Third of Fourth, thanks and goodbye

It’s been a while, but I’ve done this many times since then. A soft landing, and then a quick snap into a broad, stable stance, left arm stretched far, right hand holding the broadsword in the hidden ready position. A moment’s pause precedes a coil and a whipping, guarded turn, sword and empty hand flanking me. A split second of rotation is followed by the familiar metallic ring of a sharp sword thrust.

Some things have changed, but this art is still with me. The blade I hold is heavier, sturdier, having taken its place in my right hand, a replacement for a sword that I had worn out earlier this fall. The blade is heavier, as is my heart, but still I practice. I hope my heart proves sturdier also.

I cut widely to my right side. Muscle memory drives careful footwork, the successive steps lost to my conscious mind. A clearing block in midair sweeps past my right leg and I wind back in the other direction, a smooth vertical cut tracing forwards in the second dizzying change in direction. A moment of poise, and then a fast chamber followed by a low stab, then a launch into the air. My facing again changes, with the edge tracing a twirling arc ending in a swift chop straight to the floor as I land in a drop stance, empty hand at the ready. Poised over my shoulder, the blade traces past the side of my head, occupying a guarded post in my peripheral vision.

Finals are over. They hold little peril now. Prior to this last set, I’ve taken eighteen sets of college- or higher-level level finals and quite an array of standardized tests, and taking them becomes easier each passing time, each time less stressful because I know what to expect. It doesn’t change the generally unpleasant nature of the trial, by any means, but practice makes everything easier. Perhaps this even includes being rejected. It involves, amongst other things, the simple task of staying focused on the goals you still have. They were there before this, and they will be there after this. The important part is to stay strong even as your heart wants to duck under the covers and cry.

Stepping forward into a second low stab, I lunge and slash to my left in a full circle, prelude to a butterfly kick. Body lowered over my right leg, I swing myself across my center of balance and launch off my left leg as hard as I can. The broadsword turns a full circle beneath my body, now horizontal off the ground. Both legs trace sweeping aerial kicks above the line of my body. Hand, blade, and legs trace the air, one after the other like spinning knives hurled sideways, instruments of vengeance orbiting the eye of the storm.

That butterfly kick seems to come more naturally to some people than others. I’m not athletically talented, so the only way I can get it down is to practice it until my body figures it out. Even then, some days I’ve got it, and some days I don’t. I wish I knew what made it tick, what factors make it easier to pull off on some days than others. I sure wish I knew what makes it easier on any given day to get over someone you loved. Part of it is sticking to the things you know. Some part of my subconscious knows of a life before this person was even present in my thoughts. I will have to remember that life and return to it. She’s not going to be missing me the way I’m missing her. But much of it is made easier by having good friends, thoughtful, wise friends who’ll speak to you straight, who won’t belittle your intelligence while trying to comfort you. Had dinner with Druidess the day I finished my finals. She was kind enough to answer a forlornly short-notice request for companionship on a working weekday. “Oh, it’s all right. Complain to me if you want. At least you can be witty about it. Not everyone can.” Druidess is a kindred spirit. Fond of psychology, the written word, wrath, and black roses, she’s wise, cynical, understanding, and caring, proof that good-heartedness is as often as not found in prickly places, rightfully guarding itself from the thoughtless with an array of thorns and talons. Delicate wisdom framed by a sharp exterior. Tuesday was largely spent at an extended tea with Enji, one gifted with, amongst other things, a remarkable talent for giving voice to life’s stories with timeless eloquence. We talked of many things, but looking back on it, I confess that much of the time was spent talking about my own problems and the subjects of my academic thoughts. I had not realized until now how selfish of me that must have been. But then, if it bothered her at all, she didn’t let on. I’m quite grateful for that; it was a wonderful day, filled with the tastes of tea sandwiches, cider, and scones, chili-flavored chocolate, indulgently heady discourse, and the cold December crispness of a clear night’s chill. Blushingest compliment of the evening: “You have many of the qualities of a superhero. But no cape. That’s from The Incredibles, by the way.” “Really? I’ll be watching for that”

A smooth landing, and thank goodness for that. A retreating step, guarded by another one of those smooth and measured upward cuts. More backpedaling, shielded by a vicious forward stab, and then a swirling deflection guarding the flank and overhead.

Though I must eventually leave my sentiments for my crush behind, perhaps the sooner the better, I still learned some things from her that I hope to keep with me forever. She has a remarkably agile wit and a genuine joy for life. I couldn’t keep up with her remarkably random sense of humor; mine centers itself on dark irony, dry delivery, and insight adulterated with ruefulness. Hers, by comparison, draws from the droll spontaneity of the moment, unsullied by any lurking bitterness, mixed with her unabashed enthusiasm for life and her shining self-confidence. She manages this in the face of a multitude of responsibilities, the demands of two jobs, her classwork, and the pain of knowing that her father left her, her mother, and her siblings in search of another life for himself. I deal with my problems through a peculiar blend of motherly kindness and merciless rancor, but I have never been as comfortable in my own skin as she is in hers. I admire her wit and her strength; she’s been sorely tested in her life, but she continues to be her own champion, and even if my friends think me strong in the face of adversity, I have to wonder how it would measure up against her phenomenal resilience. I have no place in her life, but if nothing else, I should learn this from her.

The section ends with a slash right that settles into a light and relaxed stance, finally springing into a standing guard position, stock-still on the right foot. The last stance ends regal and tall, but forbidding and poised. The section is finished, but the set remains.

Time to move on. It’s been painful, but informative. Another life’s lesson learned. I wasn’t good enough for her, but if I can learn how to cultivate her kind of strength and claim that quality as my own, maybe I’ll be more ready the next time I fall for someone. I may be the better for it in the end. This may be the first time I’ve learned a positive lesson from heartbreak.