Fighter

As promised, below is one of my short stories from my literary journalism class this summer. The assignment for this one was to focus on a person and use at least one monologue within the narrative. Thanks to Kathryn for letting me stalk her, and to Meg for giving me the story idea!

The good thing about this kind of exercise is the opportunity to branch out and learn about something you knew little to nothing about in the first place. The best reward is hearing from people who DO know what you're writing about (more so than you do) that it actually made sense. Writing about what you know is great, but writing about something unfamiliar and learning something in the process helps writers grow, in my opinion. Enjoy!

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"Fighter"
by Jenny Porter

Leaning against the brick wall outside the Monroe County Martial Arts suite, Kathryn Gardiner massaged the knuckle on the ring finger of her right hand, where there was a small dent under her skin.

“It’s still kind of weird,” she said. “It’s never going to be quite the same again.”

Months ago she’d been practicing right cross punches with new gloves on during a training session. At one point she heard a creaking sound, took off the glove and saw that the knuckle was dented in. A doctor told her she’d damaged the soft tissue in the knuckle and should avoid punching for a few weeks. Kathryn wrapped her hand and kept punching. It hurt for a while, but now her right cross is pretty good.

Kathryn had already abandoned the day’s outfit—a denim skirt that ended just above her knees and a thin, light blue sweater—and swapped it for a pair of baggy shorts and a black T-shirt. She stood barefoot on the gritty sidewalk, greeting classmates as they arrived. Dell, a friend and one of the two other female fighters in that evening’s class, approached from the parking lot alone.

“Do you not have a husband tonight?” Kathryn shouted as her friend approached. Dell shook her head and grinned.

“Can I reserve you?”

Dell nodded, and both of them clapped with girlish excitement. She would be Kathryn’s training partner for that night’s Muay Thai boxing class.

******

Kathryn spent most of her senior year in high school writing a novel about a troubled, angry, angst-filled orphan teenager who fell in love with a classmate resembling Jonathan Brandis. She was never very athletic and was teased mercilessly the one season she tried to play soccer. Writing was something she retreated into, the same way she later retreated into training for competition in mixed martial arts.

“I was a chubby kid growing up. I weighed 220 pounds until I was 23, then I lost like 80 pounds. I was taking cardio kickboxing classes at the YMCA and then within about three months I was teaching them. I had this moment where I looked in the mirror, and I’m leading all these fit young people in a kickboxing routine, and I’m like ‘What the hell just happened?’ They’re all looking at me and they’re seeing me the way I look now, and I’m like ‘You guys have no idea.’ Every once in awhile if I’m not careful I’ll be on the mat and I’m like, ‘What the hell am I doing? How can I wrestle these guys?’ I don’t know what I’m doing—I’m a nerdy little girl who wrote novels in high school rather than talking to people. I just fell in love with the sport. It makes no sense, but I love it.”

******

Inside the martial arts center, a Tae Kwon Do class was just letting out. A group of kids fled to collect their shoes and bags. A half wall in the front of the room covered in a faded pattern of pink flowers separated them from an expanse of aging green carpet. Students coming and going from the training area paused briefly to bow at the entrance. The room had a low ceiling with several loose panels; some of the florescent lights were dim, while others were completely burnt out.

Kathryn’s Muay Thai boxing class had entered the training area. Kathryn stretched, talking and laughing with Dell, until it was time to line up in front of the instructor. The wall behind them was covered in mirrors. In front of them, the nearby wall featured an American flag on the left and a Korean flag on the right. Kathryn stood in the far end of the line with the other advanced students; the fighters with the least experience were toward the left end of the line. All chatter ceased as the students were called to attention.

******

Earlier that day, Kathryn had taken a few seconds to tap out a new Facebook status online: “Kathryn Gardiner needs a clone.” Kathryn works full time as a special products coordinator at the local newspaper and trains to fight every evening. She attends combat submission wrestling training on Tuesday evenings; Muay Thai boxing on Thursday evenings; and both Muay Thai and combat submission wrestling on Sunday afternoons. On the days that there aren’t any classes in Bloomington, she drives to Greenwood for mixed martial arts and jujitsu classes or does cardio at the gym. She’s fought in one tournament before, and hopes to fight competitively in a few months, meaning she needs to do as much she can to prepare herself.

Some people just don’t get it—even the people closest to her. But Kathryn, like other female fighters, isn’t much of a “girly girl.” She compares impressive bruises with her training partners and prepares to fight competitively in mixed martial arts. Fighting takes her face to face with everything in her life that scares her, from being self-conscious to being physically hurt. It doesn’t matter if her family and friends get it or not, because Kathryn is doing this for herself.

“So few people in my life really like the fact that I do this, so it’s quite possibly the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. My parents hate it. They tolerate it… they’re just kind of like ‘All right, well, Kathryn’s gonna do this, so…’ But they don’t want to think of their little girl getting hit in the face. I mean, who would, really? When I’m fighting, it’s going to be me and a pair of gloves and another chick out there who wants to clock me in the face. I love my training partners, but it’s about me and what I can do physically. Writing is what I was mostly doing when I started training, and that’s another thing that’s very solitary. Nobody’s going to sit down and write a novel for you or with you.”

******

Dell swept her long, bushy ponytail away from her face and prepared to be Kathryn’s punching bag. The rest of the advanced fighters took up one half of the room, leaving the other side for the beginners. When Kathryn first started training, Dell had offered to train with her even though she was more advanced. Realizing that Dell was hurting her own training to help a beginner, Kathryn became more focused and worked hard to edge her way to Dell’s side of the room.

Along with half of the class, Dell strapped small, rectangular pads onto her forearms. As soon as she was in position, holding the two pads in front of her, Kathryn began the combination: one front jab kick; one round kick; a right cross, a left hook, and another right cross. The room filled with the rhythmic sound of gloves and flesh hitting the pads and loud exhales as each fighter hit their pads, taking turns with the pads. Even when it wasn’t her turn to fight, a dark, determined look of intensity spread over Kathryn’s face as she focused on each exercise.

On this particular evening, the class consisted of about 13 men and three women, with ages ranging from teenagers to adults in their mid-30s. The instructor, shorter than most guys in the class at about 5’7”, towered above the class on a pile of mats and periodically imparted wisdom on the duos of fighters. Eventually, he halted the exercise and added more moves to the combination. He asked one of the more advanced pairs to demonstrate.

“You guys got it?” he asked.

“SIR!” the class yelled in unison. He released them to work on the exercise.

On Kathryn’s end of the classroom, the advanced trainees stared at their targets with focused energy. The less experienced pairs near the door stared hard at one another, concentrating on emulating the moves of the more experienced fighters. They broke their gazes every few seconds, shifting their eyes around and wondering if their teacher was watching.

Training that evening finished with a conditioning exercise. The class practiced repeating various punches and kicks while the instructor timed them. The mood on the carpet became more intense as each fighter practiced one move over and over again. Kathryn repeated a right cross over and over again without faltering and kept equal force even after several blows. The conditioning continued, and she and Dell took turns holding the pads.

When it was all over, Kathryn bowed to Dell and stopped to catch her breath. A few stray chunks of Kathryn’s hair had escaped her tight ponytail and were stuck to her forehead with sweat. The sound of ripping Velcro surrounded her as half of the class removed the pads and everyone stopped to catch their breath and line up again, facing the two flags.

Kathryn stood third from the end, letting everything she’d learned in training that day wash over her. Soon they were dismissed, and she took a brief bow before leaving the carpet. The intensity faded from her face and was replaced with a smile as she said goodbye to her classmates. She’d be back after another day at the office.