Breakfall (3 page)

“So here, you control the head, you control the body. Like this—can you feel how I’m taking you off your center and you’re starting to move forward?”

“Yeah.”

“And once you move him forward”—Sean addressed Pete—“you reverse direction to up, then back… and he will fall.”

And Asbjorn fell. To Sean’s surprise, he was catching on pretty fast.

Sean observed the newest guy from afar even as he made his way from one practicing pair to another. There was something about him—a feeling of balance, of poise. Maybe it was having been in the military.

Maybe the guy was a natural. Sean felt an odd stirring of hope that this particular newbie would actually stick around and not quit like the four out of five people who stepped on the mat to give aikido a try. It wasn’t for everybody, but this guy exuded fun. Sean was surprised by the relaxed poise of his movements. Sean wanted to throw him, and he wanted to be thrown by him.

He wanted to see him stay.

A
S
A
SBJORN
helped the others put the mats away, he realized he had had a surprisingly good time. He saw no good reason to reveal his identity as the new karate club teacher. Not yet. Staying incognito for a little while longer appealed to him, and Sean Gallaway caught his attention as someone interesting. There was a sense of centered power within him, a sense of playful relaxation that Asbjorn had encountered only a few times in his fifteen years of martial arts training.

He found he wanted to like the guy.

His heart flared with hope that Sean Gallaway wasn’t one of those “all flash, no substance” one-trick ponies.

He knew he should have introduced himself like a civilized human being and negotiated the use of the mats for his class—but there was a memory of his body being guided unwillingly in a circle and then falling on his back—and he
liked
it. He shivered at the memory of Sean’s light touch, his warm, long fingers on Asbjorn’s neck. Sean threw him onto his back with merely a twist of a hip and a sweep of a relaxed arm. Asbjorn knew, deep down, this shorter, smaller man had the ability to wipe the mat with him almost as readily as Tiger had done all those years ago.

His desire to remain incognito was further fueled by the knowledge that Thorpe-sensei had wanted to cooperate with this Sean Gallaway, see what he could learn from him. It would take just a few weeks before Asbjorn would get a handle on the timing behind these simple throws.

Just a few weeks during which he would be just another guy to this Sean Gallaway of the wild, sunshine hair and molten brown eyes. He didn’t know why, but when he thought of being thrown by Sean, of sparring with him, his breath quickened and he felt a feral grin form on his face.

Suddenly, it wasn’t just about the mats anymore.

A
SBJORN
’
S
FOOTFALLS
broke the morning stillness as he ran over the Mass. Ave. Bridge, crossing from Cambridge to Boston. The weekend traffic was light, and the air felt clean and crisp. His breathing was even as he savored the smell of the Charles River. Its muddy notes were lightened by the briny sea breeze coming in off the harbor. His weather-sense warned him of incoming rain, and he broke into a wild grin, daring the squall to catch him before he made it back to the comfort of his lair.

At the end of the bridge, he turned right and jogged up the Esplanade. The asphalt ribbon of the path wound through a green
landscaped area. He’d already had to dodge several runners, dog-walkers, and cyclists. Their numbers would increase as the day wore on. He leaned forward and picked up his pace, spurred on as friendly wind from the harbor pressed into his back.

This was his quiet time, his not-thinking time. The physical exertion of a long run kept him from ruminating over the past and bled excess energy off his volatile temper. He let spontaneous images rise in his mind. He’d take note of them, perhaps even revisit them later. The slap of his size-thirteen Asics against the pavement followed him upriver as he crossed streets that led to other bridges. The sound followed him as he wound his way through copses of trees and past children’s playgrounds.

Brown eyes the color of maple syrup… a fall, his hand slapping loud against the orange wrestling mat. Sean stood over him with a scowl on his face. “You’re not supposed to know how to do breakfalls yet.”

“I didn’t want to collide with those guys, sorry.”

“Where did you learn?”

“I forget…. Can you throw me again?”

He stopped at a red light and ran in place as he struggled to free a bottle of electrolyte drink from his running belt. Two squeezes, whether he felt like it or not.

Green light go.

Count your breath.

His sense of situational awareness told him who was behind him and in front of him. He passed two runners, gaining on a cyclist ahead.

…and as he knelt next to Sean for what passed as a “finishing technique,” his nostrils picked up the heady smell of a sweat-soaked gi. He leaned forward to inhale the characteristic smell of cornstarch and musk. His elbow brushed shaggy hair, and a scent of herbal shampoo flooded his senses. He curled Sean’s arm behind his back with care, trying not to linger…

He passed the wooden structure of a theater by the river and soon entered an area where he was closer to the cars on the road. Charles River was to become “Chuckie,” a small, narrow stream where people still fished for smelt every spring. His breathing grew heavier, and he slowed on the mild incline.

He reached for a pack of energy gel. The sweet goo was as gross as ever, but he downed it fast and chased it with his sports drink, knowing it would prevent cramping a few miles down the road. The vibes of cool competence he got from Sean took him back in time, all the way to Tiger.

“Bend your knees more. Your weight needs to be on the balls of your feet.” Thorpe-sensei pushed against Asbjorn’s fist and adjusted his alignment.

“Don’t overextend. There is a perfect spot where you want to be. Don’t go far enough and you won’t get there. Get greedy and punch too far and you’ll get out of alignment again.”

His teenage body cramped, but he was determined to grin and bear it. Anything for Thorpe-sensei’s approval. Asbjorn’s father had died two years earlier, and now it was Thorpe-sensei who reminded Asbjorn to do his homework, to help his mother with chores, to keep his fist tight and properly aligned. For Thorpe-sensei, he’d even try not to get into fights anymore…

The pavement of the Watertown Bridge felt hard and unforgiving under his feet, and breath was suddenly hard to come by. The wind picked up, and as he turned into it, his eyes began to tear.

Tiger…

Asbjorn forced himself to banish that awful, empty feeling from his chest as he focused on his breath. He fought to think of something else, anything, anything but Tiger. Think of p-chem and analytical algebra. Think of Dr. Behrend, animated and intent, standing by the Smart Board in front of the lecture hall. Think of the lab due on Wednesday. He corrected his stride and leaned into the moist autumn wind as fat drops of rain splattered on his face and shoulders.

S
EAN
HAD
no trouble finding the apartment building address. He ignored the weather forecast, took a chance, and got caught in a downpour. He felt like an idiot for approaching his new employer all wet. His hair was plastered to his skull, and his hoodie was soaked, along with the thighs of his jeans.

The Student Employment Office had called him with this particular assignment. He would probably end up cleaning somebody’s apartment again or filling moving boxes with books. The jobs varied in the particulars, but they all helped overstressed graduate students and professors with their daily chores. Every dollar would help pay for his used books, beer, pizza, and transportation for occasional visits to other aikido schools.

Sean took the elevator to the third floor and found apartment 301. His knock was answered by a baby’s cry and the sound of swift footsteps. A tall woman with long brown hair opened the door.

“Hi! You must be Sean Gallaway!” Nell Thorpe beamed a smile, and her large green eyes were warm in welcome. “Please come in. Oh, but you’re soaked. Here, take your shoes off.”

He felt her eyes on him as he removed his worn sneakers and sodden socks. She disappeared for a moment. He had just peeled his wet hoodie off when she reappeared with a baby on one hip. With her other hand, she passed him a stack of folded clothing.

“Go change in the bathroom over there. We’ll put your things in the dryer.”

“You don’t have to do this, really….” Embarrassed, Sean eyed her offering.

“Don’t worry, it’s not mine. It was my late husband’s. It may be a bit large on you, but…” The baby began to fuss and squirm, and Nell directed the rest of the sentence to her: “…we don’t want Sean to be wet and cold while taking care of the Stella-baby, do we now?” She cooed at the limpet on her hip.

Sean froze.

Nobody told him this was a babysitting assignment. As long as he didn’t drop the brown-haired, green-eyed baby girl, everything was going to be just fine.

That was easier said than done. He was used to younger kids, and he took the babysitting course years ago, so he knew what to do in theory, but practice was a lot more interesting. Stella squirmed and wiggled and grabbed his lips and nose and hair. She threw up all over him, and she tried to roll off the changing table when he thought a clean diaper was in order. Other than the hundred-percent attention she demanded while awake, though, it wasn’t too bad. She didn’t cry… much. He learned to give her a bottle and burp her afterward, and he learned to put a burp cloth on his shoulder before he did so.

The doorbell rang, and Sean looked through the peephole. One of his aikido students stood on the other side. He frowned, not expecting company. Covered in baby spit and wearing oversize clothing, Sean opened the door with Stella in his arms.

“Hey, Asbjorn.”

“Sean! What are you doing here? What are you doing with Stella?” The alarm in Asbjorn’s voice was apparent. “Is Nell-sen… is Penelopye Thorpe home?”

Sean allowed a sheepish grin. “Nah… I’m babysitting. Care to leave a message?”

He saw his new student hesitate and noticed the other man’s blue eyes lacked their vibrant sparkle.

“No. I’ll call her later.” Asbjorn shuffled his feet a bit before he spoke again.

“You’re wearing his clothes.” His tone was accusatory as Asbjorn swallowed and looked away.

“Yeah. I got soaked on the way here. They’re just borrowed.” Sean didn’t know why he felt the need to explain. There was a kind of hunger in Asbjorn’s eyes that compelled him to use a soothing tone of voice.

Asbjorn turned around as though to leave. Suddenly, he spun back. His eyes were wistful. “Say, Sean… mind if I say hi to Stella?”

Sean minded very much, as a matter of fact. Before he had a chance to refuse, the soaking-wet man opened the door like he belonged there, walked in, and took the wiggling baby from Sean’s arms.

She cooed as she grabbed Asbjorn’s face with a chubby hand.

“Hey, Asbjorn, I’m responsible for her here!”

“Yeah… I know. Hey, Stella-baby!”

Sean watched the man’s expression brighten as he lifted Stella and blew a raspberry against her tummy, burying his face in its softness. He then looked in Stella’s eyes, kissed her forehead, and handed her back to Sean.

“Thanks, man.” Rivulets of rainwater made their way down from short hair to stern eyebrows and haunted eyes and then down Asbjorn’s cheeks. “I’ll be seein’ ya,” he rasped, then turned and headed for the bank of elevators.

Sean just stood there with the door open, struck by the odd mood in somebody he knew to be so cheerful.

A
FEW
hours later, Sean took the money he had earned and stuffed the uncounted bills in the pocket of his dry jeans.

Nell smiled at him. “I made some good progress on my thesis. So how did it go on your end?”

He told her.

She laughed. “I never wear anything I care about when I’m home with Stella. The spit-up stains don’t come out—especially formula.”

He shuffled his feet uncertainly. “This one guy came by….”

“Oh?”

“Asbjorn.”

Nell’s pleasant expression grew somber and her eyes acquired a keen sharpness. Sean worked to remain calm under her penetrating gaze.

“Did he want anything in particular?”

“Asked for you. And… ehm… he wanted to say hi to Stella. He lifted her and kissed her tummy—sort of against my permission, y’know, but it happened so fast.”

Nell didn’t seem concerned about that part. “What did he look like? How did he seem to you?”

He thought back. “He was soaked to the bone. Looked like he’d been running.”

“Did you tell him to come in and offer him some dry clothes?”