112: Demonstration

It didn't take long for word that Geoff was gay to get around—especially around the basketball team. I'm sure we had Barry to thank for that. None of us were making a big deal about it, but Kevin started showing up at our table at lunch. Bert made a special effort to stop by and eat lunch with us on Wednesday and specifically sat beside Geoff. He never said anything about it, but his demonstration didn't go unnoticed. Unfortunately, not everyone responded the same way and I wasn't sure I would be able to keep from punching someone out.

Trent and Brent, the sophomore twins who joined the Varsity team for the tournament were the ones who walked by and just said, "Fucking queers." I about lost it and it was only because Sam and Whitney were next to me that I didn't get a chance to make them eat their words. Tuesday morning I had a message in Ms. Hammer's class that I needed to go see Coach Hancock.

Whitney was already there.

"It's time," Coach said without any preamble. "I thought we might go all the way to graduation and never have to pull it out. The events at the prom changed that. Brian, Geoff is a target. It's stupid and unfair but it is what it is. That makes all of you who are around Geoff targets, as well. If the tensions escalate, someone will get hurt—badly. I don't think it will be you."

"We've avoided letting anyone know," Whitney said. "Our clan knows, but no one else."

"What? What are we talking about?" I asked.

"Coach wants us to do a demonstration," Whitney said.

"But we've always..."

"That's what I was saying."

"Here's the thing," Coach said. "You have a month of school left. A demonstration of your skill could change whether anyone in the school challenges you or any of your friends."

"I get that it would prevent anyone from attacking Whitney or me. How would it help our friends?" I asked.

"No one has to know who all has the skills you have," Coach said. "Get all your friends—clan, you call it?—to sit around the mat in gis. Only you and Whitney need to demonstrate. Everyone will assume the rest of the clan is trained or being trained. They won't believe it is safe to attack anyone."

I don't think Coach knew how easy it was to get the whole clan outfitted in gis.

"If you think it will work, then I'm okay with it if Whitney is okay with it."

"I think it's our best option to protect Geoff and even Kevin," Whitney said. "And don't forget we're leaving Leonard, Ross, and Monte here next year. They need to have some aura of protection around them."

"I believe you said you had red gis," Coach said. "This is the time to wear them. No one needs to know what the colors for your clan mean."

"When?" I asked.

"Sooner is better. If I can get Principal Darnell to agree, it will be Friday afternoon. Can you get out of your classes?" Whitney and I both nodded.

"Better get back to your first period," Coach said dismissing us.

"You came up with new poems?" Ms. Streeter asked when she saw me in the hall on the way to lunch. I glared at her.

"You should know."

"Why would I know?" she asked simply. "Plan to give me a reading at lunch next Tuesday. I'll make sure you are free in time to get to class at IUSB." She walked away and left me hanging. Ms. Streeter was one of the two or three most influential teachers I'd had, but damn, she made me mad sometimes.

"I know you aren't comfortable with that aspect of what Whitney and I do, Mom, but I'm asking for your support and your presence. Whitney's mom and Dave will be there. We'd like to be united. Mom, Geoff's been a constant friend since we were in second grade. Coach thinks this will protect him. We have to try." I'd made the plea at dinner so everyone could hear. Mom immediately objected, but I had to convince her.

"I think he's right, Nona," Anna said. "We know they are capable. I'm sure Coach Hancock wouldn't suggest this if he didn't think it would work."

"That other coach last year—Mitchell—put Brian on the court to get beaten up. I don't like it."

"Coach Hancock isn't like that, Mom."

Dad looked at Mom and they held each other's eyes for a whole minute. They both gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"I still don't like it but I will be there and I will support you," Mom said at last. "I think we'd better get some other parents involved."

I hadn't seen all the students gathered in the gym and so focused since Cassie and I debated in front of the school board. They'd been told simply that there would be a special convocation on personal safety and self-defense Friday afternoon. Nobody knew or understood what they were about to witness.

There were mats in the middle of the basketball court. Our parents sat in chairs around the mats. All our parents—almost. Mom and Dad had managed to get at least one parent of every member of the clan to be in attendance, including Renee's mother, Elaine's parents and her brother, and even Joyce Gordon. I saw her slip in but didn't mention it to Rhonda. Doug's and Doreen's parents were there, back from Florida to get their house ready to sell. Our college clan members could not make it for the gathering but all the others were there, including Doreen, Jennifer, Courtney, and Rhonda.

"There is no question that bullying still exists in spite of our best efforts to combat it. We have had students who have been beaten and even killed," Coach said. "Having observed one group of students and the unique bond that they have, I investigated to find not only a family-like relationship, but a discipline that is rare among teens and adults as well. Some of you know them as 'that dating group.' They refer to themselves as the Clan of the Heart. They have agreed to provide us with a few demonstrations of self-defense skills."

Coach was surprised when we filed in. Whitney and I had told him that we had red gis and he expected that. He wasn't expecting five more red gis, an emerald green, three grass green, three royal blue, two yellow and a sea of white gis with various colored belts. We'd rehearsed our entrance and everyone knelt around the mats in front of the parents.

"I only knew of two masters within the group but they are always full of surprises," Coach said. "I do not know the rankings of every member of the clan. I have arranged, however, for Brian Frost and Whitney Anderson to demonstrate a few basic moves and then to give a full contact exhibition." Coach also wore a red gi with his black belt and another man joined him in a similar outfit. An old Chinese man with a white beard and a pair of Hawaiian board shorts and shirt approached from the other side.

"On my left is Coach Jack Phillips of Logansport High School," Coach said. "His team gave us a run for our money in the Semi-state. It happens that Coach Phillips and I served together and trained together in the Marines. On my right is the venerable Master Cho. Among martial artists, he is a legend. I have asked these two to test and comment on the skills of Whitney and Brian as they demonstrate their skills."

Shit! Whitney's master was here. She reached over and grabbed my hand when she saw him walk in, nearly crushing it. He looked so ... weird. It was like, this guy cannot be a martial artist. He's just a little old man in funky clothes.

"As I don't wish to be humiliated in front of my own students, Coach Phillips and Master Cho have also agreed to spar a round with each other so you can see what the top masters in the martial arts can do. We'll begin with that demonstration. Gentlemen, to first fall." Coach Hancock stepped away and the two men took up positions on opposite sides of the wrestling mats. They bowed to each other. Then the match was on.

It was funny and stupid to watch. Coach Phillips was maybe two inches shorter than Coach Hancock and was built like the Marine he was. Master Cho looked like a silly little old man. Hands and feet flew at an amazing speed but few landed. I recognized the defense as many of the water moves Coach had taught us. It just flowed. Master Cho was so fluid it was difficult to see how he got from one place to another. Coach Phillips was also a master and moved with the grace and speed that I'd begun to see in Coach Hancock. But even I saw the opening he went for when Master Cho appeared to stumble. Master Cho was on one foot and leaning to the side when Coach Phillips hit him in the chest with a snap kick.

Coach Phillips landed on the floor.

Master Cho was still standing in the same awkward position.

"Master Cho is a rock," Whitney whispered. "So are you."

Coach Phillips bounced back up off the floor and bowed to Master Cho who bowed back. The students applauded. It was like watching something out of Kung Fu.

"Whitney. Brian." Coach Hancock called for us and we went to the center of the mat. We must have made quite a pair in our red gis with Whitney eight inches taller than me. We did a few forms side-by-side as Coach commented on the style and why forms in slow motion were important. Then we were ready to start. "This is an unusual demonstration for a school to see. Whitney's and Brian's parents are here and all parties have signed a waiver of liability allowing the two to demonstrate full contact without pads, much the same as you just saw Master Cho and Coach Phillips. Personally, I have not trained either of these athletes that most of you know from basketball both here at St. Joe Valley and at MHS. I have, however, observed them training together the past two years. To first fall," Coach concluded and stepped off the mats and gave a short burst on his whistle.

Whitney and I stepped back and bowed to each other, observing the formalities Coach taught us about competitions. We started like we often start sparring, reflecting each other in forms as we moved in a circle facing each other. I'm sure we looked like rank amateurs compared to what they'd just seen with the two masters. Whitney struck first, coming straight at my chest. I slid around her and hit her with an elbow on the back of her shoulder. I barely got out of the way of the roundhouse kick that came toward my head as she swept past me.

It was game on.

Whitney and I often spar for an hour and seldom put each other down anymore. Now that we had acquired skills in both water and rock, we found that we had more defense and more offense to draw on. Oh, we both landed blows. I planned to spend a good part of the night rubbing arnica into our bruises. But the act of sparring took us both to a different place in our heads. It was exercise, fighting, ballet, and foreplay all in one. And this time, we were fighting to create a sense of mystique and protection around our friends. No one would know how many of us were trained or what the colors of our gis and belts meant. That they had nothing to do with martial arts was nobody's business but our own.

As we became more and more warmed up, we moved faster and faster. And then, I discovered that Whitney still knew things that I did not.

I swear the punch she threw never touched me. It wasn't even a punch. Her hand shot out toward my chest, palm facing me. The impact hit me way before her hand did. It lifted me off the floor and I came down hard on my butt with my mouth open staring at her.

Whitney had mastered air.

I didn't bounce up as fast as Coach Phillips had when Master Cho put him down. Coach Hancock's whistle blew and I struggled to my feet. Whitney and I bowed to each other and then to the three masters and finally to the students. There was silence in the gym until our bows were finished and then applause and cheers erupted from the student body. Our families and our clan maintained discipline and sat in silence. Whitney and I returned to our seats next to the mat with our casa, our red gis the dominant color in the group.

I chuckled when I thought about the fact that the red gis actually meant my committed lovers. Whitney nudged me and told me to be quiet, but I saw that she was smiling, too. Coach went on into a lecture on self-defense and the discipline that it takes to become a proficient martial artist.

Then Coach Phillips asked for volunteers to demonstrate basic self-defense moves. He and Coach Hancock explained several situations in which students might be in bad positions. They ranged from aggressive school competitors to date rape. The volunteers were taught how to escape and quickly disable an attacker.

"Self-defense is exactly what the words say. It is not an act of aggression," Coach said. "I'm certain that no one here has witnessed any of the students surrounding the mat bullying another student. In fact, many of you remember that four years ago, Brian was attacked by a gang and was hospitalized. Even when the gang attempted to finish the job in the school parking lot, you did not see him raise a hand. On the other hand, many of you saw the cut and the scar on his ear that he brought back after Christmas break. He stepped between a much bigger aggressor and a woman that had been abused—beaten. The attacker—hyped up on meth—managed to cut Brian with his knife before he was subdued. We are informed that after four months in the hospital, that attacker has now been moved to a prison cell where he will reside for many years to come."

"We have not brought these words to you to frighten you," Coach Phillips joined in. "Many of you will graduate in a month. School is a comparably safe place when compared to the world at large. Some of you will go directly into the military. Some of you will go to college. Some of you will enter into relationships with your life partners and sadly, a few of those will experience domestic violence. When I sparred with Master Cho, I was the aggressor. It is part of the way I was taught. Frankly, I believe I could have beaten on Master Cho all morning and would ultimately have dropped to the mat from exhaustion before he was moved. Master Cho?"

"De-escalate," the Chinese man said softly. Everyone in the gym was straining to hear what he had to say. "Do not increase the ire of those who would do you harm. Let them pass. They are their own enemies. Be the sun, warming the souls of those around you. Let your light blind those who would hurt you. But do not hesitate in your defense when the enemy will not be appeased. Be safe, young people. Carry peace in your hearts and you will find peace wherever you go."

Well, that sure wasn't what any of us expected to hear, but his words rang true to me. I'd been in too many situations at the ripe old age of eighteen where I'd ignored that advice and I carried the scars inside and out. I could almost feel his words wash me. Peace was not weakness.

We filed out of the gymnasium followed by our parents.

We didn't change out of our gis, but all left school even though there was one period left in the day. Of course, everyone headed for our house, including the parents. There were so many of us that we couldn't all fit in the house and with it being such a beautiful May evening, we lit a bonfire and moved outside. We had cars parked the whole length of our driveway and the Barness'. Ford was out of town, so no one was home next door.

There was a lot of congratulating of Whitney and me for our performance and asking how bruised we were. It seems that our sparring went on for about twenty minutes before Whitney knocked me on my ass. I had no concept of the passage of time. We managed to escape for half an hour and I took her to my room to shower and tend to the bruises. There weren't too many, so we took a few minutes to comfort each other in other ways. We stayed in the bathroom as she leaned over the sink and bent her legs slightly so I could reach her sex with my cock. She pushed back and down onto me. I think we'd both been ready for this ever since we came off the mats.

I reached around her thin hips and found her clit with my fingers and was immediately flooded with her juices. She pushed back harder and I slammed into her harder. For three minutes, we fucked with the same intensity that we'd sparred. We couldn't last through twenty minutes of that.

When we returned to the bonfire clean, salved, and sated, we found food was appearing on the picnic table. Chinese take-out, pizzas, sacks of burgers from McDonalds. Bags of chips, cases of soft drinks, half-a-dozen pies. The other thing that had appeared was an easel with floor plans and area plans for our new home in Bloomington. Dad fixed a halogen work light up so people could see and comment on the drawings. Rachel had really been busy. There were elevation drawings that showed the modular dwelling behind the main house, a shelter over the horse arena, and parking areas. The one that blew me away was a drawing of the kitchen-studio in the main house. Apparently Rhonda had been working pretty tightly with Rachel on getting that designed. With the high ceilings on the main floor, Rhonda was able to specify studio lighting. I still wasn't sure how she expected us to pay for that. Or how we were funding any of the improvements, including the pad and plumbing for the modular, the remodeled bathrooms, or the horse arena.

It was mostly parents gathered around the easel. There was a lot of discussion among the adults.

I mentally took a survey of where my casa was. Whitney had been drawn away from me by a group of adults and for a minute I found myself alone. Sam was talking to the fearsome foursome with their green sashes. Geoff and Robyn were with them, too. Jennifer, Courtney, Liz, and Nicki were all with Doug, Rachel, and Doreen laughing about something. Josh and Cassie were with their parents. Mr. Clinton had an arm around Josh's shoulder. I think Josh was approved as suitable for his daughter. I finally spotted Rhonda. She was standing with her mother at the edge of the gathering and smiling. I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"It's nice to see, isn't it, patrón," Rose said as she slipped her hand through my arm. "That might be the most encouraging sign yet."

"Yeah. She calls home every week—it's part of her agreement. But it looks like she's finally really making a connection with her parents again. At least with her mother," I said. "I hope she can patch things up with her dad. He really thought he was doing the right thing for her."