Chapter 8

I went home and hit the sack. I slept, but I didn’t do a very good job of it. I woke up feeling thoroughly unrefreshed. When Michael came for a clinic, it was for two full days. Timex was teaching from nine to three with an hour for lunch. I felt like I was probably better prepared than anyone for whatever he was teaching, since I’d taken boxing lessons from him for a year.

“You know, we wouldn’t be going to this if you hadn’t gotten me mixed up in kung fu,” Franklin said as we drove to the school. “And you probably wouldn’t have started boxing if it wasn’t for Sally.”

“It’s all her fault,” I said, and we laughed. We tried to guess what he’d be covering.

We had a lot of the same people as we’d had for Michael’s clinic. Marci wasn’t there, and neither were any other women. I hadn’t seen a lot of women boxing, either, so that wasn’t a big surprise.

Sifu Chen lined us up and introduced Timex. “I know you all learned a lot when Mr. Danielson was here a few months ago. Today, we’ve got something different for you.” Sifu Chen had a slight Chinese accent. It wasn’t strong since he’d been in America for a long time, but it was still there.

“I met Mr. Pinkney at another clinic in Oklahoma City, probably ten years ago. Mr. Inosanto was teaching, and we were both in attendance. Mr. Pinkney is a Golden Gloves champion and boxed professionally for many years. He teaches regularly at Mink’s Gym up in North Charleston, and he’s graciously agreed to teach us a few things that we might incorporate into our wing chun. Mr. Pinkney, they’re all yours.”

“First tings firs,” he said. “Nobody call me Mr. Pinkney. Dats my dad. I’m Timex. You be sayin Pinkney and I be lookin roun fo him,” he said, and everyone laughed. I could tell from people’s faces that they were either skeptical or had a hard time understanding him, or both. I knew better.

“Deys two rules in boxing and dey da same two rules fo fightin on da street. Hey, Aquaman. What are dey?”

“Rule number one, don’t get hit. Rule number two, hit.”

“Dats right, dats right. Dey ain’t no otha rules on da street. We gwin play wit sometin you call critical distance today. Aquaman, come on up heah an kick me in da face.”

“Oh, boy,” I said, and everyone laughed. He had me stretch out my leg, measuring the difference between us.

“Dat’s what you call critical distance, but it’s only one of dem.”

He went on to explain that that range was the furthest range, and it was a good one to understand. Then, he had me stretch out my hand for a punch and explained that it was an entirely different critical distance. We did the same for knees and elbows, showing that we could be inside the critical distance for kicks and still outside the critical distance for an elbow.

He said that if we were within the critical distance of a kick, but not a punch, our focus should be on defending against a kick, but our awareness that our opponent could change the distance in a heartbeat. When boxing, I never had to worry about how far my opponent could reach with a kick. Now, I was re-thinking the whole idea.

“Let’s call dis firs one da critical distance. Dat’s da kickin distance. Let’s call da rest of dem, transitional. When you movin on a man, you steppin into dat critical distance, but if’n you wan to dish some elbow upside his face, you got to transition a couple time. You got some dude wit bandanas on his arms, dats a Muy Thai guy an he want ta dish some elbow pain. He got to cross true yo kickin, punchin, palms and swords and all dem otha strikes to do dat.”

His explanation was simple, but it was on target, and we understood immediately. We spent the morning on footwork. After he described what we’d be doing, we practiced moving from outside critical range to within kicking range. We could do that with big steps. Our transition from kicking range to punching or striking range could be accomplished with smaller steps, and the final transition to knee and elbow range could be accomplished with even smaller steps.

Right before lunch, he asked for a volunteer. Not surprisingly, no hands went up. I covered my mouth and said, “Franklin”. He called Franklin up. Franklin gave me a mean look.

“I’m gwine covah some transitions. I want you try stop me.” Franklin got into a bladed fighting stance, and Timex surprised me. Boy, did he surprise me. He threw a roundhouse kick, and before Franklin had blocked it, Timex was close enough to throw a punch. While Franklin was reacting to that, Timex continued in to throw multiple knees and elbows, first on the way in, then in reverse order on the way out.

He executed each kick or strike with speed, accuracy, and control, missing Franklin but not by much.

“Franklin still tryin to figure out what kine kick dat was,” he said, smiling, and let Franklin shrink away. “Da reason he din’t block da res is ‘cause of da OODA Loop. Dat’s what Colonel Boyd call it when he teachin da flyboys ‘bout dog fightin. You got to observe what’s comin’ at ya. Den, ya gat ta orient yoself to dat. Den ya got ta decide what you gwine do. Den you got ta act. Dat’s the OODA Loop. It’s a loop ‘cause ya keep doin’ it, ovah and ovah.

“Franklin can’t do nutin ‘bout da knee cause he still in da kick loop. I move too fast fo his loops. Y’all see dat? You get inside his loops, dey ain’t nutin he can do. We talk mo ‘bout dat aftah lunch.”

Everybody’s head was spinning with this insight. It was essentially old information, presented in a new and unique way. Sifu Chen tried to summarize and dismissed us for lunch. We had been smelling food for twenty minutes, and my mouth was watering.

“Timex, that was some good stuff. You really surprised me,” I said, shaking his hand.

“You surprise dis ole black man gots some Chinese in him?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I said, and we laughed. “I’m enjoying training here, but I really miss boxing, too. No, that’s not right,” I said, and he frowned. “I miss boxing lessons with you.”

“We ain’t move,” he said, and we walked to the food line. There was only one dish, but there was plenty of it. A huge pot of shrimp étouffée, and a plate of warm cornbread attacked our sense of smell. When I called the hot sauce Tabasco, I was informed that it was Louisiana hot sauce. Apparently, that crime of confusion is common but not to be repeated.

Everyone wanted to talk with Timex, so I kept my distance and sat with Franklin. “I can see why you liked learning boxing from him.”

“I had no idea he had any Chinese in him. Too bad Marci isn’t here to give me her take.”

“That would be interesting.”

“You know who else would have an interesting take? Sally.”

“Since she’s the one who got you interested in boxing in the first place.”

We enjoyed our shrimp étouffée and tried to eavesdrop, but it was hopeless. The smile on Sifu Chen’s face told me he was happy with the clinic. We talked about the OODA Loop and what it meant that Timex would even know about the fighter pilot lesson that Colonel John Boyd would teach.

“You know, people tell me I seem older or more mature or whatever, for my age, but you know what I’m not? Experienced. Who knows what kind of experiences Timex is drawing from? Where did he learn how to kick, or throw an elbow? He wasn’t just going through the motions. He knows what he’s doing.”

“He’s up there in years, but I wouldn’t want to face him in a street fight,” Franklin said.

“No kidding.”

In the afternoon, Timex worked with us on shorter-range transitions. He taught that we could skip ranges and go straight from kicking range to elbow range, but so could our opponent. We finished up right at three. Timex needed to leave on time.

“I see yo faces when I throw dat roun house kick. What’s dat ole black man tink he’s doin? Dey’s people out der dat know stuff bout fightin dat I doan know. Dey’s always someone fastah or mo powahful. Sifu Chen got it right when he say, ‘take way der reason fo fightin. Rule one an two doan mattah if dey ain’t no fight. All dis stuff, jess in case. Jess in case. You wanna fight, do it heah or come visit me at Mink’s. Doan get into it on da street,” he said and surprised us again with a deep bow to the class, and he was gone. We all applauded as he left, smiling.

“The man knows kung fu,” someone said.

“No. He knows karate. Kenpo karate. But it is also surprising. He teaches boxing but knows karate. He is a good man and a good friend,” Sifu Chen said. “Shall I invite him back?” That got a unanimous approval.

“It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?” Franklin asked. “Don’t get hit, but hit. Simple, right?”

“Simple for Timex, maybe. I wouldn’t want to fight the old man,” someone said.

“No. That would be a losing proposition. I like him a lot. He had some pretty sharp kicks,” someone added.

“And palm heels, and elbows and knees and everything else,” I said. “Yeah, I think I’ll count him as a friend.”

“Probably best,” Sifu Chen said. Some people hung around to talk, and I answered a few questions about Timex and Mink’s Gym, and we left.

Franklin dropped me off at Kim’s house at my request. I wanted to spend time with her, but I also wanted to know how her time with Amanda went.

“Hey, Jack. Come on in. We were just talking about you,” Mrs. McTighe said, and I followed her to the sunroom.

“Really?”

“No, but it seemed like a polite thing to say. Kim must have been up late last night. She just now had some scrambled eggs. She’ll be showered and up in a minute or two, I’d imagine. Nice pajamas. What have you been up to?”

I’d become so comfortable in my kung fu uniform that I forgot that’s what I was wearing. I told them about the new guys on the swim team and Franklin, and my day with Timex. Mr. McTighe asked a few questions about that. They asked about Mac, and I told them he was growing and had learned how to growl, sort of. Everybody loved Mac.

Kim came out, drying her hair. Kim, with wet hair, no make-up, and a loose-fitting sweatshirt, was drop-dead gorgeous. I didn’t need to say anything. She knew what was on my mind.

“We didn’t leave until after three. I think you were right to be concerned, but it was so hard to tell. It’s like she was wearing a mask.”

“Who are you talking about, Kimmie?” Mrs. McTighe asked, and Kim described Amanda and the situation.

“Jack talked to her last night and just had a hunch she wasn’t quite right. You know? Allie and I checked the bathroom while she was in the kitchen. We checked for sleeping pills and straight razors. I know that sounds over the top, but we just couldn’t tell what was going on with her. Her mom acted like this was normal. Maybe she’s just a drama queen or something, but neither Allie nor I thought we were wasting our time.”