Triangle Choke (The Dojo) Page 3

  “Just wait until we spar with those guys. I’ll show all of you I’m ready.” Nong sits back down. “Then, I’ll get on Fight Night and be in the UFC while you guys are here jumping rope.”

  “We’ll see, we’ll see,” Jackson says. He cracks a smile, but he doesn’t crack me. I’m not thinking about the UFC; I’m thinking about Eddie. I guess I’m happy for him that he must have lost weight to get down to my weight level. I wonder if he did that on purpose.

  “So, who do you think gets the W?” Shawn asks. “I think Stan’s showing more.”

  “No way, you watch. My man Kelven will prevail,” Nong says.

  The fighters tap gloves to start round 3. Kelven is quicker, but Stan’s stronger. Like every fight, it comes down to who is smarter. Not in brainpower but in training your reflexes. On the mat, you’re not a person. You’re an instinct-fueled machine.

  Stan scores another takedown, but he looks gassed. He’s on top, throwing elbows and short punches. Kelven is fighting them off. Then he snatches Stan’s left arm with his right, pushes his hips out, gets his other arm over Stan’s shoulder, and locks his grip. Stan’s arm is at a painful angle behind his own body. A Kimura submission.

  “I told you,” Jackson says.

  Stan fights the pain, but it’s too much. He taps Kelven’s leg. Nong cheers like he’d just won the fight. “That guy’s almost as good as me,” Nong says.

  “We’ll see how good we are next week I guess,” I mumble. I’m worried about the fight with Eddie. Not that I won’t beat him—that I’ll hurt him ten times worse than he hurt me.

  “Hector, be careful,” Mom says as I walk out the door. I’ve been training for two years and have yet to be hurt seriously, so you’d think she’d let it go. But she says it every time.

  I head to the garage and pull out my bike. My legs pump hard and fast as I head to the dojo, like they will tonight in the ring. My cardio is strong, and I feel confident with more submission training recently under my belt. Eddie may have dropped out of Roosevelt High, but tonight, I’m going to take him to school.

  In the van on the way to the MMA Academy, Mr. Hodge speaks calmly to Nong and me. Nong’s talking more than usual—a sure sign that despite his bravado, he’s nervous. I’m cold and steely.

  The MMA Academy is a lot nicer than Mr. Hodge’s place. They’ve got way more weights and gym equipment. They’ve set up a few chairs in front of the ring. While Mr. Hodge talks to a tall guy, probably the dojo owner, I’m keeping an eye out for Eddie. It’s been more than a full year since I saw him last, not that I’m keeping track or anything.

  “We can warm up over there.” Mr. Hodge points to a large curtain, like you’d find in a hospital, in the far corner. Nong and I changed into combat clothes at our dojo. Nong’s sister-in-law made him a robe with the words Ninja Warrior laced in red. Mr. Hodge looks angry at Nong. He doesn’t go for showboating.

  Nong starts warming up, throwing kicks and punches into a blocker that Jackson holds. I do the same with Meghan. The blood pumps through me as I smack the pads.

  “Nong, you’re up first,” Mr. Hodge says. Nong, Jackson, and Mr. Hodge head for the ring, but I stay in back with Meghan and Mr. Matsuda, although he’s on the phone.

  “You scared?” she asks.

  “Why should I be?”

  “Well, this is kind of like your first real fight, isn’t it?” Meghan asks. She’s right that this is my first time sparring with someone outside of my gym, but it’s not my first fight with Eddie.

  “It’s just another day at the dojo,” I say calmly. I’m dancing on my heels as I pound the pads with rights and lefts, throwing in a straight kick every now and then. My plan is to strike, strike, and then strike some more. It will be hard for Eddie to win with my fists in his face.

  On the other side of the curtain, we hear a rumbling. Nong’s fight has started. I’d like to see it, but I need to get ready. I need to find my rhythm.

  “Well, I’m scared,” Meghan says. “I think you’re crazy if you’re not.”

  “Then I’m crazy, I guess.”

  “No, Hector, I’ve known you almost three years and, for sure, you are not crazy,” Meghan says. She laughs and I punch harder. “You’re one of the sanest and most serious people I know.”

  Things get louder outside. “See what happened,” I say.

  Meghan peers around the curtain. “Nong’s on top of the guy, trying to finish him.”

  “Let me know when it’s over.”

  Less than a minute goes past, when Meghan says with a sigh, “It’s over. Nong tapped.”

  “How?”

  “I think Nong gassed and the guy choked him out. He’s okay, but I bet he’s hurting.”

  I’m glad MMA is not really a team sport, because then I’d have to act like I was upset, like Meghan seems to be about Nong losing. But I’m not, and it’s not just because sometimes I don’t like Nong much. It’s that his loss means I have to win. I welcome the pressure to win.

  “Okay, Hector, you’re next!” Mr. Matsuda shouts. I take a deep breath, say a prayer, and start toward the ring. Meghan’s behind me. I glance over and catch sight of Eddie. He’s not walking to the ring alone either. My Rosie is right beside him.

  Rosie slaps me hard across the face. “How could you?”

  The slap doesn’t hurt, but her tone and her tears do. “What are you talking about?” I say.

  “You and that girl from the dojo, Meghan. I know all about it.”

  “There’s nothing to know.”

  “I trusted you, Hector. I love you and you cheat on me?”

  I try to hug her, but she pushes me. We’re standing outside of school at our usual meeting place to walk home together. It was a perfect spring day until this dark cloud of lies fell over me.

  “Here’s your ring!” She takes my class ring hung on a necklace around her neck and throws it at me. It catches me just above the eye.

  “Rosie, why are you doing this? This is crazy. I do love you, and I didn’t cheat on you.”

  As I try to hug her again, she starts bouncing her small fists off my chest. My instinct after a year of MMA in training is to fight back, but this isn’t a foe, this is my girlfriend. I just let her crash her hands into me.

  “Rosie, please stop this. I don’t know what you heard or from who, but it’s not true,” I explain. “Not only would I never cheat on you, but I’d get kicked out of the dojo if I hooked up with Meghan. Mr. Hodge forbids any of the guys from dating any of the girls in the dojo.”

  “From what I heard, I wouldn’t call what the two of you did dating.”

  “You’re wrong. I don’t know what else to say.”

  She pushes me, freeing herself. “That’s good, because I never want to see you again.”

  As Rosie walks away, I know that I’ll put the hurt on whoever lied to her. I pull out my phone and start calling people. I’d like to call Meghan directly, but she’s never given me or anybody else I know of her phone number. Nong doesn’t answer, but I reach Jackson. He denies it, and I believe him. He doesn’t even know Rosie, so how would he tell her? Only one person in the dojo knows both me and Rosie. Eddie. Eddie can tell me who lied about me.

  I call him, but it just rings. I text but get no response. I know Eddie wouldn’t tell lies to Rosie, so maybe he said something that she misinterpreted. She can get pretty jealous, something I’m guilty of as well. And Meghan and I have been spending more time together because we’re both doing Muay Thai training on Thursday nights. There’s been a lot of clinching, but nothing other than that. I like Meghan fine, but I’d never cheat on Rosie.

  I try calling Rosie again, but she won’t pick up. Instead of heading home, I go straight to the dojo an hour before class. I’m lucky that Mr. Hodge is there and he lets me in. I do my best to hide that something’s wrong, and I say I’m fine when he asks. But Mr. Hodge is an expert at reading people’s body language.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asks.

  “No.” I str
ip off my shirt and pick up a pair of gloves. I start swinging away at the punching bag. I burn off anger with my left hand and hurt with my right. I punch until my hands ache. When I peel off the gloves, there’s blood on both sets of knuckles. I’m exhausted as I head into the dressing room. I put a towel over my eyes to block out the light. I wish there was a towel I could put over my mind to block out images of Rosie. Images of the two of us together.

  “You training tonight?” I hear Mr. Hodge ask. I shrug and glance at the clock. It’s six. I should call home and let my parents know why I missed dinner, but before I do, I try Rosie again. She doesn’t answer. When Eddie gets here, I’ll ask him what’s going on.

  Mr. Hodge loans me a gi for training, but my head’s not into doing the drills. Nong keeps distracting me. I’m even more distracted by Eddie—or rather Eddie not being here. I thank Mr. Hodge but tell him that I’m not ready to train tonight.

  I try both Rosie and Eddie again. Rosie doesn’t pick up, while Eddie’s phone goes right to voice mail. I wonder if he’s sick. He’s missed the last few training sessions, which isn’t good—he really needs them. While he was an okay high school wrestler, Eddie hasn’t picked up the other skills you need for MMA as fast as I have or as fast as the other people we started with a year ago. Every time Eddie and Jackson battle, Eddie loses. Most of the times Eddie and I fight, I win despite weighing thirty pounds less and having a shorter reach. I can tell it’s frustrating him. The last time we fought, he didn’t touch gloves before or after the fight, not that there was much time in between. I knocked him down with a high kick and got his back. I finished him in seconds by locking my arms around his head and neck in a rear naked choke. I could feel him give up even before I cinched in the hold.

  From the dojo, I walk in the rain over to Eddie’s house. Eddie’s little half brother, Manuel, answers the door and lets me in. I head to Eddie’s room and open the door without knocking, like I’ve done a hundred times. “Hey, bro, why—”

  But that’s as far as I get before I see Eddie sitting on his bed with my Rosie by his side.

  “Hector,” Rosie starts, “let me explain—”

  But she doesn’t finish her sentence either. She’s too busy yelling at me to stop punching Eddie in the face.

  “Tell her you lied about Meghan!” I shout, but Eddie’s not talking. I decide to loosen his jaw with a hard right. He’s trying to defend himself, but I’m dominating.

  “So she came to you to cry on your shoulder!” A left connects to his shoulder.

  “How long?” I ask over and over again. Each time I ask, I connect fist to face until his nose breaks and blood shoots like a gusher. “Hector. If you love me, you’ll stop!” Rosie shouts. I’m still punching Eddie when his foster mom yells at me from the doorway to stop. His little brother is crying and hanging on to his mom, while Eddie’s dad steps in front of me and tells me to leave.

  On the mat, Eddie’s no match for me. Never was and never will be. Just like our friendship, I guess—never was and never will be. But in this love triangle, he’s won and I’ve been choked out.

  “Ready?” Mr. Hodge hands me my mouth protector before I climb into the cage for the first time. I put in the mouth guard, readjust my sparring helmet, and strap on my gloves. We wear MMA gloves, which aren’t as padded as boxing gloves. That worries me—it increases the chance that I’ll break my hand on Eddie’s thick skull.

  I know this fight ends with my hand raised in victory, but I don’t know how it begins. Will Eddie extend his glove at the start of the fight? If he does, I will respond out of respect for him as a fighter, not as a person. But he’s got to do it. He’s got to step up and show me a sliver of respect, if not regret. But either way, I’ll dominate the rest of the fight.

  The MMA Academy master is acting as the ref. He calls us to the center of the cage. I walk over, head down. “Gentlemen, you know the rules. You’ll be fighting three two-minute rounds. If there is no winner, I will act as the judge to decide one. Obey my instructions at all times. Protect yourself and have a good fight. Let’s make this happen.”

  I finally lift my head and stare at Eddie. He puts out his right hand, and I touch gloves. He smiles or maybe smirks but my expression never changes. The ref blows a whistle and it’s on. There’s some noise from the small audience of fighters, but I block it out.

  Eddie comes straight at me. He ducks my first punch, shoots his arms under mine, locks his hands, and takes me over with an underhook. On my back, I see Eddie throw punches that don’t connect. I sense he’s looking for my arm, so I keep my punches short and quick. His mount is sloppy, and I quickly scoot off my back. Standing again, I alternate punches and kicks, but Eddie’s defense is strong and nothing gets through. He tries another underhook, and we’re into the clinch again. Eddie lands a pair of short knees, but I’m controlling the action, just burying knee after knee into his gut. Eddie breaks away and throws a big, sweeping hook that misses and leaves him open. I land a hard, straight left over the top. Then I rush in and bury him in elbows before Eddie puts me in a clinch.

  “Hector, takedown, takedown!” Mr. Hodge shouts.

  I use an outside leg trip, and now I’ve got Eddie on his back. He’s protecting his head, so I aim for the body. As each punch lands, I hear Eddie’s breath. He tries to grab my arm, then my head, trying to work a submission. I fight that off and stand. I can beat him here. Eddie scrambles to his feet, but I greet him with a left-right combination and then rush in with a knee. He’s in trouble, so he grabs the clinch. I force his head down as I throw my knees up, but before I can land a solid shot, the whistle blows. Eddie’s breathing heavy; I haven’t broken a sweat.

  Mr. Hodge talks to me between rounds. “You were surprised how aggressive he was, right?” he asks. I nod and then take a sip of water. “It worked for him at first, so expect it. Can you use that against him?” I nod again. Hodge gives a little nod back before round 2 begins.

  Just like the first round, Eddie barrels right in, but I fight him off with more punches and leg kicks. I throw a kick toward his knee, but it’s tentative. He snatches my left leg and trips me. Before Eddie can get a full mount, I push off and scramble to my feet. Eddie brings the action again, and I clinch him, throwing a few more punches to the body and more knees. Eddie fights off the clinch and throws another hard right that just misses. Before I can counter, he lands a kick in my ribs that I feel all the way down to my toes. Eddie keeps throwing kicks and punches that miss. Then, before he can plant his foot from a missed kick, I dive for his legs. He tries to shoot his legs out behind him in a sprawl, but I have it locked. I lift, turn, and we’re headed toward the mat. As I follow through with the takedown, Eddie wraps his right arm around the back of my neck. Even before we hit the mat, he’s trying for a guillotine choke. I tuck my chin to avoid it, but he sweeps and takes side control. He keeps trying for the choke. I fight off the submission and manage to get to my feet. I’m standing for just a second before Eddie wraps his arms around my legs, lifts me up, and slams me to the mat with a perfect double leg takedown. He keeps trying to submit me, but he can’t hold me down. We stand again, and while he’s fighting aggressively, his punches have no snap and his leg kicks are lazy. I let him bring the action and wait for my opening. He misses another big punch, leaving himself open. I destroy him with a hard kick to the side and follow with punches. He tries another takedown, but I avoid it as the whistle blows.

  “You won the first round, he probably got the second,” Mr. Hodge says during the rest period. “Work the body. You’re wearing him out. He’s a strong fighter, but you’re the better athlete, right?” Hodge wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true. He doesn’t just say those things.

  At the start of the last round, I extend my glove, but Eddie ignores it. We circle and Eddie throws a glancing kick without much force. He tries another, but I grab his leg with my right hand, punch with my left, and then trip him to the mat. I land right on top and take full mount. I snap off a few short punches be
fore Eddie stuffs me back into full guard. I fight it off, and then we’re back on our feet. There’s nothing behind the punches he’s throwing, so he tries for a takedown. He’s relentless. When he tries a shoulder throw, I grab his head for a guillotine, but he shakes it off. I counter with knees to the body. I’m off balance, and he bullies me to the mat. He’s on top but not in control. I scoot on my butt, making him reach. When he tries for another knockout punch, I deflect it and use his aggression against him. I get my right leg behind his neck while my right hand squeezes his arm across him. He’s breathing heavy, caught in my triangle choke.

  I squeeze my legs together, putting pressure on his neck with all my strength, and then I feel it: his hand tapping on my leg. He submits. The ref taps my shoulder, and for a split second, I consider not letting go. Everyone from my dojo is applauding. They’re my only support now. I listen for Rosie’s voice, but I don’t hear it. Instead, I hear the ref call us to the center.

  “Good fight gentlemen, good fight,” he says and gives us both a pat on the back. “The winner by submission: Hector Morales.”

  The ref raises my right hand, and with my left, I take out my mouthpiece so I can do something I haven’t done in a long time when thinking about Rosie and Eddie. Smile.

  I turn toward Eddie to show him the respect he deserves as a fighter and prove I am a gracious winner. My gloved hand extended, I wait.

  Eddie touches my glove and I respond in kind. “Eddie, did you cut weight just so—”

  He cuts me off. “You’re the better fighter, Hector.”

  My former best friend doesn’t apologize for betraying me, for stealing my girlfriend, or for crushing my spirit. All he had to do was say “I’m sorry,” and so much hurt and anger could’ve washed away. Instead, he tells me something I already know.