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Instead of explaining, I punch the bag strong, barely moving the bag.
“See? That’s a snap punch. You want to hit the bag, not push it. You aren’t trying to pierce through it with your hand. You make your punch, but then you allow that reaction to snap back. I mean…” I sigh. Explaining these things is harder than I thought. “If you hit properly, you’ll feel a snap back to you, but not because you pull your hand back. The impact rebound returns to you. They’re tricky to do, but they’re way better than pushing punches. They let you preserve energy, while at the same time punching harder and faster. You try.”
She hesitates. She stands in a boxing pose and I see she’s trying to focus. I give her some time. She takes a swing, but doesn’t reach the punching bag. She’s just practicing. She hits the air a few more times and then slams against the bag so hard that it rattles from the chain.
“I moved it,” she says shyly.
“Great for your first try,” I assure her. “And, practice makes perfect. Now, for the flow.”
I turn to the bag and gently urge her to move backwards a little. I punch the bag several times, not allowing more than 3 seconds of pause between each blow. As I change up combos of punches, I keep moving around, making sure the punches are natural, calm and concentrated, as my hands dance forward and backward. Finally, I stop and lower my hands.
“See? Flow,” I smile. “Connected combinations of punches. It’s not just a mindless attack, until you can’t keep your hands up any longer.
“I don’t think I can do that,” she shakes her head in disbelief.
“Don’t worry,” I smile. “I wasn’t able to do it properly for a long time. I eventually got better at it. Just start by throwing light punches. Try not to move the bag too much. Feel the rebound and accept it. Don’t pull back. Allow your hand to react naturally.”
“Should I move or just stand in one place?” she asks.
“Start by standing,” I tell her. “Just keep your feet firmly on the ground, back straight, hands in front. Never lean in and don’t use your shoulders. Always face the bag, never try to shoulder in on it. That leads to bad balance and in boxing, balance is your best friend. If you want to keep moving a little, just focus on your hands. Many beginners make the mistake of putting their hands down while moving around the bag. Don’t jump all over the place. This tires you out unnecessarily. Always have both feet on the ground, even when you’re moving. Just make small steps and don’t cross your legs.”
“You know I won’t remember any of that the moment I leave out that door?” she tells me with a smile.
“That’s why you’ll throw as many punches now as it’s necessary for you to remember,” I tell her.
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t nod. Instead, she punches the shit out of that bag. I hear that satisfying crack, as her hair flies wildly and little droplets of sweat appear on her forehead. I occasionally remind her to straighten her back, or not use her shoulder, but this aside, she’s a natural. She does a straight 2-hour workout, with breaks, of course, and by the end of it, we’re both sitting on the bench, exhausted. We drank all our water and we’re both soaking wet. The room echoes with our heavy breathing, but I feel now that the storm has passed. The hurricane has calmed down.
“I have no idea how,” she somehow finds enough energy to speak first, “but, I feel so much better.”
“This is where I let all my frustrations out,” I explain, looking around.
We both see the same used up, wooden shack, with creaking floors and jumbled up equipment. Whoever would come in here, would probably see the same. But, now, she sees exactly what I see, the hidden image, the one beneath the surface. She understands that my mind gets angry sometimes, but my mind knows h
ow to deal with it. My hands are my tools, they can anger and they can soothe.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been really angry,” she whispers, thinking, trying to remember.
“Is it because you really never felt the need for it or because they told you it’s not nice to be angry?”
She gives me a meaningful glance, one of those looks that pierces through all your defenses, through all your protections and hits you in the very core. I already know the answer. I wonder if she does.
“It’s just easier to let go,” she replies.
“But the problem is, you don’t let go. You sweep it under your carpet, until there is no more room left. And, then what?” I’ve never spoken with anyone like this. I want to help her. I want her to know that she can be whoever she is with me, with us. We will accept her as she is. We already have.
“I’m scared,” she continues. “Like, all the time and of everything. I wish I was angry instead.”
“Be angry then,” I smile. “Who’s stopping you?” She doesn’t say anything, I just hear her deep breathing, in rhythm with mine. “When you get angry, come here. We’ll be angry together.”
I turn to her and our faces are so close. There is nothing between us. My breath is her breath, just a thin strip of reality separates her lips from mine. Without thinking, without caring about anything else other than this single moment, I lean towards her and kiss her. She tastes like the beach, of salt water and sand, as my hand finds her cheek, to keep her pressed against me. She gives herself to me, she lets go, her lips melt and turn to lava, to chocolate, to seawater, to everything delicious I’ve ever tasted.
Our kiss seems to last forever, when we both pull back suddenly, at the same time. Her face is a crimson red, her sweet cheeks like red apples, as her lips smile shyly. Somehow, I believed she’d run away as soon as I let her go, but she’s still here. She’s not saying anything. She doesn’t need to. I can hear her heartbeat and that’s all I want to listen to.
Chapter 23
Theron
This is crazy. This is absolutely insane. She’ll probably punch me in the face for doing it. I shouldn’t. I probably shouldn’t.
