Living with Jackie Chan (4 page)

And then I see him.

His small, angry face.

Tiny, clenched hands.

Stop.

I see my hand against the glass that separated us.

And I see me leaving him there.

I hate the words everyone uses, but they’re true.

I gave him up.

I never tried to meet him.

I never tried to hold him.

I never did anything but try to see him.

Just once.

Just once to say good-bye.

I wake up in the morning to the sound of Larry rapping on my door. “Rise and shine! We gotta jet!”

“Huh?” I ask.

“Camp starts at nine a.m.!” He flings the door open, throws something made of cloth at me, and disappears. The cloth is white and kind of stiff.

“That’s my old gi!” Larry hollers from the kitchen. “I figured it would fit you. Plus, it’s full of good vibes.”

I unfold it and think vibes aren’t the only thing it’s full of. The armpits are stained yellow. There’s also some rusty-colored spots that look like blood. There’s no way in hell I’m putting this thing on. I rifle through my stuff for some sweats and a clean T-shirt and find Larry in the kitchen.

“Where’s the gi?” he asks. He’s wearing a new-looking one with a multicolored belt to show which degree black belt he is.

“Um, too big. Sorry.”

“Really? I thought for sure it would be just right for you. Too bad. That thing has seen it all.”

I bet.

“Ah, well. No time to shower, but you’re just gonna get all sweaty anyway.” He downs his brown smoothie. “Here, I made you some toast. And eat this banana.”

I scarf down the food, and we head out.

The YMCA is only a few blocks from Larry’s building, and I pray the entire way that no one will see us. Especially when Larry starts “warming up” by doing his crazy-looking karate moves as he walks down the sidewalk. When we get there, he introduces me as his assistant and we go to our assigned room.

Larry pulls a clipboard and piece of paper out of his enormous duffel bag and starts making notes. Pretty soon, people are walking in and saying hi to Larry. An old guy comes over and shakes my hand. He must be the one Larry was talking about before. “You’re Larry’s nephew,” he informs me.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

“Jacob, that’s Samurai Sam!” Larry yells over to us.

Must he?

“Sam,” Jacob says, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you!” His gi droops off his bony shoulders.

A little kid with long hair — I mean really long hair, past his shoulders — comes running over to me and bows. What?

“I’m Drake,” he says.

“Hey,” I say.

“You’re supposed to bow back.”

“Oh.” I bow to him awkwardly. This is going to be a long week.

Once everyone arrives, Larry lines us up according to rank. Jacob stands at the front, facing us, since the black belts get special treatment. In the front row, two guys who look about in their twenties have brown belts. Next row, a woman, maybe in her thirties, with a purple belt. Next row, two girls who look like high-school age have green belts. Next row, Drake and some other young kids with blue belts. Then me. Larry insists I earned my yellow belt, but I honestly don’t even remember. He runs over to his bag and pulls out a faded and ratty-looking belt. “A loan,” he says, handing it to me. “Remember how to tie it?”

“Not exactly,” I say. And then, in front of everyone, he steps behind me and wraps his arms around my waist and freakin’ ties the belt on me, talking me through the steps as he goes. Then, since this isn’t humiliating enough, the door opens and in walks Stella in a crisp white gi with a white belt cinched around her waist.

Perfect.

She smiles at me. “Hi, Sam,” she says. She looks me up and down and bites her lip as if she’s stifling a laugh. Yeah. I look like a moron. I have some awesome bedhead, and I have a yellow belt tied around the waist of my sweatpants.

Shoot. Me. Now.

I’m about to tell her my name isn’t actually Sam, but Larry bounds over to her in his puppy-dog style.

“Stellaaaaaa!” he cries, like he’s dying. I can tell he’s imitating his favorite scene from
Rocky,
one of the only non–Jackie Chan movies Larry has ever forced me to watch. Of course, Rocky is a professional boxer, so there’s still plenty of fighting involved. I’m pretty sure Rocky cries
Adriannnnn
in the movie, though, not
Stella.
But that’s Larry for you.

“I’m so glad you came,” he says excitedly. “This is gonna be great!”

He sets her up in the row behind me with two little kids and one old lady in the back. I am officially the biggest loser on the planet.

Larry gives a welcome speech and has us all do about a million stretches. Finally, he tells us to kneel in our places with our hands flat on our thighs, feet tucked under us.

“Kara,” he says to one of the green belts. “What is a true karate man?”

Kara clears her throat. “What is a true karate man?” she asks. The rest of the class repeats the question. “A true karate man is one with a godlike capacity to think and feel for others, irrespective of their rank or position.”

She pauses every few words and waits for us to repeat her. She goes on about what a karate man does and what makes him true. I vaguely remember this part because I remember thinking, as a little kid, that I wanted to be a true karate man. Like Larry. When Kara says a phrase about how a true karate man lifts those who have fallen, I remember thinking it sounded like Superman. Only real. I remember thinking
I
could be Superman.

“Excellent,” Larry says when she finishes. “Now, since so many of you are new to my class today, I wanted to go over what Kara said a bit more. ‘A true karate man is one with a godlike capacity to think and feel for others, irrespective of their rank or position.’ Anyone want to tell me what this means?”

Drake raises his hand. “It means a true karate man always acts good no matter what. Even if someone acts like a jerk or something, a true karate man still does the right thing instead of beating him up.”

“Good,” says Larry. He goes on to give some examples. As he talks in his calm, confident way, I realize he kind of does seem a little godlike, with everyone listening to him, smiling like he is giving them the greatest wisdom they’ve ever heard.

“The other thing you all need to learn are the basic precepts of karate.” Larry walks over to his duffel bag and hands out a list to all the white belts. And me. “Most of you know these, but for the new people, you should read these over and think about how you can apply them to your daily lives.”

I read the first entry and feel totally lost. “
Karate-do
begins with courtesy and ends with
rei.
” I have no idea what
do
is. Or
rei.
Those of us with papers put them on the floor against the wall, then find our places again.

“OK. Now we’re going to start at the beginning and review the first kata to make sure everyone has a clear understanding of the moves and sequence. Then we’ll break into groups to practice. Jacob, why don’t you demonstrate.”

Jacob steps forward and bows to Larry. He moves so slowly, I’m afraid he’s going to keel over and die right here. But then he begins to move in this amazingly fluid motion. I can’t believe it. The guy just hobbled forward like the senior citizen he is, and suddenly he’s punching air like he’s Jackie Chan.

Larry looks all serious as he watches. “Excellent!” he says. “Who’s next?” He goes row by row and has everyone demonstrate the first kata. As he gets closer to my row, I can feel myself breaking out in a sweat. I can’t remember any of this.

“Sam the man? You’re up!”

Why? Why does he have to call me that?

“I don’t really remember this stuff,” I say.

“Let’s start with the first step. Remember Precept Five when you’re learning the katas: ‘Spirit first, technique second.’” He stands next to me and has me imitate his stance. Then, move by move, we go through the positions, and it slowly comes back to me. I remember this feeling as I pivot on my feet and thrust my fist out. Pretty soon, I’m getting it.

“Great job!” Larry says. “I told you you’d remember. He ruffles my hair. God. “OK, let’s match up with partners so you can start practicing.”

Larry matches me with Stella, naturally. He winks in this obvious way, like,
I’m so going to fix you up.
I roll my eyes, grateful Stella didn’t see him.

Since I’m still mostly clueless, Larry tells Drake to join us, too.

“‘Sam the man’?” Stella asks, smirking, while Larry continues grouping people.

I shake my head. “Larry,” I say. “He can’t help it.”

She laughs. “But he means well.”

Right.

Drake takes us through each step. Slowly, I begin to remember the rhythm of the movements. Every time I punch the air, my arms feel a little stronger. I remember the power I felt when I first learned how to strike out. Like I could go home and beat up anyone who tried to mess with me. I realize that did not make me a true karate man. Or Superman. But I didn’t really care. I was a mad kid.

“See?” Larry says in my ear. “You’re a natural.”

“Kee-yai!” Stella shouts as she finishes the kata. I remember that, too. I remember how good it felt to shout it. But I can’t bring myself to go there. Yet.

We spend the rest of the day practicing the first kata over and over again. When we break for lunch, Larry tosses a paper bag at me. I didn’t even realize he’d made me lunch. I sit alone in one corner and watch the rest of the campers chat together. Stella and Kara are busy huddled in conversation. I overhear Kara tell Stella she goes to Union, the other high school in the city. Larry is too busy walking from group to group to chat to notice I’m by myself, which is good, because he’s the kind of guy who would pull me up and drag me over to some other poor loser sitting alone and make me eat with him.

After practice, people crowd around Larry to ask him questions. Everyone seems hyped about class. Larry drags a big cardboard box to the middle of the room, and I help him hand out gis to all the newbies. When we’re done, there’s one left, and he says it’s for me.

“You’re gonna be a great partner,” he tells me. He is glowing. He actually looks like he might cry.

Please. No.

“Thanks,” I say, and rush out to the hallway to wait for him to finish up.

The hall smells like a swimming pool and sweat. I lean against the wall and let my arms hang down. They feel like rubber and ache like hell. I guess Larry was right. I’m totally out of shape.

“Hey, Sam.”

It’s Stella. She comes over and leans against the wall next to me. I can smell her deodorant, but it’s not nasty like Larry’s. Obviously.

“Hey.”

“You were pretty good in there.” She smiles at me. When she smiles, it’s not just her mouth, it’s her whole face. Her brown eyes sparkle and — no. No. I’m not going there.

“You, too,” I tell her, and force myself to look away.

“Thanks. I think this is going to be fun after all.”

Yeah.

“So, what’s it like living with Larry, anyway?” she asks. “It must be — interesting.”

“Entertaining,” I say.

She nods. “Are you staying with him for any special reason?”

I shrug. “I’m interested in architecture, and Roosevelt has a great tech program. I thought coming here might help improve my chances of getting into a college program.”

“Wow, that’s dedication. I would hate to leave all my friends senior year.”

Yeah. It sucks.

“I guess,” I say. “So, no babysitting today?” I ask to change the subject.

“No, thank God. That baby wears me out.”

“He does cry a lot.”

“I can’t imagine having a kid. They’re cute and all, but, holy crap, they’re demanding.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

She gives me a funny look. “I mean, I love him — don’t get me wrong.”

“No worries.”

“You’re a strange guy, aren’t you, Sam?”

“Um, about that.” I’m about to try again to tell her my name isn’t actually Sam, but she looks at her watch and swears.

“I gotta bolt. My boyfriend’s picking me up outside, and he gets cranky when I’m late.”

“Oh.” I know I should feel relieved that she’s seeing someone. I’m the last person who should be starting a relationship. So why do I suddenly feel so . . . disappointed?

“See you tomorrow!” she yells over her shoulder as she runs down the hall.

“See ya,” I call after her.

I lean my head back on the cool cinder-block wall and close my eyes, concentrating on the pain in my arms. I think about the lies I’ve already let Stella believe. I think about how it will be like this with everyone I meet. About how I’m not the same person I was back at home. I’m Sam. The new guy. The stranger. I can be whoever I want, really.

The problem is, I have no idea who it is I want to be.