Triangle Choke (The Dojo) Page 6

  Martin and I touch gloves again and pick up where we left off. When another one of my lefts lands short, Martin responds with another body kick. When he tries to repeat, I block it with my left and throw a right uppercut. It rocks him. I follow with a kick to his side and an overhand left. He’s against the cage as I pummel him with fists, kicks, and knees. I’m a striking machine.

  Next, Martin tries to shoot, so I sprawl. He pushes toward me with his legs while I punch. He backs off, circles, and tries to shoot again. Just like with Marcus, I time it perfectly and my knees crash into his chin. He falls back, and I’m on top unloading shot after shot, including a hard elbow just over his right eye. I try again for the elbow, but he grabs my arm.

  “Ten seconds!”

  I lock my hands together in a viselike grip, which prevents Martin from applying the submission fully. He cranks my arm, but I’m saved by the bell.

  “Good round, Hector,” Mr. Matsuda says during the break. “He knows you took that one. Win this last round and you win the fight.”

  “Make him fight your fight!” Mr. Hodge says. “Don’t let him choose his way.”

  I nod. I’m trying to rest up and stay loose for the next round at the same time. One more to go.

  The bell rings and we touch gloves. I start circling, but Martin’s feet are flat. He gets lucky with a hook on the bridge of my nose. It stings and I feel the blood flow. When he tries the hook again, I use the opening to throw a kick to his right side. Then another. I hear him gasp for breath. Faking a punch to the face, I throw a hard kick to his left side. He fakes a kick and then shoots. I stuff him, clinch his neck, and bring my knees up. When he pushes out the clinch, I greet him with a left overhand, right uppercut, and liver kick combination. I keep moving and striking while he’s trying to clinch and work a takedown. He pushes me against the cage, drops down, and lifts and throws me toward the mat. But before he can mount, I sweep him and now I’m on top. I land a hard right between his eyes. That opens up the cut from my elbow more. He covers up so I can’t get anything through and can’t see a submission opportunity from this angle. I feel he’s about to get guard, so I back away and stand back up. When he stands, I ambush him with a liver kick, a right uppercut, and an overhand left. The left rocks him and he hits the mat. I pounce.

  “Ten seconds.”

  I consider a guillotine choke, but his head is tucked with no space to wrap my arm under his chin. Instead, I throw right after right into his side. With every one that connects, I hear him gasp for air. Finally, the bell rings.

  I wait for Martin to rise so we can touch gloves and embrace before the decision, but he’s still on the mat. His coach and the trainer rush in. I turn toward my corner, but Mr. Hodge and Mr. Matsuda are already in the ring. “One more minute and you would’ve put him down.”

  I’m silent as I wipe away the sweat, mixed now with tears. From the first time I walked into the dojo three years ago, I’ve been waiting for this day. The greatest day—win, lose, or draw.

  Martin’s trainer and coach help him stand as the announcer reads the decision. “Judge Horton scores it 30–29 for Martin. Judge Northrup scores it 30–29 for Morales. Judge Stanley scores it 30–29 for your winner by split decision: Hector Morales!”

  Martin and I touch gloves and embrace. “Good fight, man. You’ve got great stuff,” he says.

  “You too.” I look him in the eye briefly before glancing over his shoulder.

  I look for Dad in the audience. At first, I just hear and see people cheering for me. I taste the sweat and blood running down my face, and I breathe in the smell of the cage. Then I catch his eye—Dad is still clapping with others in the crowd. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile in a long time. As I go to leave, I touch the cage again. Yes, I am like the cage: hard and cold. But I when I hugged my dad earlier tonight, I answered Meghan’s question of what I’m fighting for.

  “Mom, I won!” I call Mom after I’m cleaned up and my cut has been treated by the doctor.

  “I know,” she says.

  “Were you there?”

  “No, your father called to tell me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he was very proud of you,” Mom says. I wonder if she is too. “He also said that he promised if you won, that he’d go to church with us tomorrow night. Is that true?

  “Well, Mom, I think it’s best if just Dad and I go.”

  “Oh.” She sounds confused. “Why?”

  I pause. I’ve decided what to do, but I can’t tell Mom if it doesn’t work. “Just trust me.”

  “You know, Hector, part of me was hoping you’d lose tonight,” she says. “Then maybe you’d decide this isn’t something you wanted to do with your life. I just don’t understand it, Hector.” She’s quiet for a second. “If only your father wouldn’t have taught you how to box—”

  I shake my head even though she’s not standing there to see how much I disagree. “No, this was something I decided to do. By training me to box, he just gave me the confidence to be good at it.” I knew all along that mastering the martial arts that make up MMA are what make you an athlete, but I’m beginning to think it is who you are that makes you a champion. If I want to be a better fighter, I need to be a better person. And that, like my amateur career, starts tonight.

  “Gotta go, Mom. I’ll be back in a while.”

  Nong is quiet in the car on the ride home, and I don’t blame him. The only conversation is when I give him directions.

  “You don’t want to go home?”

  “Not yet, I need to make a stop.” We drive more in silence until I tell him to pull over. The white SUV is parked in the driveway at Eddie Garcia’s house.

  “Can you wait a few minutes?” I ask Nong, and he nods.

  I get out of the car and go to the door. Unlike last time, Eddie’s foster father answers.

  “Is Eddie home?”

  His face shows his surprise. He scratches his chin, like he’s thinking of an answer. “Yeah. It’s been a long time, Hector.”

  I shrug. I liked Eddie’s family. I miss them too.

  “I’d been meaning to call you,” he says, almost in a whisper, as he lets me in. “To thank you.”

  “Thank me?”

  “After Eddie lost that fight to you, he told me he was quitting MMA,” Eddie’s foster dad says through a wide smile. “He’s getting his GED and then going to Missouri Southeast Community.”

  His dad calls for Eddie, and a few seconds later, Eddie and Rosie emerge from the basement.

  “How’d it go tonight?” Eddie asks once his father walks away.

  “I won.” Eddie breaks out a smile and puts out his hand. I shake it. “Eddie, what I said about being a better man, well … that wasn’t right.”

  Rosie is the one who responds. “No, it wasn’t,” she says.

  “Rosie told me what happened, and it’s not right what the two of you did to me,” I say. They glance at each other, and I sigh like I’d been liver kicked. “But if I’m going to be a better fighter, I need to be a better person. I need to get rid of everything that weighs me down. Like being mad at you two.”

  “You had every right to be angry, bro,” Eddie says and offers me a fist bump as a sign of peace. I take it.

  “So, for what it’s worth, I forgive you,” I say, although I say it only to Eddie. I just can’t look Rosie in the eyes.

  Eddie hugs me, and then Rosie follows. “We’re both sorry, so sorry,” she says.

  “And Eddie, I’m sorry for taking it out on you in the ring,” I add.

  Eddie holds his chin up high. “I would’ve done the same thing. I deserved it.”

  “We all do things we regret,” I say. Eddie nods. I hold out a fist as my good-bye, and Eddie’s fist meets it. I catch a smile from Rosie as I turn to leave.

  The lights are on in the house, which means Mom is still awake.

  “Are you hurt?” are her first words after I’m in the door. She’s hurrying toward me from the couch.


  “Just a small cut, but you should see the other guy!” I say.

  “Let me see it,” she says. I push my hair out of the way, and she takes off the bandage. “Did they have a doctor look at this?” I nod, but Mom’s shaking her head in disgust.

  “Hector, I wish you could know how this hurts me,” she says. “I wish somehow you could stand in my shoes and know what it feels like to see someone you love hurt.”

  “But I’m doing what I love and what I’m good at. You should be proud of me.”

  Mom sighs and looks me straight in the eye. “Just because I’m afraid for you doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you,” she says.

  After work on Saturday, I have some time before Dad picks me up, so I head to the dojo. Nong’s nowhere to be seen, but both Meghan and Jackson are sparring with adults in the Saturday night class. I ask Mr. Hodge if I can join in, but he declines.

  “I don’t want a day off to celebrate,” I say.

  “Hector, that has nothing to do with it,” he explains. “A fight like that can drain you mentally, and that’s when you’re most likely to get hurt. You can watch, but no sparring.”

  “What’s going to happen to Nong?” I ask.

  “I haven’t decided yet. What do you think his punishment should be?”

  “I think he’s already been punished enough by not being allowed to fight.”

  Mr. Hodge shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll give him a choice. Make weight for his next fight, or I’ll ask him to leave the dojo. Does that seem fair to you?”

  “That seems pretty harsh.”

  “Nong needs to stand up and face his fear,” Mr. Hodge says. “There’s no point in training if he runs away from every fight by not making weight.”

  His words sound right, as usual. They also sound familiar—like something my dad once told me. My mind digs through memories as I watch the students sparring.

  “I thought Saturday Mass was at five,” Dad says when he picks me up outside the dojo just before seven. I climb in his truck without looking at him so I don’t have to lie to his face.

  “They switched it.” I quickly change the subject. “I might fight again soon.”

  “You’ve got the itch for victory now.” He laughs and I join in. He seems in a good mood—and sober.

  “Can I wear your robe again?”

  “Sure thing, son,” he answers. He sounds proud when he says “son.”

  We pull into the church parking lot after a few minutes. “Not many people here tonight,” Dad says. There are about ten vehicles. “I wonder what’s up.”

  I don’t answer. Instead, I get out of the truck quickly so I can get a few steps in front of him.

  “Did you make some sort of promise to God that if he let you win the fight, you’d take your father to church?” Dad laughs when he says it.

  “I didn’t need God,” I tent my hands in prayer but then turn them into fists. “I had these devil twins. And I had you training me all those years. Do you remember when we started?”

  Dad is quiet for a second as he gets out and shuts the truck door. “No, I don’t remember so good anymore.”

  “I remember something you said to me,” I say as I walk slowly toward the activity center rather than the sanctuary. Dad follows me. “You said, ‘You can’t run away from a problem, you need to stand your ground and not be afraid.’ Do you remember that?”

  Dad looks like he’s thinking hard. “No, but it sounds like something I’d say.”

  “Do you still believe that?” I ask, and he stops in his tracks when he sees where we are.

  “What’s going on?” But before I can answer, he sees the list of events occurring in the church activity center tonight. There is only one: 7:30 P.M. ALCOHÓLICOS ANÓNIMOS.

  He looks at his watch, then back at me. A young Latino man passes by us.

  “What is this, Hector?” I hear the fury in his voice.

  “When you told me I could train, you said ‘don’t let me down,’ and I didn’t. I kept my promise. Now you need to keep yours. If you can’t do that, then I don’t want to see you again.”

  “Hector, I said I’d go to church with you, not this. Not this.”

  “That’s not the promise I mean,” I say holding back tears. “You also said you’d never let me down. You need to do this for me. And for mom, for Angelina, for Eva, and for yourself.”

  He stares but says nothing, and I wonder if he’ll actually choose to lose us. Then he sighs slowly and takes a first step into the meeting room and back into my life.

  “Son, you know we never want you to start a fight.”

  “I know.”

  “But if someone starts one and won’t give it up, I want you to know how to fight. You can’t run away from your problems. You need to stand your ground and not be afraid. OK?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  He starts to say more, but Mom yells from upstairs. “Victor, what are you two doing down there?”

  “Nothing, just talking,” Dad says and then makes a motion for me to be silent.

  “Dinner’s in a half hour. You need to pick up the girls from their honor society meeting.”

  “I will.” Dad’s showing me how to lace up boxing gloves and telling me stories from when he started boxing at my age. Eventually, he became a Golden Gloves champion.

  “Did you box on TV?” I ask.

  “No, Golden Gloves wasn’t like that,” Dad says. “You fight for pride. You fight to prove your skills. And I guess, even though you’re a boy, you fight to prove you’re a man.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “They call boxing the sweet science, but it’s more than that,” Dad says. “Boxing teaches you everything you need to know about life. You get hit, and you get up again.”

  “And you’re going to show me?”

  “For now, we’ll keep it a secret from your mother. I can count on you, right, Hector?”

  “Don’t worry, Dad, I won’t let you down.”

  Dad gives me this strange look and it’s weird, after talking about being a man, to see his eyes get a little watery. “I won’t let you down either.”

  I hug him tight, and then we finish putting on the gloves. “You’re a fighter now, Hector!”

  Brazilian jiu-jitsu (BJJ): a martial art that focus on grappling, in particular fighting on the ground; also called Gracie jiu-jitsu

  choke: any hold used by a fighter around an opponent’s throat with the goal of submission. A blood choke cuts off the supply of blood to the brain, while an air choke restricts oxygen. Types of choke holds include rear naked (applied from behind), guillotine (applied from in front), and triangle (applied from the ground).

  dojo: a Japanese term meaning “place of the way,” once used for temples but more commonly used for gyms or schools where martial arts are taught

  guard: a position on the mat where the fighter on his back uses his body to guard against his opponent’s offensive moves by controlling his foe’s body

  jiu-jitsu: Japanese-based martial art that uses no weapons and focuses less on strikes and more on grappling

  Kimura: a judo submission hold. Its technical name is ude-garami, but it is usually referred to by the name of its inventor, Japanese judo master Masahiko Kimura.

  mount: a dominant position where one fighter is on the ground and the other is on top

  Muay Thai: a martial art from Thailand using striking and clinches. It is often referred to as the art of eight limbs for its use of right and left knees, fists, elbows, and feet.

  shoot: in amateur wrestling, to attempt to take an opponent down

  sprawl: a strategy to avoid takedowns by shooting the legs back or moving away from a foe

  submission: any hold used to end a fight when one fighter surrenders (taps out) because the hold causes pain or risk of injury

  takedown: an offensive move to take an opponent to the mat. Takedowns include single leg, double leg, and underhooks.

  tap: the motion a fighter uses to show he o
r she is surrendering. A fighter can tap either the mat or his opponent with his hand.

  TKO: technical knockout. A fighter who is not knocked out but can no longer defend himself is “technically” knocked out, and the referee will stop the fight.

  UFC: Ultimate Fighting Championship, the largest, most successful mixed martial arts promotion in the world since its beginning in 1993

  Flyweight under 125.9 pounds

  Bantamweight 126–134.9 pounds

  Featherweight 135–144.9 pounds

  Lightweight 145–154.9 pounds

  Welterweight 155–169.9 pounds

  Middleweight 170–184.9 pounds

  Light Heavyweight 185–204.9 pounds

  Heavyweight 204–264.9 pounds

  Super Heavyweight over 265 pounds

  Patrick Jones is the author of numerous novels for teens, including the Dojo series, as well as the nonfiction books The Main Event: The Moves and Muscle of Pro Wrestling and Ultimate Fighting: The Brains and Brawn of Mixed Martial Arts from Millbrook Press. A former librarian for teenagers, he received a lifetime achievement award from the American Library Association in 2006. He lives in Minneapolis but still considers Flint, Michigan, his hometown. He can be found on the web at www.connectingya.com and in front of his TV most weekends, watching UFC and WWE pay-per-views.