Side Control (The Dojo) Read online

  The cop laughs. “Son, a picture is worth a thousand words.” He takes a photograph from a large envelope. It looks like a security camera photo, time-stamped from last night. When he was with Tyresha. In the photo are twenty bodies crowding a small corner store, but only two faces are visible. One is Hakeem, stuffing his hoodie full of merchandise; the other is another black male also stuffing merchandise into a jacket. An army jacket. With the initials .

  Jackson sits in the small cell and closes his eyes to distract himself. He visualizes his fight and sees himself doing just like Mr. Matsuda tells him to do: get side control. If he pushes his opponent over, he’ll get his back and choke him out. If he pulls the guy back, he’ll get the mount, where he can knock him out or work for a guillotine choke or another submission.

  But as Jackson waits for his mom, he considers his options. They’re all bad. If he tells the truth that it’s his brother in the photo, then Joseph is in trouble. If he takes the fall for his brother, then everything he’s worked so hard for the past three years will be lost. Even if he serves up his brother, then he needs an alibi of where he was, which means admitting being with Tyresha. If his mom finds out, she might tell Mr. Hodge, and then they’ll be in trouble.

  He recalls being in the same kind of room three years ago. He had nothing: his dad was dead. Playing football, the only thing that mattered to him even a little, would be taken away. Jackson’s crime then was hanging around the wrong people. His crime now is letting his brother do the same thing. Somehow, Jackson thinks, that’s even worse. Waiting around the JDC seems worse now too—scarier, since he’s got more to lose.

  If six minutes in the MMA cage can seem like an hour, then the hour he’s spent in the cell waiting for his mother seems like an eternity. When the door opens and she’s standing there with tears in her eyes, Jackson can only return the emotion.

  The corrections officer escorts Jackson and his mom to a small room. The C.O. leaves them to sit down in the hard chairs provided. Between them is a small table with a brown envelope lying in the middle.

  “We won’t need that long,” Jackson’s mom says. “There’s been a mistake.”

  The C.O. makes a half-laughing, half-coughing sound as he shuts the door.

  His mom reaches for the envelope, but Jackson snatches it. He holds it against his chest, pulling it tight like a choke hold.

  “Jackson, what is in that envelope? What is going on?”

  Jackson looks upward. What would his dad want him to do? His dad died protecting other people. Wouldn’t he want Jackson to sacrifice for his brother? But if Joseph got away with it, then he’d keep making the same mistakes and hanging with the wrong people. Mr. Matsuda is wrong: side control isn’t the best position. It’s the hardest, because it forces you to choose. Choose wrong, and you might be the one who ends up pinned or tapping out.

  “Jackson!” his mom shouts, something she never does, bringing him back to reality. “I’m talking to you!” She looks angry but also confused and a little afraid.

  “I’m sorry I let you down,” Jackson mumbles. “I’m sorry I let dad down.”

  “No, I know there’s been a mistake. I know you, Jackson. This is not who you are now.”

  Closing his eyes, Jackson remembers being unable to answer when Tyresha asked him, “Who are you?”

  Am I good brother? he wonders. And if so, what does that mean?

  Jackson’s mom works hard to calm herself. “Jackson, let’s sit and talk. Tell me what’s going on, please.”

  Jackson says nothing, just shakes his head back and forth

  “What are you thinking, Jackson? Talk to me, please! What are you doing?”

  With a hard stare fixed on the table in front of him, Jackson says, “Deciding.”

  “Jackson, are you ready?” Mr. Hodge asks. Jackson bangs his gloves together.

  “I’ve been waiting for this for two years,” Jackson answers.

  “Me, too, Jackson,” Mr. Hodge says. “Do you remember what you said that first night when I asked everyone to introduce themselves? Everybody was talking about their black belts.”

  Jackson laughs. “And I said the only belt I had was the one holding up my pants.”

  “But that’s not true now,” Mr. Hodge says. “You stuck with the program. You got your belts, and you’re a top-notch fighter. You can win this fight tonight.”

  “But you need to listen to us and do exactly as we say,” Mr. Matsuda chimes in. “You didn’t do that in your spar with the MMA Academy kid, and you lost to a fighter you should have destroyed.”

  Jackson nods his head and bangs his gloves together again. He rocks back and forth on the small stool in the locker room as Mr. Matsuda goes over the game plan. Every now and then, Mr. Hodge interrupts to ask Jackson a question. His answers are brief, to the point.

  “He who controls the fight, wins the fight,” Mr. Matsuda says and then pats Jackson on the back. “Nobody controls your destiny but you.”

  Jackson wonders how true that is, since he just decided his brother’s destiny for him this morning. His mom is another face in the crowd outside, his brother’s in jail, and his dad’s in heaven. Nobody is where they belong, Jackson thinks, except me once I step into that cage.

  “You’re up after this fight,” Mr. Hodge says. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  Alone, Jackson thinks, is the last thing I want to be. He stops punching the air and heads for his locker. He takes out his phone and pulls up the recent numbers. Tyresha picks up. Jackson can hear the noise of the crowd around her.

  “Jackson, what are you doing? You should be thinking about your fight,” she says.

  “I don’t want to think about it. I just want it to happen,” Jackson says.

  “You’re going to win. I know it.” Tyresha says. “I’m in the second row. Look for me.”

  Jackson doesn’t answer. With everything he’s been through the past forty-eight hours, what had been the most important thing in his life doesn’t seem to mean much. Perspective packs a mean punch: it doesn’t knock you out; it wakes you up. Jackson hopes Joseph reaches the same conclusion.

  “Are you there?” Tyresha asks.

  Jackson doesn’t say anything. In his silence, he hears the crowd swell like there’s been a knockout or submission. His fight is next; his time is now.

  “I have to go,” Jackson says.

  “Break his leg, JJ!”

  Jackson laughs. “Which one? His right or his left?”

  “You decide.”

  Jackson James Steve Wilson

  Age 18 33

  Height 6’0” 5’10”

  Reach 75” 71”

  Record 0–0 2–4

  Jackson listens to the ref’s instructions, but his stare is fixed on his opponent. For a second, Steve Wilson reminds Jackson of the cop who arrested him, but Jackson pushes his anger down. Aggression wins fights—not anger. Instinct, not emotion, must control him.

  After a brief feeling-out period, Wilson rushes in, but Jackson fights him off. Pushing forward with jabs and kicks, Jackson fights off Wilson’s underhook and an over/under takedown attempt. Landing a hard right, Jackson escapes from Wilson’s clutches. Jackson moves to the center and pursues Wilson, pressing until he’s got him near the cage again. When Wilson tries a knee, Jackson catches it, trips the foot, and pushes him to the mat with a sweeping heel throw. The crowd cheers as Jackson works some ground-and-pound from inside Wilson’s guard. He looks for a submission, but Wilson’s chin is tucked while he throws short punches.

  “Ten seconds,” the ref calls.

  With no chance of submission, Jackson stands out of Wilson’s guard. Wilson starts to get up, but Jackson throws a right that puts Wilson down. Jackson leaps on top, pounding the older fighter, who is breathing heavily and bleeding from the nose.

  When the bell rings, Jackson heads to his corner. Part of him wants to look into the crowd for his mom and for Tyresha, but he’s got to keep his head in the fight.

  “Good first r
ound,” Mr. Hodge says. “Ground him, pound him, then finish him.”

  “He’s scared of you, so use it,” Mr. Matsuda adds. “You’ve got control. Now keep it!”

  Wilson lands a sloppy left hook to start the second round. Jackson responds with a harder right. As Jackson tries to follow with a left, Wilson gets him in the clinch. Jackson changes levels, drops down, lifts Wilson around both legs, and slams him hard into the mat. As Wilson tries to get back to his feet, Jackson grabs his ankle and drives him back to the canvas. Wilson scoots on his hips, and they’re pressed against the cage. Jackson drives hard with his legs, escapes the guard, and gets side control. He punishes Wilson using knees and elbows. Wilson turns and gives Jackson his back, but he tucks his head so Jackson can’t get the rear naked choke. When Wilson assumes the turtle position, the ref yells at him to start fighting back.

  At the ten-second call, the ref stands both of the fighters back up. Wilson shoots in, but Jackson sprawls and attempts a standing guillotine choke. Wilson escapes and the fighters exchange wild punches. Wilson lands several hard shots as the bell ends the round. The punches hurt, but not as bad as the one Jackson throws hard against his own right leg, taking out his frustration.

  Mr. Matsuda looks less pleased this time. “Jackson, the end of that round was like the fight you lost, you know that? He can’t beat you—only you can. Be aggressive, not angry, if you want to win!”

  As Jackson bends over, sweat pours off and forms a puddle on the mat. Matsuda fires questions at Jackson as quick as kicks. Jacksons answers each with a quick nod to show he understands. His head moves back and forth rhythmically; Jackson needs to find the same rhythm and focus in the cage.

  Mr. Matsuda grabs Jackson’s chin and forces him to look him in the eye. “So? Are you going to finish him or not?”

  Jackson’s eyes blaze. When the bell rings, he bangs his gloves together, takes a deep breath to focus, and charges out of his corner. Wilson avoids an early kick and lands a looping right hook. But Jackson answers with a right, left, and a harder right. The last one leaves Wilson staggering, and he slumps against the cage. Jackson tries another right and a takedown, but Wilson gets him off-balance in the clinch. Wilson shoots, aiming for Jackson’s leg. To defend, Wilson puts his head down, and that’s all that Jackson needs. He sinks a guillotine choke. Wilson reaches up, trying to unlock Jackson’s arms, and in doing so gives Jackson the opportunity to wrap his right leg around Wilson’s back. Jackson has total control of his head and neck.

  Jackson squeezes hard, knowing full well the pain and pressure Wilson’s feeling in every cell of his body. With his eyes closed, teeth clinched, and his muscles taut, Jackson holds for the submission.

  “That’s it,” the ref yells, tapping Jackson on the shoulder as Wilson taps the mat.

  “Forgive me if I’m not in the mood for celebrating,” Jackson’s mom says when he meets her at the car. “I’m proud of you. I know your father would be too.”

  “I fought a smart fight, but he wasn’t much competition.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” his mom says. Jackson looks away so he doesn’t have to watch his mom cry, like when he told her what Joseph had been doing with Hakeem. Telling his mom didn’t feel like snitching, especially since Joseph’s decisions almost cost Jackson everything that mattered to him. The thing to do now, he thought, is convince Joseph to do the right thing—the hard thing—and turn against Hakeem.

  “You really think Dad would be proud?” Jackson whispers, his expression softening.

  “I know it. But that’s not as important as how you feel. Do you feel proud?” Jackson’s mom looks him straight in the eyes before they climb into the car.

  Jackson puts his earbuds in to drown out her questions and his lack of answers.

  “Where are we going?” Joseph asks. Both Jackson and his mom are silent as they drive away from the JDC. The judge let Joseph go home pending trial or a plea deal, but Hakeem will still be detained because of repeated juvenile offenses.

  “This is garbage,” Joseph protests. “I didn’t do nothing.”

  Jackson turns and points his finger at his young brother. “When this is over, I want Dad’s jacket back or else.” He’d let Joseph use his imagination to fill in the details.

  “Mom, did you hear that?” Joseph whines.

  But Jackson’s mom says nothing. She just keeps driving. After a few minutes of silence, she slows and pulls over.

  “What’s going on?” Joseph asks.

  “Get out of the car!” Jackson’s mom shouts at her younger son. He obeys but stops in his tracks when he sees where they are. It’s Hakeem’s house.

  Jackson’s mother bangs on the door. It takes a while, but eventually Hakeem’s mother answers. She looks down at Jackson’s mother. “What do you want?”

  “We need to talk about this situation,” Jackson’s mother says.

  “Ain’t nothing to talk about,” Hakeem’s mother says. “You raised two snitches.”

  “And you raised a thief!”

  Hakeem’s mother turns away from Jackson’s mom and stares right at Jackson. “And who do you think taught him?”

  Jackson’s mom shakes her head in anger—or maybe it’s the shame and regret that Jackson’s feeling as well.

  “I don’t want to see your son around Joseph again. Understood?” Jackson’s mom says in an unnaturally calm voice.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, she’s not,” Jackson says as he takes a step closer. “She’s telling you how it’s going to be. Look, trust me, you don’t want to make this woman mad. She’s a warrior.”

  “Your son has been nothing but trouble to my boys,” Jackson’s mother continues. “He got Jackson to—,”

  Hakeem’s mother laughs. “My boy didn’t get Jackson to do nothing. It was his idea!”

  “I don’t believe you!” Jackson’s mom shouts.

  “Maybe he can try that ‘reformed hero’ crap on others, but I know what your son is,” Hakeem’s mother says as she lights up a smoke.

  “I don’t care about what happened three years ago. I care about what is happening now. You can’t replay the past. You bury it, or it buries you. Hakeem is to stay away from my sons.”

  Hakeem’s mom inhales the smoke and takes in Jackson’s mom’s angry brown eyes.

  “This is garbage,” Joseph yells and walks toward the street. “I don’t need you telling me what to do or who to be friends with. I can think for myself.”

  Jackson shakes his head. Obviously not, he thinks. Like in the cage, you might think you’re ready to take on anything, but it takes years of absorbing the blows to really learn how to fight. “No, Joseph you can’t.”

  “Shut up, Jackson, I don’t need to listen to you.”

  “You don’t need to, but you will. And do you know why?” Jackson leaves his mom and Hakeem’s mom standing by the door. He towers over his little brother. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Believe me, deciding what’s right and wrong can be the hardest thing in the world.”

  Joseph stares at his brother, but he’s no match. In just seconds, Joseph blinks and heads back toward the car as if Jackson were leading him from two steps behind.

  With one more glare at Hakeem’s mom, Jackson’s mom joins her sons at the car and starts the engine.

  The drive back to their house is stone silent: no words, music, nothing.

  Once the car stops, Joseph starts to open the door, but the locks click shut. Just like when the cage door shuts, Jackson knows a moment of truth is just seconds away.

  “Now, you listen to me, the both of you,” Jackson’s mom says. She’s got the same tone she showered all over Hakeem’s mother. “Hakeem’s mother was right about you, Jackson. You are a leader, and I expect you to continue to step up at home, at school and, because it matters to you, in the cage.”

  Like when Mr. Hodge yells instructions, Jackson answers with a firm nod of his hard head.

  “And you, Joseph, we’re n
ot doing this,” Jackson’s mom turns to face Joseph in the backseat. Her glare is worthy of a fierce fighter at a UFC weigh-in.

  Joseph shrinks in the seat. “What do you mean ‘we’?” he asks.

  “This family, we are not falling apart. Today it was my turn to stand up, but tomorrow it might be your turn. We’ve already lost one member of this family. We will not lose ­another.”

  Jackson smiles, but not where his mom can see because he knows how serious she is. He thinks how, with a hero for a father, a warrior for a mother, and a fighter like him for a brother, there’s no way Hakeem or his mom wins. No way that Joseph loses himself to the street. Jackson’s family is as strong as the cage.

  When Jackson walks into the dojo the Monday after his fight, Hector, Meghan, Nong, and Tyresha applaud him. Since he’s eighteen, it’s Jackson’s last practice with the teen class. Everyone—that is, almost everyone—is happy to see him.

  “I want another chance,” Rex says, approaching.

  “Listen, Rex, we had a second fight. You lost it,” Jackson reminds him.

  “That first fight was my first night. Do you really think that counts?” Rex asks. “Do you think everything you did when you were younger and stupid should be held against you?”

  Jackson shakes his head in agreement. “But you’ve only been fighting a few months.”

  “I’m a quick learner.”

  Jackson laughs. “No, you’re not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jackson kisses his fist. “A quick learner would know you don’t want none of this again.”

  Rex puts his fist out, and Jackson bumps back. “How about tomorrow after class you come by and we’ll go again. I know you don’t practice with us anymore, but I’m up for a spar.”

  “Sure thing, Rex, but I think you’ll regret it,” Jackson says. “And trust me, I know a lot about regrets. But hey, you can’t win a fight looking backward.”