Page 4

Delia
Six Weeks Ago
I felt my heartbeat quicken as my eyes landed on the instructor first before I even took a look around the auditorium. It was hard not to notice him with the way he commanded so much authority.
Even though I could tell he was in his forties, I still couldn’t tear my eyes away from his chest as he lifted his shirt to wipe his face, bearing a six-pack and a smattering of dark brown chest hair. He was tan and muscular, but what I really couldn’t look away from were his piercing green eyes noticing me back.
Next to him was an older woman with a piercing look to her, blue-gray eyes, and gray hair atop an angular face structure. She had on just a sports bra and sweatpants, and she was holding her hands behind her back and swaying.
I glanced at the flyer I’d smooshed into my pocket in case they asked me to prove I belonged there. I held it awkwardly, waiting for someone to eventually demand some sort of credentials, even though my credentials should be obvious. I was at a women’s self-defense class, and I was a woman.
Kassandra bumped my ribs with her elbows, and I pulled away from her, hissing, “Ow, stop that.”
“Should we go sit with the other girls?” she asked, ignoring my protest.
I looked where she was pointing and realized the instructor was pointing, too, his slender finger stretched out to a half-circle of women on the floor at his feet. From this angle, it almost felt sexual or ritualistic.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, not a touch of humor in his face.
“Right, yeah,” I muttered, embarrassed by my momentary lapse in awareness.
I walked toward the girl, keeping my head down and sneaking looks at the male instructor.
He looked so familiar, like I had met him before. I wondered where I might have seen him.
The gym? He obviously works out.
I sat crisscross applesauce next to a younger girl with her mom and looked over at Kassandra, next to a young woman in a full, ankle-length skirt.
There was something like twenty women, an eclectic group that looked like they’d never be together otherwise, bonded by only two similarities: their gender and their desire to protect themselves.
Work at the bar had gotten harder lately, with guys following me to my car, pinching my ass when I walked by, and sometimes shoving dollar bills into my bra even though I was a bottle girl, not a performer. I had a taser, but I still felt like I needed more, an assurance that I could stay safe even if I had no weapon on me.
“All right, ladies. I’m Robert, one of your instructors for today. This is Heather. We’re going to start with some simple self-defense moves that are not kicks or punches. Some of these moves are able to be done from farther away, and some are good for when someone grabs you and brings you in close to them. Remember that not every move works for every situation. My goal here is to give you more tools in your toolbelt,” the instructor said, his eyes scanning each of us. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed like they lingered on mine for a bit.
I glanced down and noticed my nipples poking out from my sports bra. I tried to will them to soften, hoping no one would notice.
“I know a tool I’d like to borrow from his toolbelt, right?” Kassandra whispered in my ear, and I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms.
The woman, Heather, clapped her hands together loudly and proclaimed, “Okay, ladies, so we’re going to start with one of the simplest tools in your arsenal.”
She lifted one of her legs gracefully and announced, “The leg.”
Robert turned to face her, and before any of us even realized what was happening, he grabbed her around the middle and captured her tightly, his face close to her face.
She immediately began twisting, ultimately sending her foot flying down onto his. He moved his foot before she could, and she then took his shoulders into her hands and pulled him into her so that she could effectively knee him in the groin. He blocked it with a pad on his hand, and the two separated.
“Okay? So what we’re going to do is get into groups of two and practice these two moves. One is a foot stomp, and the other is a groin knee,” Heather explained.
Robert spoke up, saying, “The thing to keep in mind with the groin knee is that you are taking control in this situation. So you’re grabbing the shoulders,” he turned to Heather and took her shoulders in his hands, “and you’repullingthem into you. Otherwise, you won’t have the right kind of force behind the movements. Okay?”
No one responded. We all just nodded quietly, and Robert repeated louder, “Okay?”
“Okay!” we all shouted.
Heather said, “Ladies, the best weapon we have is our voice. People who attack women are cowards. They rely on silence. They want you to stay quiet about what they’re doing. When you do these exercises, I want you to accompany it with a loud ‘Stay back!’ Can you all practice that?”
Her shouting ‘Stay back’ reverberated through the empty room and intimidated all of us.