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Description

I slept well. Sure, I was amped up a bit after I got home. I replayed both matches in my mind several times, imagining what I could have done differently to win. Next time; I told myself with finality so I could sleep.

I expected to hear from Saul on Saturday, but all I got was a one-line email that read “thank you for taking part, we appreciated it very much and look forward to next time.” There was another email alerting me to a mobile payment transaction, and I was pleased to find a healthy amount had been added to my balance. Maybe too healthy.

I debated the morality of what had happened, and nearly sent the money back. I let my mind mull it over for a couple days, and in the end, I decided that it was fair. He’d asked for a service, and I’d provided it. I deserved to get paid.

More than that, I’d enjoyed wrestling the girls. I had missed the competition. I also decided to increase my time at the gym. I’d been going regularly, but truth be told I’d skipped a few sessions when I could’ve pushed through.

I didn’t hear from Saul for the next week, nor the week after that. I started to think I wasn’t going to get another call; maybe I wasn’t good enough, losing in the second round like that. Maybe he’d expected more.

Another week went by, nothing. And another week, a month now with no communication. I debated trying to contact him, but my contract had advised against it. He was the one that was supposed to contact me.

…

Three months later, I had all but given up on hearing from Saul. Then, I opened my work locker to find an envelope had been slipped through its vent slots. There was no writing on the outside, but I guessed who it was from and why there was no name, probably to protect me in the unlikely event someone else found it.

I stuffed the envelope in my bag and opened it when I got to my apartment, after, of course, pouring myself a glass of chardonnay. I had expected wrestling. Maybe grappling. What I read shocked me nearly to the point of a panic attack.

There were two items in the envelope. First, a thick, all-black business card. The card was matte black, and had no printed writing on the front. On the back was a hand-written address, date, and time.

The second item in the envelope was a letter sized piece of thick paper, with a typed list. I read the first line:

    ·         “The first rule about fight club is you don’t talk about fight club.”

Oh shit, I thought as I put the paper down in my lap. I started breathing heavily. Maybe that was a joke. I laid the paper carefully on my side table. I glanced at the writing, then quickly away after only catching a few more words. I wanted badly to read the rest but I resisted, for now. My hands were shaking. Fight club.

I thought about the movie I’d seen only a few years ago at a boyfriend’s house. “You haven’t seen Fight Club?” he had exclaimed excitedly. “It’s awesome,” he continued, “we’ve got to watch it.” He had pulled out his laptop and brought up a pirated copy of the DVD. The movie was older, I remembered that. Brad Pitt, of course, and … Edward … Norton, that was it. I couldn’t even remember what it was about. I only remembered the same parts that everybody remembers. Brad Pitt explaining the rules, and Edward Norton bashing that blond guy’s face.

There was no way I could sleep with that piece of paper left unread on the table.

    ·         “The second rule about fight club is you don’t talk about fight club.”

It seems like every guy I’ve ever known likes to talk about fight club. It was the reason half of the guys on my college team had taken up MMA.

I read the rest of the list while my mouth got dryer and dryer.

    ·         “The third rule in fight club, when someone says stop, or goes limp, the fight is over.

    ·         Only two girls to a fight.

    ·         One fight at a time.

    ·         No shirts, no shoes.

    ·         The fights go on as long as they have to.”

The final rule on the list was the one everyone knows, whether or not you’ve seen the movie.

    ·         “If this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.”

…

“I’m sorry but I can’t do it,” was all I wrote in an email to Saul.

I couldn’t sleep the night before, thinking about the sheet. The date was in two weeks, on a Saturday night, technically really early Sunday morning at 2:00 a.m.. I drove by the address on my way to work, it pointed to a nondescript two story building. I shook my head, could be anything in there.

At work I opened my email to find a reply.

“Please consider it, Haley,” Saul wrote. “You enjoyed the last event, right? You should enjoy this too. Only women involved, I won’t be there but can be nearby if it makes you feel better. Watch the movie, read the book, and decide then.”

I sighed heavily, my hands shaking again. I re-read the note later when I got home. There were additional instructions after the famous rules that outlined attire and a few additional rules added for supposed fairness.

I rented the movie on Netflix. I watched the men fight. Why only men, I thought, women can fight too.

I wanted to know more so I purchased the book on my tablet, and read the whole thing in virtually one sitting.

Saul wanted me to reconsider, so I did. I’d said no before, and taken back my word. The wrestling had been fine, fun even. I hadn’t gotten hurt, there was little chance of that. But this was different. I wasn’t even sure it would be legal, probably not.

I let it stew for a couple days more, going through my normal routine. Get up, have breakfast, drive twenty minutes or so to work on a good day, put in my eight hours of paperwork, and drive home in heavier traffic. One thing kept sticking in my mind, a line from the book. “You aren’t alive anywhere like you’re alive at fight club.”

Could I get hurt? Yes, it was possible. I’d be up against another girl probably about my size. But I did know how to fight, how to defend, and I could stop. Was I scared to do it? Absolutely. Would I regret not doing it?

Yes, I admitted to myself one day, I would regret not doing it. Only a little over a week until Saturday night.

…

I arrived at 1:50 a.m., my car headlights illuminating the building number as a I drove in to the mostly empty surface parking lot. I parked, and sat in the car for a couple of minutes trying to calm my nerves. A few other cars arrived while I waited. I slunk down in my seat and watched as one woman got out of each of the first two vehicles and walked up to the front door. There was a card reader there, illuminating a red LED until they held up something which turned the light green before they went in. A third car carried two women, who chatted normally as they carried their gym bags over their shoulders through into the building.

1:54 a.m. Now or never. I grabbed my gym bag from the front seat and opened my door.

At the card reader, I took out my black business card and held it up. The light turned green and the door lock clicked. I took a deep breath and opened it. What I saw was a something like a locker room, with six girls in various states of changing.

“Shut the door,” one of them said.

I nodded in apology, walked in and chose an open part of a bench. The girl next to me finished zipping up her gym bag, loaded it in to one of the wall lockers, and walked through an interior door. I slowly unzipped my own bag as I took in the scene and figured out what I was supposed to do.

A woman walked in from the interior room and announced, “door closes in four minutes ladies,” before walking back from where she came.

I looked at the floor, clean enough. I took off my shoes and socks and put them in my bag. A couple more girls shut their lockers and left, only three of us now. Shit, I chided myself for wasting so much time outside. I didn’t want to be the last one in.

I got out my mouthpiece and lodged it in the waistband of my jeans. Then I extracted my fingerless training gloves and put them on. Another girl left through the door.

“First time?” I glanced over to the voice, the only other girl in the room was looking me over, clearly sensing my nervousness.

I smiled, no reason to lie, “yes.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “you’ll be fine.” She zipped up her bag.

Luckily, I had pulled up my hair before leaving home. The woman in charge came back through the door and surveyed the room, “coming?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, “sorry.” I stood and started to zip up my bag.

“Forgetting something?” the woman said, as if she were talking to a toddler.

I looked down, “right,” I said.

I lifted off my shirt, stuffed it roughly in the partially closed bag, and chose an open locker without a lock.

“Hi Crystal,” the woman in charge said to my only friend as she walked through before me.

She turned to me as I made my way to her. “I’m Meredith, nice to meet you.”

“Haley,” I said before I could remember the fake name I’d wanted to use.

“Weight?” Meredith asked as she wrote my name on her clipboard.

“128,” I said. It was my true weight as I’d checked it this morning.

“Okay,” she said, “I can get you with somebody within ten pounds no problem.”

Ten pounds was a lot in a fight, I thought; hopefully to the lower side.

“Take a seat anywhere,” she said, letting me pass through the door in front of her.

She inserted a special key in the one-way door once we were inside. We could leave but no one else could enter. Meredith went to a side table and looked over her list, evidently creating matchups.

I turned my attention to the room. I had to walk closer to the center before I could see well enough to make my way up one of the stairs to find a seat, which I did as nonchalantly as possible. The room was circular, with several sets of wooden bleachers surrounding a central raised area. A theater, maybe, for one-man shows or something. There were a few overhead lights illuminating the center circle.

I could make out maybe thirty women scattered sparsely throughout the room. Fifteen fights, give or take. There were several conversations going on around the room, between women that evidently knew each other from here or somewhere else. Normal conversations, like you’d overhear at a coffee shop. “How was your, day?” one would ask, and I’d imagine the answer something along the line of “good, took a nap earlier before going to the grocery store, hold that thought for a minute, I have to go fight someone.”

Meredith walked between two of the bleachers and the talking died down.

Please not first, please not first, I pleaded internally to an unnamed overseer.

“Jasmine vs. Gigi,” Meredith said.

Both women, one to my left and the other to my right, stood up and made their way down the bleachers and onto the center mat. Some of the other women called out, “let’s go Gigi!,” and, “show her who’s boss, Jasmine!”

My heart was racing. This wouldn’t be like the last event. I had witnessed my first street fight in the girls’ bathroom in middle school, I felt now like I did then.

Both women had their gloves on, and mouthpieces in before they had stepped into the circle.

Meredith checked them over. Two girls, no shirts, no shoes. They wore jeans in homage to the movie, and sport tops, gloves, and mouth guards for practicality.

“Everyone knows the rules. No scratching, biting, or hair pulling. The fight ends when someone says ‘stop,’ or taps,” Meredith paused, “or goes limp.” The girl I took to be Jasmine cracked her knuckles standing three feet in front of Gigi.

“Fight!” Meredith said, and the two women went all out. Both were amateurs, that was clear immediately. They started slapping at each other’s faces with terrible technique. One of them, Gigi I think, took a bit of Jasmine’s hair as a souvenir.

Meredith stepped out and cupped her hands to her mouth as the fray continued: “no hair! One more and you’re out!”

More slapping as a few shouts of encouragement rang out from around the room. They tried a few kicks but for the most part they only used fists. Gigi was getting tired, this less than a minute in, and wrapped up Jasmine to try to buy some time. Jasmine landed a couple head shots and Gigi went down, not unconscious, just down to her knees and holding up her open palms to signal she was done.

“Stop!” Gigi said, cowering. Jasmine stopped immediately, and bent down to make sure Gigi was okay as Meredith made her way out as well.

My heart rate was still high, but I didn’t even have time to worry about being next.

“Kate vs. Angie,” Meredith announced, not even acknowledging the previous fight as Jasmine and Gigi left the stage.

All business, I thought to myself. As they reached the mat, “Fight!”

Kate and Angie were bigger, in the 150-pound range I guessed, taller than me but also frankly not in as good of shape. They started out swinging but went to the ground in a tussle soon after. They got locked up wrestling, neither giving the other much room to maneuver. There was no referee, and after about thirty seconds of inactivity I started to wonder how this was going to resolve itself.

In theory, they could be locked up for hours. One might eventually get tired enough to let the other get the upper hand, but who knew how long that could be. Sanctioned fights were somewhere between 9 and 25 minutes, I had only ever fought for 9.

“Come on, let’s see a fight!” someone yelled from the crowd. A couple more shouts of disapproval came soon after. One of the two, Angie maybe, took a chance at releasing and getting back to her feet. Peer pressure then, I thought, effective at least that time in getting the fight going again.

I looked around the room but couldn’t see very far through the darkness. My opponent could be sitting next to me for all I knew.

I could’ve beaten the first two girls, and I was being cocky about that. They just didn’t have any skill. Maybe Meredith knew that and paired them; maybe they paired themselves up after an interoffice disagreement that couldn’t be settled via email.

Angie got the upper hand from behind and rained fists into the side of Kate’s ribs.

“Stop, stop!” Kate yelled, also tapping the ground with her left hand.

Again, they displayed some exceptional sportsmanship by hugging it out and congratulating each other on a good fight.

Meredith took the stage and read from her clipboard as if holding auditions.

“Janelle vs. Haley,” she called, looking up into the dark bleachers.

Haley? My name is Haley. I waited for the other Haley to descend the bleachers but none did.

A girl wearing in red jeans and a black top made her way down.

“Haley,” Meredith called again, making a mock visor with her hand as she scanned. She looked in my direction, and motioned me down as she walked off the stage.

I had no choice, the girl in red jeans, Janelle, was ready and needed her opponent, me.

I stood up and walked down the bleachers, taking a couple deep breaths, and practically as soon as I stepped on to the mat, I heard “Fight!”

Shaking I got into my trained fight stance and started circling. I could hold her, Janelle, off for a while as I regained my composure. The mat was soft canvas colored gray, basically the same as surfaces I trained and fought on before. There was a thicker foam ring bordering the circular fighting area.

Janelle’s stance looked more professional than any of those of the first four combatants. She had trained, somewhere, in something. She was just a little taller than me, and bounced from side to side. She had black gloves to match her top, and red hair to go along with her jeans. Coordinated fight club.

Janelle didn’t look angry, nor fearful. She looked generally sweet actually, about my age. She had a concentrated look on her face.
She stepped forward and jabbed her left hand square at my nose, which I ducked under just in time. It wouldn’t have looked good to get knocked out by her first punch.

Description

I slept well. Sure, I was amped up a bit after I got home. I replayed both matches in my mind several times, imagining what I could have done differently to win. Next time; I told myself with finality so I could sleep.

I expected to hear from Saul on Saturday, but all I got was a one-line email that read “thank you for taking part, we appreciated it very much and look forward to next time.” There was another email alerting me to a mobile payment transaction, and I was pleased to find a healthy amount had been added to my balance. Maybe too healthy.

I debated the morality of what had happened, and nearly sent the money back. I let my mind mull it over for a couple days, and in the end, I decided that it was fair. He’d asked for a service, and I’d provided it. I deserved to get paid.

More than that, I’d enjoyed wrestling the girls. I had missed the competition. I also decided to increase my time at the gym. I’d been going regularly, but truth be told I’d skipped a few sessions when I could’ve pushed through.

I didn’t hear from Saul for the next week, nor the week after that. I started to think I wasn’t going to get another call; maybe I wasn’t good enough, losing in the second round like that. Maybe he’d expected more.

Another week went by, nothing. And another week, a month now with no communication. I debated trying to contact him, but my contract had advised against it. He was the one that was supposed to contact me.

…

Three months later, I had all but given up on hearing from Saul. Then, I opened my work locker to find an envelope had been slipped through its vent slots. There was no writing on the outside, but I guessed who it was from and why there was no name, probably to protect me in the unlikely event someone else found it.

I stuffed the envelope in my bag and opened it when I got to my apartment, after, of course, pouring myself a glass of chardonnay. I had expected wrestling. Maybe grappling. What I read shocked me nearly to the point of a panic attack.

There were two items in the envelope. First, a thick, all-black business card. The card was matte black, and had no printed writing on the front. On the back was a hand-written address, date, and time.

The second item in the envelope was a letter sized piece of thick paper, with a typed list. I read the first line:

    ·         “The first rule about fight club is you don’t talk about fight club.”

Oh shit, I thought as I put the paper down in my lap. I started breathing heavily. Maybe that was a joke. I laid the paper carefully on my side table. I glanced at the writing, then quickly away after only catching a few more words. I wanted badly to read the rest but I resisted, for now. My hands were shaking. Fight club.

I thought about the movie I’d seen only a few years ago at a boyfriend’s house. “You haven’t seen Fight Club?” he had exclaimed excitedly. “It’s awesome,” he continued, “we’ve got to watch it.” He had pulled out his laptop and brought up a pirated copy of the DVD. The movie was older, I remembered that. Brad Pitt, of course, and … Edward … Norton, that was it. I couldn’t even remember what it was about. I only remembered the same parts that everybody remembers. Brad Pitt explaining the rules, and Edward Norton bashing that blond guy’s face.

There was no way I could sleep with that piece of paper left unread on the table.

    ·         “The second rule about fight club is you don’t talk about fight club.”

It seems like every guy I’ve ever known likes to talk about fight club. It was the reason half of the guys on my college team had taken up MMA.

I read the rest of the list while my mouth got dryer and dryer.

    ·         “The third rule in fight club, when someone says stop, or goes limp, the fight is over.

    ·         Only two girls to a fight.

    ·         One fight at a time.

    ·         No shirts, no shoes.

    ·         The fights go on as long as they have to.”

The final rule on the list was the one everyone knows, whether or not you’ve seen the movie.

    ·         “If this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.”

…

“I’m sorry but I can’t do it,” was all I wrote in an email to Saul.

I couldn’t sleep the night before, thinking about the sheet. The date was in two weeks, on a Saturday night, technically really early Sunday morning at 2:00 a.m.. I drove by the address on my way to work, it pointed to a nondescript two story building. I shook my head, could be anything in there.

At work I opened my email to find a reply.

“Please consider it, Haley,” Saul wrote. “You enjoyed the last event, right? You should enjoy this too. Only women involved, I won’t be there but can be nearby if it makes you feel better. Watch the movie, read the book, and decide then.”

I sighed heavily, my hands shaking again. I re-read the note later when I got home. There were additional instructions after the famous rules that outlined attire and a few additional rules added for supposed fairness.

I rented the movie on Netflix. I watched the men fight. Why only men, I thought, women can fight too.

I wanted to know more so I purchased the book on my tablet, and read the whole thing in virtually one sitting.

Saul wanted me to reconsider, so I did. I’d said no before, and taken back my word. The wrestling had been fine, fun even. I hadn’t gotten hurt, there was little chance of that. But this was different. I wasn’t even sure it would be legal, probably not.

I let it stew for a couple days more, going through my normal routine. Get up, have breakfast, drive twenty minutes or so to work on a good day, put in my eight hours of paperwork, and drive home in heavier traffic. One thing kept sticking in my mind, a line from the book. “You aren’t alive anywhere like you’re alive at fight club.”

Could I get hurt? Yes, it was possible. I’d be up against another girl probably about my size. But I did know how to fight, how to defend, and I could stop. Was I scared to do it? Absolutely. Would I regret not doing it?

Yes, I admitted to myself one day, I would regret not doing it. Only a little over a week until Saturday night.

…

I arrived at 1:50 a.m., my car headlights illuminating the building number as a I drove in to the mostly empty surface parking lot. I parked, and sat in the car for a couple of minutes trying to calm my nerves. A few other cars arrived while I waited. I slunk down in my seat and watched as one woman got out of each of the first two vehicles and walked up to the front door. There was a card reader there, illuminating a red LED until they held up something which turned the light green before they went in. A third car carried two women, who chatted normally as they carried their gym bags over their shoulders through into the building.

1:54 a.m. Now or never. I grabbed my gym bag from the front seat and opened my door.

At the card reader, I took out my black business card and held it up. The light turned green and the door lock clicked. I took a deep breath and opened it. What I saw was a something like a locker room, with six girls in various states of changing.

“Shut the door,” one of them said.

I nodded in apology, walked in and chose an open part of a bench. The girl next to me finished zipping up her gym bag, loaded it in to one of the wall lockers, and walked through an interior door. I slowly unzipped my own bag as I took in the scene and figured out what I was supposed to do.

A woman walked in from the interior room and announced, “door closes in four minutes ladies,” before walking back from where she came.

I looked at the floor, clean enough. I took off my shoes and socks and put them in my bag. A couple more girls shut their lockers and left, only three of us now. Shit, I chided myself for wasting so much time outside. I didn’t want to be the last one in.

I got out my mouthpiece and lodged it in the waistband of my jeans. Then I extracted my fingerless training gloves and put them on. Another girl left through the door.

“First time?” I glanced over to the voice, the only other girl in the room was looking me over, clearly sensing my nervousness.

I smiled, no reason to lie, “yes.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “you’ll be fine.” She zipped up her bag.

Luckily, I had pulled up my hair before leaving home. The woman in charge came back through the door and surveyed the room, “coming?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, “sorry.” I stood and started to zip up my bag.

“Forgetting something?” the woman said, as if she were talking to a toddler.

I looked down, “right,” I said.

I lifted off my shirt, stuffed it roughly in the partially closed bag, and chose an open locker without a lock.

“Hi Crystal,” the woman in charge said to my only friend as she walked through before me.

She turned to me as I made my way to her. “I’m Meredith, nice to meet you.”

“Haley,” I said before I could remember the fake name I’d wanted to use.

“Weight?” Meredith asked as she wrote my name on her clipboard.

“128,” I said. It was my true weight as I’d checked it this morning.

“Okay,” she said, “I can get you with somebody within ten pounds no problem.”

Ten pounds was a lot in a fight, I thought; hopefully to the lower side.

“Take a seat anywhere,” she said, letting me pass through the door in front of her.

She inserted a special key in the one-way door once we were inside. We could leave but no one else could enter. Meredith went to a side table and looked over her list, evidently creating matchups.

I turned my attention to the room. I had to walk closer to the center before I could see well enough to make my way up one of the stairs to find a seat, which I did as nonchalantly as possible. The room was circular, with several sets of wooden bleachers surrounding a central raised area. A theater, maybe, for one-man shows or something. There were a few overhead lights illuminating the center circle.

I could make out maybe thirty women scattered sparsely throughout the room. Fifteen fights, give or take. There were several conversations going on around the room, between women that evidently knew each other from here or somewhere else. Normal conversations, like you’d overhear at a coffee shop. “How was your, day?” one would ask, and I’d imagine the answer something along the line of “good, took a nap earlier before going to the grocery store, hold that thought for a minute, I have to go fight someone.”

Meredith walked between two of the bleachers and the talking died down.

Please not first, please not first, I pleaded internally to an unnamed overseer.

“Jasmine vs. Gigi,” Meredith said.

Both women, one to my left and the other to my right, stood up and made their way down the bleachers and onto the center mat. Some of the other women called out, “let’s go Gigi!,” and, “show her who’s boss, Jasmine!”

My heart was racing. This wouldn’t be like the last event. I had witnessed my first street fight in the girls’ bathroom in middle school, I felt now like I did then.

Both women had their gloves on, and mouthpieces in before they had stepped into the circle.

Meredith checked them over. Two girls, no shirts, no shoes. They wore jeans in homage to the movie, and sport tops, gloves, and mouth guards for practicality.

“Everyone knows the rules. No scratching, biting, or hair pulling. The fight ends when someone says ‘stop,’ or taps,” Meredith paused, “or goes limp.” The girl I took to be Jasmine cracked her knuckles standing three feet in front of Gigi.

“Fight!” Meredith said, and the two women went all out. Both were amateurs, that was clear immediately. They started slapping at each other’s faces with terrible technique. One of them, Gigi I think, took a bit of Jasmine’s hair as a souvenir.

Meredith stepped out and cupped her hands to her mouth as the fray continued: “no hair! One more and you’re out!”

More slapping as a few shouts of encouragement rang out from around the room. They tried a few kicks but for the most part they only used fists. Gigi was getting tired, this less than a minute in, and wrapped up Jasmine to try to buy some time. Jasmine landed a couple head shots and Gigi went down, not unconscious, just down to her knees and holding up her open palms to signal she was done.

“Stop!” Gigi said, cowering. Jasmine stopped immediately, and bent down to make sure Gigi was okay as Meredith made her way out as well.

My heart rate was still high, but I didn’t even have time to worry about being next.

“Kate vs. Angie,” Meredith announced, not even acknowledging the previous fight as Jasmine and Gigi left the stage.

All business, I thought to myself. As they reached the mat, “Fight!”

Kate and Angie were bigger, in the 150-pound range I guessed, taller than me but also frankly not in as good of shape. They started out swinging but went to the ground in a tussle soon after. They got locked up wrestling, neither giving the other much room to maneuver. There was no referee, and after about thirty seconds of inactivity I started to wonder how this was going to resolve itself.

In theory, they could be locked up for hours. One might eventually get tired enough to let the other get the upper hand, but who knew how long that could be. Sanctioned fights were somewhere between 9 and 25 minutes, I had only ever fought for 9.

“Come on, let’s see a fight!” someone yelled from the crowd. A couple more shouts of disapproval came soon after. One of the two, Angie maybe, took a chance at releasing and getting back to her feet. Peer pressure then, I thought, effective at least that time in getting the fight going again.

I looked around the room but couldn’t see very far through the darkness. My opponent could be sitting next to me for all I knew.

I could’ve beaten the first two girls, and I was being cocky about that. They just didn’t have any skill. Maybe Meredith knew that and paired them; maybe they paired themselves up after an interoffice disagreement that couldn’t be settled via email.

Angie got the upper hand from behind and rained fists into the side of Kate’s ribs.

“Stop, stop!” Kate yelled, also tapping the ground with her left hand.

Again, they displayed some exceptional sportsmanship by hugging it out and congratulating each other on a good fight.

Meredith took the stage and read from her clipboard as if holding auditions.

“Janelle vs. Haley,” she called, looking up into the dark bleachers.

Haley? My name is Haley. I waited for the other Haley to descend the bleachers but none did.

A girl wearing in red jeans and a black top made her way down.

“Haley,” Meredith called again, making a mock visor with her hand as she scanned. She looked in my direction, and motioned me down as she walked off the stage.

I had no choice, the girl in red jeans, Janelle, was ready and needed her opponent, me.

I stood up and walked down the bleachers, taking a couple deep breaths, and practically as soon as I stepped on to the mat, I heard “Fight!”

Shaking I got into my trained fight stance and started circling. I could hold her, Janelle, off for a while as I regained my composure. The mat was soft canvas colored gray, basically the same as surfaces I trained and fought on before. There was a thicker foam ring bordering the circular fighting area.

Janelle’s stance looked more professional than any of those of the first four combatants. She had trained, somewhere, in something. She was just a little taller than me, and bounced from side to side. She had black gloves to match her top, and red hair to go along with her jeans. Coordinated fight club.

Janelle didn’t look angry, nor fearful. She looked generally sweet actually, about my age. She had a concentrated look on her face.
She stepped forward and jabbed her left hand square at my nose, which I ducked under just in time. It wouldn’t have looked good to get knocked out by her first punch.