Page 6 of I See Red

The Dark Clouds Circle

Somewhere in the 90’s

“He loves me not, He loves me….”

—Ivy

Tayden and I have been dating on and off for four years now. It feels like I’ve known him for eternity, like our souls were somehow bound to each other from the beginning of time. We are just kids, but the energy that flows between us is intense. We don’t always have a lot to say when we are face to face; mostly, we just awkwardly fumble our words and hold hands. Most of our true conversation happens within the letters we slip into each other’s lockers at karate, folded like footballs, then shoved through the cracks of the wood. I enjoy that he writes back to me, as writing has always been my favorite form of communication. You can never truly get all the words out to someone you want to say in the moment, but something about writing them on paper; it’s like nothing is left unsaid. Bonus, you get to keep themforever. I would assume most young girls with boyfriends my age write about girlie, mushy stuff. However, that’s not Tayden and I. We talk about things in life with true emotion and intent. Mostly ending with I don’t know why I love you, I can’t explain it, but I feel it with all I am. I believe we have spent most of our relationship trying to figure out why we are so drawn to one another and less actually learning about each other. It’s a complicated mindset at twelve, feeling so strongly but not fully understanding it. I know it’s a once-in-a-lifetime connection like I watch in Disney movies. Honestly, it’s better than any I’ve ever seen. We are grown-up-like in our communication; our physical interactions are yet still so innocent, which I appreciate more than ever. I do love it when he kisses me, though. The feel of his cold hands on my cheeks, his chapped lips gently brushed against mine. I think people at the karate school have noticed, but nobody says anything. Well, at least not to me. Once again, I’m not the one with friends, and I think most are afraid to upset me. Others are jealous that I get more time with Sensei and out of class sometimes to go hang out with him in his apartment out back. I love it there, and it’s attached to the studio, so it’s not like I have to leave the premises to get there. I get more time there than others, and it’s true he does allot me privileges; he doesn’t allow others in our group, but that’s a them problem. I am not certain as to why, but I’d like to believe that he sees in me a struggling kid with a horrible home life that I never dare speak of, not even to him and especially not to Tayden. I could have it all wrong, but I still like to believe that he recognizes I get overstimulated a lot in normal interactions all the other kids partake in after school. At the studio, I’m rarely invited anyway, so, most days in my free time, I just turn on my Walkman and eat warheads while spacing off if Tayden isn’t around. I like to believe Sensei sees that I just want acceptance, conversation, and to be seen. So he acknowledges it in his own way, whetherhe’s back there with me or not, which he rarely is. Whether it’s sitting on the porch and feeling free for those sacred moments from the chains that suffocate me at home or throwing knives and tomahawks to let out the built-up aggression from my life, both bring me the same result—peace. I’m aware I carry so much anger inside of me, blinding rage just waiting to surface. Some days, I would literally punch someone every minute of the day if I could, but at the same time, I just want to be likable, loved, and included. But fuck them. I have Tayden, and that’s more than enough. I’d take anyone on, but I wish I could take on my father more than anyone. Sensei allows me a safe space to gather my thoughts, to not be consumed by my thoughts, and to simply exist in the world that all my peers take for granted each day. His apartment is like a pretend home to me where, for the little bit of time I get in there, I have freedom, choices, and security to just exist safely without fear or harm.

God, I sound pathetic. You’re twelve, Ivy, with no friends, and your only one is a grown-ass man.

Tayden, on the other hand, is friends with everyone. He has a very tight group of friends inside the studio that I do know. Outside, I’m not too sure who he hangs out with. Martial Arts is Tayden’s second love. Soccer has always been his first, until me, that was…Vain much?

Arriving at the studio, I race to the girl’s locker room to get changed; reaching in my bag, I begin pulling out my uniform. I always like to set my things nicely before putting them on, mainly because I hate changing in dressing rooms. Any help assisting in a quick turn out isalwaysa plus. Setting the stack next to me, I slip out of my shorts sliding on my black century pants. I’m already about 5’4”,I know, giraffe,and even though the carpet has more bumps than me at this point, my pants are still like high waters.

Hello Steve freaking Urkel.

My frustration forces a gasp from my lungs when I realize I forgot my shirtagain.Great, now I have to wear a spaghetti strap under my Gi. Sensei is not going to be happy in the slightest. I may get the privilege of escape, but he’s never been one to let discipline and rules slide, regardless of who you are.

Pulling the inside strings together, I intertwine them, trying to secure them as tightly as I can in hopes nobody takes notice I’m in partial uniform today.

We don’t need another reason for the instructors to hate me today.

Lastly, I extra secure it with my red belt. Turning, I take a look in the raggedy body mirror they probably purchased from Dollar General twenty years ago.You’re a badass.

I cram my clothes into my backpack, doing a double-take in the mirror, checking my hind end to ensure there is nothing stuck to it.All girls do this, right?I race out to my locker across the way, hoping I can see Tayden before class again. Rushing through studio A over to studio B, I’m out of breath already.Shit, what is my locker code again? Oh yeah, 03-06-33.

You’d think you’d remember it by now, Ivy. Three and six are your favorite numbers.

It’s weapons day, so I reach in, snagging my Bo staff, nunchucks,and dan bongs out. Running over to my place on the red tape, I place them on the line, securing my spot for class. Taking a look back, I see Tayden still standing at his locker.

Whew, I made it in time.

I race over to him, aware we only have a few moments.

“Hey Ives, you ready for class today? It’s your favorite, weapons day.”

I adjust my hair up into a high ponytail, hoping my long, dishwater blonde hair does not slip out in class again; nothing like being a girl in a male-dominated sport and having to stop mid-routine to adjust your hair.

“Ha, you know I’m always ready for weapons and forms, but I may have to be sick on technique day,” I joke, letting out a fake cough, covering my mouth as if I am actually sick.Tayden nudges my shoulder, letting out an under-breath laugh, sliding his arm around my waist. “Don’t go getting sick on me; then you’d be home and not here for me to secretly check out in class.”

Aww, he checks me out in class. It must be those wicked high kicks floating high up in the air, just like my heart when it is around him.

“Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys after class, cool?” He turns to his friends, waving them off.

“Yeah, catch you later, Tayden,” they all say, falling out in a ripple effect.

I can feel his hand through my Gi top. It is the most secure feeling in the world when I feel the ice of Tayden’s hands against me, not that they have ever been anywhere else. I do, however, think about them often. I know I shouldn’t be at my age, but better his than theirs. When I feel his brisk touch, warmth spreads through my already warm-blooded body, trickling places from head to toe. It’s like a furnace ignites inside me, and I’d do anything for him to bring me back to room temperature.

“Your hands are freezing babe,” I gush, trying to come out of my ice trance.

“Why don’t you hold them so they warm up?” he playfully replies, looking at me with a side grin, knowing damn well I like them cold. Not that it would even work. He could have gloves on all day, and once he took them off, they’d still be freezing.

“Yeah, right. If I’m holding your hand, it’s not to warm them; it’s to enjoy them. Don’t play dumb.” I shoot him a wink, asserting my dominance in this debate.

“That’s why I always put them in the ice machine when I get off the bus while you’re changing, to ensure they are exactly the right temperature for your liking.”

“Oh really?”He always knows how to make me laugh.

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