’ve been studying different forms of martial arts since I was 12. I had started as an amateur when I turned twenty back in 2003. I was the number 3 ranked female amateur kickboxer in the state of California at one time and was even up for considerable in the World Championships and Olympics. I was Sydney Rockford… aka “Rocky the Flying Squirrel.” I got that name for two reasons. I was known for showing a lot of heart when I was fighting, even though I was usually at a height and skill disadvantage. It reminded people of Rocky Balboa from the Sylvester Stallone movies. And I could do a lot of flips and spin kicks, wheel kicks, roundhouses, all that stuff. The fluffy brown ponytail and with my being short, “Rocky The Flying Squirrel” fit. For most of my career, brief as it was, I fought in weight divisions above my natural fighting weight. I weigh about 121 lbs and that’s been steady for most of my adult life, but I’d fight as high as 135 lbs. That meant girls who weighed 145-160, cutting off weight to make 135, then hydrating back up on the day of the fight.
Somehow, I was able to go on a winning streak. I used speed and precision. My background in ballet came in handy and so did my background in swimming and gymnastics. Fighting girls who weighed that much more than I did took a lot of poise and movement. I didn’t know how strong my chin was and I didn’t ever want to find out. That meant I couldn’t get hit. I even practiced capoeira, the Brazilian dance fighting style, but I was never that good at it and it didn’t translate well in the ring because it’s a patient style and you’ve only got so much time per round to be effective. I was on magazine covers; I got to travel all over the world with Team America, with Nikky Smalls, Alexia Paige, Tina Tubbs, Leslie D‘Amato, and the others, male and female boxers and kick boxers. I got small roles in movies and on television. It was great.
The media tried to make me a glamour girl, but truth be told; I was just a tomboy from Los Angeles. My Dad didn’t want me in sports and neither did my Mother, but they didn’t stop me. They encouraged me to do what I wanted to do, just as long as I could wear a dress and do a curtsy when I needed to, as long as I could cook a meal, do the laundry, and set the table when I was supposed to. I liked to play basketball and do things with the guys, which made it hard to express my feelings for the ones I liked, like Steve Dunn, trainer extraordinaire. Tall, light brown skin, young, fit, looked like Johnny Mathis, my Mother’s favorite singer. He was known as the best young up and coming trainer of fighters when I met him. We were both biracial and had that dual upbringing, so we sort of clicked. He was working with Alexia Paige, another sarcastic California blonde fighter who was supposed to be the next Siena Blaze.
If you know anything about female fighting, especially if you’re from California, you know who Siena Blaze is. She owns the world when it comes to that sport. Looks like Marilyn Monroe and acts like a pissed off Madonna. Greatest female fighter California ever produced and the owner of the biggest female fighting promotion in the world, OPW. But no matter how Alexia was blonde haired with crystal blue eyes like Siena, was 5’5” 140 lbs like Siena, wore red like Siena, or had an attitude like Siena, or fought in a similar style to Siena, Alexia wasn’t Siena and Steve knew that. I’d spend so many hours talking to him about Alexia, even though I didn’t want to. I just wanted to be near him because his mind was so deep and his presence was so soothing. I’d hit the bag perfectly and ask him if I was doing it right just to hear his voice. To make a long story short, I fell for the guy; we even kissed. But he put me in the friend zone shortly after. We’d make out and I just wasn’t sure what we were. I didn’t know what to think and he wasn’t clear if I was his girlfriend or not. He seemed distracted, so I pretended to understand and just was his friend. But I had strong feelings for the guy.
It was his commitment to Alexia that had messed things up. She was leaving Team America and didn’t want to compete in the World Championships. She was going to turn pro, win some fights, and call Siena out of retirement. She was frustrated by the hate she was getting in California for being a poor woman’s Siena Blaze. She’s from there too. She felt the only way she’d get their love is to beat Siena. There were plenty of times when I had to hold Alexia while she cried, as arrogant and intolerable as she was in the press, she was a big baby underneath. While the girl with the Sugar Ray Leonard hand speed and footwork, the Philly Shell defense, the Sanaa Lathan good looks and million dollar smile, Nikky Smalls was inspiring African American girls all over the country through her story of almost joining a gang in Milwaukee to winning three Olympic gold medals to go with the seven she already had, and three world championships… everything with Steve and I became how could he make Alexia a better fighter.
He was helping me too. Team America didn’t do too well at the Olympics. Nikky Smalls was the only one who took home gold. But I never got to fight. I was in love, or I thought I was, and when Alexia and Steve left the team, so did I. In fact, he admitted that he preferred to work with me over her, but Alexia had way more money to pay him and he was working with me for free. I paid him with my virginity. One day, I just flat out told him that I was in love with him. I didn’t know if I really was or not. I just did it. And he said, “Syd, I can’t. I just can’t. You‘ve got so much going for you and you deserve better than me. I‘ve got a lot of work I‘m doing and I‘m just confused. I don‘t really know if I even have time for a relationship.”
It was the second loneliest moment of my life. I wasn’t even interested in fighting anymore. I just wanted something more. He started training Alexia and I the next day like nothing had happened.
“Master Rockford… Master Rockford,” I snap back into the present and see Tammy Tolliver, all 5’10” of her blonde ambition, staring down at me.
“Yes, Ms. Tolliver?”
“Since we’re at break, do you mind if I have a word with you in the classroom down the hall?”
I wonder what this is about. She better not be trying to egg me on just for the sake of doing it, because I’ll just shut her down again. We reach the classroom and I go in first. She closes the door behind me and looks at me, moving in closer to wear her chest is almost in my face.
“I’m just wondering if you have a problem teaching me,” she says, with that innocence in her voice, but the same sarcasm.
“You brought me all the way down here to ask me that?” I say back. It’s hard with Tammy. She has been egging me on since she came here.
“It’s just a question. You said there were no such things as stupid questions, so I’m asking you if you have a problem teaching me.”
“I don’t have a problem teaching anyone,” I say and I could hear the frustration in my voice and it lowering in tone, but raising in sound, “You come in here and you haven’t shown the appropriate respect to anyone except Tisha. You disrespect me; you disrespect the other senseis; you hit your classmates way too hard. You would never get away with that in Korea or even some of the other dojos here. They’d force you to spar with someone more experienced, and you’d get a lesson in humility.”
“Master Rockford,” she says, raising her own voice and twanging that valley girl pageant queen accent up a few notches, “I think you are intimidated by me. I think you are upset because I am getting all the attention from the male students and male senseis.”
“What???” I can honestly say that the ‘attention’ she’s getting has nothing to do with anything, “You are out of line. This is why you haven’t made black belt yet. It’s your attitude. You are a true to form narcissist.”
“I don’t know what a narcissist is,” she says, “But I can’t help what I am. I am beautiful and I am good. Maybe you just have a Napoleonic complex and are jealous of me. I think that’s what it is.”
“I think you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“You wanted Deborah to win. You put me in against your girl, your buddy, your prized cow pupil and guess what? I beat her and it wasn’t even close. I beat your girl and you hate me for being so good.”
At this point, I want to slap her.
“This discussion is over,” I say and turn to walk away, but she puts her hand on my shoulder. I turn around and stare at her like “Umm, you’ve got two seconds” and she retracts her hand back to her own side.
“Why don’t you spar me yourself?” she says smiling, “You know deep down, you’ve wanted to punch me since I walked through that door. You look at me like I remind you of someone you know. Maybe a blonde like me picked on you when you were a child… or maybe a blonde like me stole your boyfriend.”
My eyes widen and I think back to the day when Steve left with Alexia. My heart was crushed, but we’d decided long before that I wasn’t relationship material for him. He has a woman in his life now and he’s married to her. I was at the wedding and so was Alexia. She was the bride. He was surprised that I showed up; both of them were. But back then, he told me nothing was going on between the two of them, but I could see it. It wasn’t going to be me. It’s never been me. So, I did the only thing I could do. I just kept on fighting and I turned pro, even though my heart wasn’t in it because Steve wasn’t my trainer. He had gotten Alexia a fight against Nikky Smalls, who had dominated the 135 lb boxing division and was moving up to 140 lbs to challenge Alexia for the title she had recently won. Alexia held the 140 lb title in boxing and one in mixed martial arts, but Nikky was strictly a boxer and would fight her for that title.
Nikky had already beaten the unretired Siena Blaze, and she made Alexia look silly. Nikky won every round of the fight with her hand speed and footwork, knocking Alexia down three times and barely getting hit, despite constantly dropping her hands. Alexia was a great offensive fighter, but if there was any knock on Steve Dunn, it’s that he’s not good when it comes to teaching defense. I had watched this unfold on my television screen. I really wished I could talk to Steve and try to help him. I was pretty fast; I could’ve imitated Nikky for Alexia and been her sparring partner. But I had my own career to think about and still, I was winning. I was fighting at featherweight, which is 126 lbs, five pounds above my weight limit. I was rising in the ranks as a boxer and mixed martial artist. I didn’t know hardly any submission holds and I’d be in trouble if I got put on my back, so my speed and combinations were even more important. But at least, I was fighting girls who were more my size. I was fighting sluggers, because the speed difference could be hard to deal with when you’re used to fighting much bigger opponents. I could slip and counter punches and kicks easier against wingers and sluggers than I could a tactical fighter with a wrestling background who could take me down or pin me against the cage. I was taking my time and being reasonable. That’s when I got the call from Alexia herself.
“You better get out of my face, young lady,” Tammy is leaning into me, her breasts in the pink top poking out through the gi. Her nipples are hard and her shadow is darkening the room.
“Sorry, Master Rockford,” she says, “You looked a little distracted by my breasts. I wanted you to take a closer look since you seemed a little lost in them. So, are we gonna spar? No one would ever know. They know we don‘t have a good history and they know we‘re having a long talk. You want to teach me a lesson? Go ahead and do it now.”
“Back. Up. Now,” is my response and she complies. We stare at each other for exactly five seconds before she launches a jab that I don’t even see coming. It’s like her hand is a blur as it lands just the knot of my belt.
“Mmph…” I bend slightly as she pushes her fist forward and I feel my legs weaken. It was the slightest punch, but it caught me off guard and hurt me. She knows it and pulls her fist back.
“Uhhh…” I try to keep my footing, but my legs feel like spaghetti. My hand goes to my stomach and I try to catch my breath as I look around and she her pedicured toes wiggling as I slowly stand up and look at her. All I get is a grin and what follows is a roundhouse kick to my solar plexus, knocking me off my feet. I feel my back hit the wall behind me and I fall onto my chest.
“Looks like the flying squirrel really can fly,” I hear her say as I moan in pain. Another shot that I didn’t see coming. I can’t breathe and I’m dizzy. Is she crazy? She’ll get kicked out of my school for this. I feel her hoist me up by the back of my collar and slam her knee into my stomach, right below my ribs and catching my liver.
“Augh!!” I cry out, but it’s not like anyone is going to hear me. She picked a good spot. I squat and hold my side. I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on and she kicks me in the left side with her right foot, knocking me onto my back. She stands over me, smiling.
“You’re going to make me a black belt,” she says, “Or else, I’m going to beat you as black as the belt you’re wearing.”
“Not going to happen, Ms. Tolliver,” I respond, though it’s painful to even talk right now
“Oh, the flying squirrel speaks? Still with your big talk, huh Sydney? Or should I call you Rocky?”
“Call me… Master Rockford!!” I say as I kick myself to my feet, catching her in her own stomach with my left foot. She lets out a “Whoooolllfff!!” and takes a deep exhale, looking at me with wide eyes as I raise my arms and bend my legs. I move in, figuring the shock and awe of me striking her combined with her loss of air is enough to take her heart out of the fight, but I never expect the front kick that drives the knot of my gi belt against my navel and doubles me over with a loud “OUGH!!” forcing me to sit down in the chair nearby.
“Now, I’m the teacher, bitch!” she says, moving in on me. I wait for her to get really close, then I jump from a seated position to standing on the seat of the chair, and front flip over her, hoping to land and attack her from behind. But she’s faster than I thought. I feel her hands grab the back of my gi and I’m slammed into the blackboard.
“Let’s wipe it clean, shall we!!” she rubs my face and body against the blackboard and the chalk writings from the after school tutoring lesson that takes place in this room are all over me. She turns me around, raises her arms and gestures for me, saying “Come on, Rocky Sydney, Sydney Rocky.”
A jab to the chin that snaps my head back. A jab to the navel that bends me and sends that shock of sensitivity through me, a thrust to the throat that has me reach up and hold it with both hands as she grabs my forearms and knees me in the pit of my stomach, dropping me to a seated position with a deep exhale. This can’t be happening right now…
