Breakfall (22 page)

When Asbjorn heard the cold undertow in Sean’s voice, the sense of sadness that had only pressed upon him crashed, engulfing Asbjorn in a wave of breathtaking despair. He looked down, examining his black Asics running shoes with sudden interest. His embarrassment was still there—and feeling the way he did, he couldn’t possibly push himself into Sean’s space uninvited. Sean wasn’t a girl. He didn’t need to be protected.

“Let’s go.”

T
HE
NEXT
three days dragged on. Sean carefully reset and managed his modified security system, safe behind his fortress of detectors and alarms. His grand jury testimony was coming up on December 15 and he was ready, eager to get it all over with. The assistant DA had already coached him on how to answer only the questions he would be asked, using short sentences and simple words.

His nerves stretched like a tight string. He missed Asbjorn’s calm, reassuring presence, but this was something only he could do. Had Asbjorn been around, he would act all protective again, driving Sean to utter words he would later regret. At least classes had started again, and he itched to resume aikido. He wanted his routine back. His bruises were barely detectable now, most of them but a yellowish tinge on what remained of his surfer’s tan. Immersed in schoolwork, he found his escape in papers and labs and endless equations, and in solitude.

All he ever wanted was Asbjorn, but Asbjorn wasn’t available. The look in his eyes had been stormy that evening, full of upset and pain, unwilling to allow Sean to kiss the nastiness away. Asbjorn had his pride.

If Asbjorn were Casey, Sean would’ve pulled him in, snaked an arm behind his waist, nuzzled his neck, and made it all better, but Asbjorn was neither Casey nor any other girl, and Sean wasn’t quite sure how to make him feel good without making him feel… emasculated. He didn’t want his friend to feel the way Sean tended to feel when Asbjorn offered way too much help.

The library was quiet. Sean was putting finishing touches on his physics lab, feeling the glow of satisfaction that comes with a job well done. The document was saved, the data spreadsheet was navigable, and the graphs were generated with their axes properly labeled. He stretched his arms, turning up his lips in a hint of a smile as he contemplated what to do next.

A loud crashing sound sent him bolting out of his chair.

He jumped, unable to stop himself from shouting as he turned toward the threat. A residual sound of splintering wood, the eerie wind-chime of breaking glass, and an after-image of a silhouette flooded his mind, and he found himself standing at the ready. Face to face with Sheila, his aikido student. The floor by her feet was littered with books.

“I must have piled them too high,” she said apologetically. “Did I startle you, Sean?”

His pupils were wide and his breathing ragged as he turned away from her. “No, no… sorry, Sheila. I… overreacted.”

“Flashback.”

“Talk to me.”

“Keep going.”

Asbjorn’s words emerged in his mind, and he took a moment to get settled behind his keyboard again. He tried to focus on the here and now. People a few feet away exchanged words in a quiet hush. That, the warmth of the library, and the scent of Sheila’s peppermint gum did little to anchor him. He blinked tears away.

This wasn’t really happening, was it?

He’d always been so mellow, never startled, never scared. A girl dropping a stack of books behind him wasn’t going to faze him now, was it?

He deepened his breath and closed his eyes, pretending in his mind he was doing an ukemi roll. Gradually, his center wobbled back to where it was supposed to be. There… and he wasn’t going to change a thing. He was going to hold his ground.

A
IKIDO
,
EVEN
more than surfing, had been Sean’s center for years now. The Tuesday night class began as always, and everything was going well. The slow-motion demonstration of techniques was controlled and smooth. And yet…

Never before had Sean remembered flinching when he saw a fist fly his way. Never before had he closed his eyes as he moved to the side, blindly grasping the offending limb, hoping for the best. This was an elementary error—something he worked hard to train out of his beginning students—and he was seemingly unable to relax and just
do
.

He moved from couple to couple. Only some partners elicited this reaction from him. The larger, more aggressive ones.

He was relieved when the class ended. Sean dismissed everyone and hastily began folding his hakama.

“Sean-sensei, is everything okay?” Sheila’s soft voice whispered as his black hakama was still splayed open on the mats between them.

His breath stopped for just a bit before he replied. “Why do you ask?”

The girl looked in his eyes with grave concern. “You’re giving off an odd vibe. Like something bad is going on. I’d like to help, if I can.”

He considered her offer with all seriousness. She was able and kind, almost ready for her black belt. Most importantly, she was unlikely to treat him like he was a girl.

“Would you like to go out for some pizza?”

T
HEY
ENDED
up at the same joint where he and Asbjorn shared their first meal together. Sheila was surprisingly easy to talk to. Her soft gray eyes reflected mirth, sympathy, and sorrow—right on cue, perfectly synchronized with Sean’s narrative.

“So what you’re really saying is that you and Asbjorn don’t respect one another’s personal boundaries.”

Sean picked at the mushroom on his unfinished pizza slice. That would be one way of putting it. He drank some beer.

“Sean-sensei….”

“Sheila.”

“Yes?”

“Just call me Sean. Unless we’re in class. Okay?”

He watched a blush rise in her cheeks. “Okay, then. Sean—”

“Wait, Sheila. I need to come clean here. I don’t want to lead you on and have you be disappointed later.” Their eyes met. “You aren’t interested in dating me, are you?”

Sheila blushed again. “Oh no, never. I know you’d never date a student. And I have a boyfriend at BU, anyway.” She gave him a radiant smile. “But it’s so nice of you to be upfront about it!”

Sean felt a sigh of relief escape him, ever so quietly, when Sheila brought him up short with a much more serious tone of voice.

“So, Sean. How about you tell me what’s really happened?”

The pub’s low lighting and cavernous booths made him feel sheltered, and the smell of food and beer let him relax, bit by bit, until his story spilled out. One pizza and two pitchers of beer later, Sean’s story was out, and he felt drained.

Exposed.

“I’m sorry you have to go through all this,” Sheila said in a solemn tone. “I guess as long as the bad guy stays away, you will be all right, though, won’t you?”

Sean rotated his beer glass in his hands for a while before he answered. “I’m testifying against those two guys from that alley about two weeks from now, so… I really have no idea what will happen next.”

“When?” She asked.

“December fifteenth.”

“And it’s November twenty-ninth,” Sheila mused. “That’s coming up right quick.” She measured him with a shrewd eye. “Are you scared the stalker will find out?”

“A little,” he admitted. “But that’s not the biggest issue. Mostly, I don’t know what to expect, you know? I’ve never been to court before. I got some parking tickets, but I paid those online. This is different. It’s—even though I’m supposed to be one of the good guys, I feel like I will be judged by all these people. The jury will be looking at me, trying to figure out if I’m lying, and in the meanwhile, I’ll feel… exposed, I guess. Naked.” Sean began to gesticulate with a pizza crust. This was a lot to say and a lot to think about.

“But you’ll have people there with you, right? Asbjorn will be there. He is really supportive, isn’t he?”

Sean growled in frustration, his agitated voice rising in pitch. “He was! He was so bloody supportive. I couldn’t stand him treating me like a chick anymore!”

A small smile blossomed on Sheila’s heart-shaped face. “So… you think women are weak, but men are strong?”

He balked. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did. I suspect you figure that if I got attacked like you did, I would welcome being hovered over and protected. And you know, to a degree, it would be a real comfort, but after a while, it would really piss me off.” She grew quiet, a finger drawing an absentminded pattern on the table.

“Really?” Sean asked.

“Yeah,” Sheila whispered. “I have been where you are, Sean. Women are capable and strong. We have been dealing with this kind of shit since the dawn of time.”

She didn’t specify whether “this kind of shit” was being sexually assaulted or overprotected, and Sean bit his tongue in an effort not to ask. Maybe both.

“So your real problem is Asbjorn, then,” Sheila said after a while. “Does he love you?”

“Sean, I love you so much, it’d be easier to just die.”

“He said he does.”

“And do you love him?”

Sean remained silent for a while. “Yeah….” He breathed out, his statement barely audible.

“Did you tell him?”

“Um….” There just never was a good enough time. Sean didn’t want his words to be a mere echo of Asbjorn’s. He wanted to say it his way, yet when presented with an opportunity, a kiss or a caress was so much easier. “I’m not really good with words….”

Sheila drained her glass. “Well, if you feel self-conscious saying it aloud, maybe you could write it down.”

Sean groaned. “A love letter? After yelling at him for treating me like a girl?”

“Love letters were a high art practiced by both men and women. Or you could just text him.”

Sean groaned. The idea had some merit—but so did seeing a dentist. Both were invasive and painful.

A
SBJORN
WALKED
into the pub to forget. Bedtime was coming nigh, and he hadn’t been sleeping well. Just one beer.

He ordered his Sam Adams at the bar, leaning into the backrest of his stool to catch a local news report.

A sip.

The first sip always felt best. It reacquainted him with the effervescent fluid, the high aromatic taste of Cascade hops tingling his palate with their citrusy essence. Then came the slightly bitter, malty aftertaste. Asbjorn closed his eyes. He could savor this moment. Uncomplicated. Alone. Free.

A familiar laugh made his heart skip as it teased his ear. He turned his head, incredulous. Sean sat across the table from a nicely built girl. Their eyes met as they laughed. The girl grabbed Sean’s cell phone. She messed with it for a while.

“Here. Now you have my number. You will call, right?”

“Right.”

“Promise!”

“I promise.” A smile lit up Sean’s face, a halo of sun-kissed hair surrounding his face, bringing out the warmth of his deep cocoa-brown eyes.

The girl’s phone beeped and she checked the text message. “My ride is here! I have to go now.”

“Thanks, Sheila.”

She beamed at him. “Don’t forget your promise.”

Asbjorn took another swig of his beer. Its flavor profile suddenly turned bitter. He couldn’t believe Sean would replace him so fast. He could see Sean sitting in his booth alone now, all starry-eyed, undoubtedly thinking romantic thoughts. He saw him push his plate aside, pull a notebook out of his backpack, and start writing.

Asbjorn felt his fists tighten as jealous rage welled up within him. He could barely breathe. Sean could have at least said something—anything. The embarrassment of being arrested, which seemed to have receded with Asbjorn’s fading bruises, reasserted itself and tore through his sense of self like a bullet through virgin flesh. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

The beer sat on the counter, unfinished.

He swung the door open and felt the brisk November air hit his face. The briny ocean scent riding high that night. It was laden with nostalgia.

Drawn by the familiar smell, he headed down toward Memorial Drive, toward the river. He’d follow the river out toward the harbor, away from the pristine college environment, away from anything that could possibly remind him of his…
love
.

Love denied.

His
sunshine
would warm him no more. The days would be cloudy till the end of time, and the term of endearment itself dimmed, losing all of its previous luster and warmth.

He tightened his fists as he neared a row of bars on the waterfront. These weren’t fancy places. The smell of spilled liquor and vomit greeted him, announcing the harbor dive for what it was. Cheap harbor dives were the same the world over. He entered the poorly lit space and grinned at the sight of beat-up wooden furniture. Men drank, and drank hard. A game of darts was going on in the back.

Asbjorn ordered whiskey. He ran his hand through his short hair and smiled. Silently, he offered words of apology to Tiger.

You said never to fight without a reason, Tiger-sensei.

I have a reason now.

A selfish reason.

An angry reason.

I promise not to start the fight.

I promise not to inflict permanent harm.

Five bars later, he stumbled back two steps. His breath was heavy with drink and his knuckles were swollen and raw. His back and sides ached, and last week’s fading bruises gleamed with renewed vigor. He’d have a shiner on his left cheek by morning.

And oh, he felt so much better.

He might even fall asleep tonight.

“Anybody else?”

Two dark figures peeled off the stools in the back of the room. About the same height, the two men approached him, entering the small circle of light on the scuffed dance floor.

“Hey, isn’t it my turn to buy you a drink?” The broader of the two removed his baseball cap, letting his pale white hair gleam under the lights. His partner grinned, running his hand through his spiky black hair.