<! Agony in the Mud >



<! What do you do when your confidence is gone? >



<! By Mongoose750 (mongoose750@yahoo.com) >



[Author's note: To get the full story, read Irena's Visit after this story is finished.]



Confidence is an interesting thing. My sensei once said it is one of the sharpest swords in a warrior's arsenal. She said with it, you can face impossible odds. Without it, you can't face your reflection in the mirror. She said it is better than your best punch, your best kick, or your best throw. Without it, you just might as well . . .



Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Betty Conrad, owner and operator of Barefoot Betty's Auto Repair Shop. I, of course, am Betty, and I'm "Barefoot Betty" because I hate wearing shoes. Through no fault of my own, people think I'm the toughest girl in town, so they come and challenge me on a regular basis. After I give them a whack across the head, everything is back to normal until the next challenge, but I wish they'd leave me alone. Ok, where was I? Oh yeah, confidence. I'm sorry if I sound a little scatterbrained, but previous events had shook my mind for a bit, and erased my confidence for a little while. Let me start from the beginning.



Not too long ago, I and my co-worker, Irena Brezhnev were involved in a gang fight; that is, we were fighting a gang of tough women organized by Sheila, a woman who for some reason wants my so-called title, and to beat me up for beating up someone before she did (did that make sense?). Anyway, we won, but not without doing a few things that rattled my brain.



You would figure as pumped up as Sheila's muscles are (she's either a bodybuilder or she eats steroids for breakfast, or both, I'm not sure which), she would be looking for an opportunity to take me one on one like everyone else. Instead, she sends other people and gangs after me. I find it a cowardly act, but why go through all this trouble in the first place? Next she sends, of all people, my high school gym teacher after me during that big gang fight. Sending hired muscle, I can understand, sending a group of people to fight someone I can understand. Sending your next door neighbors to fight your battles I can understand, but sending someone's old high school teacher out to fight? Man, that's low. On top of all that, my gym teacher didn't attack me, she grouped me! She whispered sweet nothings in my ear while she caressed my butt! If I didn't knock her out quickly, I would've come unglued.



I don't know about anyone else, but I'm sure there's a few unwritten rules about fighting each other. I'm positive one is that if you're following the 'make love, not war' philosophy, that doesn't mean you try to make love in the middle of war. In short, you don't flirt with your enemy while you're trying to knock their head off, it doesn't make sense. Irena suggested that it may have been a psychological ploy to knock me off balance. If it was, it definitely worked. Another thing is no one touches my posterior uninvited. The only person who'll do that will be my husband (when I find the time to look for one). I would've preferred for her to kick my butt than to touch it. If you ask me, sending one's old high school teacher after you ranks right up with having your babysitter testify against you in a court of law; you don't do that. Finally, to have your high school teacher hitting on you, gross! Mind you, I've been hit on before by men, and sometimes by women (something about being a mechanic brings them out, I guess), and sometimes I turn them away, sometimes I hit back - hard, literally. To have your female high school gym teacher make a move on you in the middle of a fight just freaked me out.



All right, I rattled and babbled enough about that. Deep breath, focus . . . okay. Several days after the fight was over, Irena and I were at work. The business was steady, and we had a break in the action to eat lunch and talk about the day's or past week's events. In this case, I was raving and ranting just like I was a moment ago about the fight we were in, and Sheila recruiting my gym teacher to participate in particular. I threatened that I was going to give Sheila a big whack across the head and some serious pain. Irena, bless her, just sat there listening and nodding her head. When I finally finished, she gave me some encouragement.



"Don't worry, well find Sheila and give her what she deserves," she said. "We don't need to worry about the others. After we had beat their hides, I don't think we'll see them again."



"Yeah, you're right," I said. "Now we just need to find out where she hides at, or find some way to sniff her out."



"Sometime this week, we can work out a plan. At least the women she sent to attack us won't be with her, not the way she deserted them."



As I was starting to feel better, and put that Friday night fight behind me, a customer pulled up outside. Nothing dramatic about that, it is a business after all, and if they have no appointment, I hope they pull up, or I'd be out of business. Glancing at the clock, I saw that the lunch hour was about to begin (we decided to eat an hour before), so some customers who come in to get a "quickie" tune-up or something like that should start showing up. The door to our office opened, and suddenly Irena's words of encouragement went right out the window.



It was Rachel Cooper, a.k.a. Ms. Cooper, my high school gym teacher.



"Hello," she said in a deep, rich voice, "can I come in?"



Irena and I glanced at each other for a moment, then I said, "uh, sure, come on in."



Irena got up from her chair and said, "I'll go out and wait for the other customers." In other words, that means she'll go ahead and leave, but she's standing close by in case something happens. It's a little code we came up with.



I sat down behind my desk and asked Ms. Cooper politely, "So, what can I do for you?"



"We're not in class and you graduated high school and college years ago, Betty. Please, call me Rachel."



"Okay Ms. Coop - I mean Rachel, what can I do for you?"



"I would like to apologize for what happened. I don't know how that moron talked me into fighting you. I was at the gym one evening, and she asked me if I could help her take care of a problem. She even offered to pay me for my trouble. I didn't realize it was you until that night."



"She offered to pay you?" I said, surprised.



"Yes, she said that she had plenty of money to make it worth my while. Needless to say, since that night, I haven't seen her nor my money. While I'm thinking about it, I apologize for the hard time I gave you in gym class too."



At this point, I had a hundred questions to ask her, in particular some about the way she acted that Friday night. But since she apologized, I figured I could let them drop. There were some other things about her that day that made me uneasy though. To explain her physical stature, Ms. Cooper (I'm sorry, I just can't call her Rachel) stood at 5'9", and was in good shape. Of course, being a physical education teacher, you better be in good shape. But Ms. Cooper looked like one of those women you would see in those fitness competitions on ESPN or ESPN2; well-toned muscles that almost leaped out at you if she even dared to flex. Not bulky muscles like the muscle heads I fought that night, but to make a comparison, they were like a finely tuned instrument. In short, she was not your typical PE teacher. She had light brown hair that stopped an inch or so from her shoulders with bangs. Her physical build is the type I shoot for when I work out every morning.



So she works out, what's the big deal? Perhaps it was in what she was wearing. She wore a black dress with spaghetti straps and lace around the bottom. It wasn't tight fitting, but then again, it didn't need to be. The dress was cut just right to show off her muscular legs, from the calf on down to her ankles, while the top didn't necessarily show off any cleavage, but it displayed her shoulders and arms and how well-defined they are. Her skin was lightly tanned, but it was probably her bloodline rather than a tanning bed. She wore black mules on her feet, though she looked like she was the type who would go barefoot at a moment's notice (being a barefooter, you'll just have to trust me on that last point). In short, that did not look like the type of outfit you wear to apologize to someone. It looked more like an outfit you wear to . . . seduce someone?



One more thing before I go on; there have been rumors about Ms. Cooper too. High school rumors in high school are generally wild to begin with, but according to the rumors, she would pay special 'visits' to certain students, boys and girls, her 'favorites' as soon as they graduated and turned 18. These visits would be made while the parents were gone and the student is alone. I don't think I need to explain to you where this is going. There's also a rumor that she also visits the homes of students she doesn't like for the same reason, but in a more violent fashion. I don't know if they were true, I never asked. If one believed every rumor they were told in high school, they would be in pretty sad shape. They would also be the people you could sell swampland in the Sahara to.



As far as how her and I got along in high school, let's just say we didn't get off on the right foot. PE was one of my favorite classes, and not to be bragging, I was one of the best students in the class. But according to Ms. Cooper, I either wasn't trying hard enough or was slacking off in everything I did. That would traumatize some students, but I took the constant criticism as a tool to help me try my hardest. The trophies I won in intermural events and other sports were a result of her criticism. For that, I thank her, whether she realized what she did or not. And by the way, after I graduated, I didn't get any sudden 'visits' to my house.



Coming back to my story, I just told her, "Apology accepted." I figured that was that.



One more thing about the teacher that caught my attention; her eyes. They seemed to have a hungry look about them. The best way I could describe them is they reminded me of the way my cat Winnie used to look at an unsuspecting mouse or rat before she pounced.



Looking at me with those eyes, she walked up to my desk and sat down on the corner of it, her left leg dangling her shoe from her toes. This caught my attention because of the muscles in her leg flexing, also because this was less than three feet in front of me. She also had her left arm leaning on the desk showing off the definition there too.



"Look, Betty, I know we didn't get off on the right foot, but I would like to make it up to you. Would you like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime?"



The offer sounded innocent enough, but something in that proposal set off bells, no, fire alarms in my head. "Well, these days, I'm very busy with fixing cars and stuff," I said.



If there was any subtlety in what she was planning, she dropped the mask in her next question.



"Betty, are you seeing someone right now?"



"No, no I'm not," I said, a little stunned.



"I see." She smiled; it reminded me of a shark approaching its prey.



I now knew for sure where this was going. I was going to give my standard phrase, "my doors don't swing that way," and I'm sure she would've understood the meaning, but I didn't want to take any chances, I wanted this nipped in the bud.



"Look, uh Rachel," I said, "I'm flattered by your interest, but I really don't feel that way toward, toward. . ."



"Other women? Oh Betty, you don't know what you're missing. I could take you to pleasures that you could only dream of, something your boyfriends have never given you."



"I have never done that with any of my boyfriends," I said.



"Oh, a virgin! I see. . ." Then she gave that smile again.



You know how you always hear of guys on the lookout for girls who are virgins so they can "deflower" them? Well, here's some news, there are girls like that too. Please do not get me wrong, I am proud of my virginity, and I look forward to sharing that part of myself with my husband. It's just that my office suddenly fell ten or more degrees, and I felt like a hanging piece of meat in front of a ravenous wolf, bear, cougar, or you fill in the blank of your favorite carnivore. Though I tried to control it, I was shaking. The woman scared me. Let me also add that she was leaning a little in my direction over the desk than I was comfortable with.



Suddenly, Ms. Cooper leaned back and stood up. "That's okay, we don't need to press things right now. I've dealt with those who played 'hard to get' before," she chuckled in a deep voice. "I got to be going, but we'll talk later, okay? Bye." She whispered the last two words like she wanted to blow them in my ear.



No sooner than she had left, Irena came into the office to see me holding myself, shaking. She gave me a hug, and told me that Ms. Cooper gave her the creeps too. Somehow that was comforting to hear. I was beginning to think I was losing it.



Fortunately, the rest of the workday went without incident. I was able to compose myself to work on cars and the like, keeping busy from thinking about what happened. When closing time came, I breathed I sigh of relief; I was so ready to leave work. Usually after we close up shop for that day, Irena and I sit around and talk, but that day, as soon as we put everything up, she took off for home. I found it unusual, but I didn't think anymore of it. I was getting ready to leave myself when someone came through the office door. The woman who came through didn't look like a customer, but that was fine, a challenge would be a welcome distraction. She was about my height, 5'7", similar build, no noticeable muscles, long brown hair, and wearing blue jeans with a purple halter top and red flip-flops. She chewed her gum like a cow.



"Are you Betty Conrad?" The woman asked.



"Yes I am," I said. "What can I do for you?"



For the next five minutes she gave me an earful of how my reputation of being the toughest girl in town was overrated, and that I wasn't so tough, and how she could take me down easy. That was roughly the gist of it in-between the cussing, swearing, and put downs. It amazes me how people use one bad word that means procreation for everything else in a sentence; a verb, adjective, etc. I did knock her for a loop by agreeing with her on the overrated part. She then changed her strategy and went for a more personal attack on my mixed parentage. My wonderful parents (mom black, dad white) once told me that even in a progressive town like this, you still have some narrow-minded people who can't see past what you look like. Their advice was to ignore them, it's their problem. Someday I'll have to tell you how my dad drove the Ku Klux Klan out of town by himself without lifting a finger. For myself, I say that my parents gave me a lovely shade of tan that tans easily. My brother was in his last weeks of college playing the role of God's gift, fending off sorority girls, cheerleaders, female athletes and the like. Little does he know I have someone here back home he may consider, but I'll tell you about that later. Those girls would agree that my parents have made quite a stud.



The woman's ethnic slurs didn't affect in the least. I could have told her the last person who called me those names I put in the hospital for a nice long stay, but I didn't. Actually, after what I went through earlier that day, this woman was going to have to do a lot more than that to phase me. I was starting to get bored.



"What's your name?" I asked.



The woman appeared to be floored again with my question. "I'm Candy." She said.



"When do you want to do this? And where at?"



"Uh, the old football field by the high school at six o'clock by the game clock."



I looked at my watch. "That's not too much time. But if you want to get this over with, that's fine. You're welcome to change your mind if you like."



The line of profanity I got from her answered my question. She then left and slammed the door.



"Bye," I said, faintly waving at the door. Glancing out the window, I could barely see that the driver of the car she jumped in was someone bigger than she was, but that's all I was able to see before the car peeled out of the lot.



I also had Krav Maga practice later that evening at 7:30, so I figured I'd change, go and give this girl a quick whack on the head, and go to practice, no problem. I figured her out to be a catfighter, so this fight shouldn't take any time at all.



Catfighting has got to be one of the biggest jokes to the fighting arts, alongside "professional" wrestling. I compare it to how little kids fight, except for the use of fingernails and teeth. The "art" consists of pulling hair, ripping each other's clothes off, punching and clawing each other in the most sensitive areas (which I considered stupid anyway, because a good fighter protects his weak spots), and slapping each other silly. When I first encountered one of these girls who were "practitioners" of this farce, she tried to rip my shirt off, which I paid good money for. A simple jab and right cross combination took care of this woman. I told her as she lay there on the ground to try me again when she learned how to fight. Irena was much more brutal. One day, I was out of town, so she fought in my place. The catfighter she encounter ripped the cropped top of her workout outfit. Enraged, Irena retaliated by throwing the woman off her, and delivering a roundhouse kick that knocked her out cold. Irena looked around to see if the coast was clear, quickly pulled her top off, took the woman's T-shirt off and put it on, threw her top for the woman to wear when she woke up, then walked off and left her there. Neither her nor her old top were around when she drove by later; she figured the rain revived her. She later realized that the woman had a nice T-shirt, and she wears it sometimes when she goes out.



As a woman, if you fight in bars on a regular basis, or settling a dispute with your sorority buddy, I suppose it's suitable; but if you're fighting in the real world, it won't last ten seconds against a real fighter. I understand some guys get a kick out of it, especially when the fight is over them. Ladies, if the guy can't make up his mind, then he's not worth spending your time in the first place. That's my opinion, and I'm sticking to it.



After I finished closing up, I went home and put on a plain white T-shirt, and some blue jeans I ordered from a copy of Black Belt Magazine. These jeans were called "Kickin' Jeans," because they have an extra patch of material in the crotch area that allows you to kick freely without being confined in your movement. They fit pretty good too. After I threw them on and donned the appropriate footwear (none, of course), I grabbed my gym bag with my workout clothes for class, jumped in my truck and drove to this sight to take care of Candy.



As I arrived there at the scheduled time, it never dawned on me that I might have been set up until I thought about how Candy sounded when she came to my office. Something about her tirade sounded fake somehow, like she was following a script. The questions I asked her stunned her, like I was not following the previous line. There were some other things that seemed a little funny too. The old football field, which was now used for weekend soccer leagues because the high school built a new and improved one, was not completely vacant. Granted, there were a few people on the far end of the field, but the fact that there were potential spectators didn't sound right. With few exceptions, the challenges I'm given have some rules of engagement similar to that old TV show, Highlander; only myself and the other party or parties fight each other, and no one is around to interfere. The few people around would surely notice a fight on the other end of the field. The big thing that made me wary most of all, is that Candy was nowhere around.



I stood there at the edge of the field looking at the spot where she was supposed to show up when I suddenly heard a loud voice behind me.



"Betty Conrad, turn and face me!" The voice said.



I turned around, and found that the voice belonged to a tall blonde woman with a big build, about 6'3" or 6'4", her hair hung a little over her shoulders. The big kicker was that she wore an outfit similar to what Lucy Lawless wore when she played the role of Xena, Warrior Princess. Or maybe in this case, the role being played here was Xena's evil sister, Brunhilda, I don't know. I used to watch the show for a while, but then the stories started getting weird, and I was getting tired of Xena's war cry, "I - yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-," Anyway, this woman was standing in the middle of a football field wearing leather armor, yelling at me like we're in a gladiator movie. I see the people on the other end of the field pick up their ball and leave. How they didn't notice this woman standing there was beyond me.



"Come and face me so that we can test our might."



What?



"Unless you truly don't have the heart of a warrior-born," this weirdo continued to spout.



I must be dreaming a real bad dream. First my high school gym teacher hit on me, then some woman who's not anywhere around at this moment challenged me, and now that I'm here, I get yelled at by this woman who looks like one of the cast extras for a Roman gladiator movie. I almost looked up to the sky to look for flying pigs.



"Who in the world are you?" I ask.



"I am Sara the Magnificent," she said, "a mighty warrior who's come to squash the legend that is Betty Conrad."



I almost glance around, looking for hidden cameras, but I suppress the temptation. "Where's Candy?" I said.



"Candy was but a lackey, who came to do my bidding. I am the warrior you are supposed to face," Sara said.



"You couldn't come in yourself?"



"What need have I for needless formality? I was born for battle, not meaningless conversation. Now the time for talk has passed. Come ye forward onto the battlefield so we can settle this conflict."



"Come ye?" What kind of nutcase am I dealing with here? Maybe if I knock her out fast enough, I can bring her over to the psychiatric hospital we have on the other side of town. It's also known as the "enchanted castle." They may have a special room just for her and other "valkyries" to frolic and play war with each other. I might as well get this over with, I thought as I stepped onto the football field. My bare right foot made a squishing sound as I stepped on the field. Mud, yuck; as if this evening couldn't get any worse.



Before I go on, let me clear up some misconceptions you shoe-wearers or "tenderfoots" as I and some of my friends call you have about barefooters like us. There's generally three assumptions about us who don't wear shoes. One, that we're hippies, which is not true in my case because I don't wear strange clothes, do drugs, nor eat tofu and protest weird things. My values are quite conservative actually, and the 70's were quite before my time. The second assumption is that we're hillbillies. I wouldn't know one if I met one. The farthest south I've been was Kentucky, and that was at the tip of the state in Louisville for a classic car show. The third and biggest assumption is that we step in anything that's in our way.



Let me ask you tenderfoots something, when you see a mud puddle, do you step in it or just step over or go around it? Do you step in the little "presents" your dog left behind in your yard? Or how about hot lava? It's the same here with us. Granted our feet are tough and stepping on or in some things don't bother us, but just because we don't have shoes doesn't mean we don't have sense.



Case in point as I walk to meet steroid-head here. A little mud is no big deal to me, but a quagmire that's second only to quicksand isn't something I delight to stand in, much less fight some nut in it.



As I trudge forward to meet Sara, I take a closer look at her outfit. Not exactly the same as the warrior princess, but close to it. She wore a leather or leather-like chest garment, held up by spaghetti straps and cut low to display her cleavage. She complemented this with a short leather skirt that had black straps around the edges. Underneath the skirt were black biking shorts (makes sense, considering how short the skirt was. It looks like she has some modesty). She topped this off with black leather wrist bands and black wrestling boots that were almost knee length. While I was wincing with every step in the clammy mud, she seemed to enjoy herself strutting around in it. Finally, I approached within seven feet of her, as she did one of those dramatic "warrior" poses with her fists put on her hips and an arrogant sneer placed on her face.



"Does Lucy Lawless know you stole her wardrobe?" I said.



"Jest all you want little girl-"



Little girl?



"-but you won't laugh long after I push your face in the mud," she said.



I had to admit that her last remark got me riled. No one calls me "little girl" except my father, and he only does it during a compassionate moment. I have a college degree, I have my own business, and no strange freak of nature is going to call me a "little girl" without experiencing some pain. I barely manage to keep silent, and get into a fighting pose. Sara charges forward, not quickly, but fast enough to know she means business. I decided a nice right roundhouse kick to the face would be appropriate to knock her back to Xena-land, or wherever she came from.



I brace myself, start to launch my kick, then I realize my left foot started to slide from under me. I still had enough momentum for my kick to make impact. Then my left foot slid completely from under me, and my right foot whizzed harmlessly by Sara's face.



I missed! My roundhouse kicks never miss!



One thing that I didn't miss was the ground when I hit it. Mud flew all over me, on my jeans, on my T-shirt (my white T-shirt), and my face. As I struggled to get up, I felt two hands grip me on my left arm and pull me up. I decide to use that momentum as I turned around and delivered a straight punch to Sara's left ribs. The punch made contact, and the result was a soft "smack" sound, and an "uh" from Sara.



I stared in shock for a moment. I executed a punch like that when I fought a big burly guy like Rocco some time ago, and it broke his ribs. That's one of my more effective punches, and all it does is smack leather? I stopped my wondering long enough to look up at Sara, who still had a hold of my left arm.



Uh-oh.



I move my head barely in time to avoid the left punch that Sara threw, but not enough time as her fist nicked my chin. No major damage, but it stunned me for a second as I stumbled and fell in the mud again. Oh, why did I decide to wear a white T-shirt today? I fell on my stomach, and managed to roll to my back. Sara loomed over me, ready to deliver a stomp with her right foot. Again, I barely moved in time rolling in the mud as her booted foot landed where either my chest or face would've been. From her intentions, I saw she wasn't planning to out punch me so much as take me and turn me into a pretzel. I expected her to come after me, but instead the idiot stood there looking at me, fists on her waist, and laughing at me like - there was some old commercial for canned vegetables that used some giant character for their trademark that I saw on TV Land the other day - the Jolly Green Giant!



"Ho, ho ho," she laughed, giving me a look that placed me on the same level with ants and cockroaches. We'll see how much she's laughing after I give her a good solid whack across the head.



I charge at her, as much as I can in mud, planning to fake a tackle and instead give her a flying side kick to her face. As I was about to launch to deliver my kick, I slid again. I not only failed to even leap to deliver the blow, but I slid right into her, my face smacking into her leather-clad chest.



"You are a very clumsy little girl," Sara said as she wrapped her arms around me to deliver a very convenient bear hug. From what I did, I might as well put a sign around my neck that said "hug me." I break the hold before she had time to place any pressure on me, but she still held on to me. I deliver a right knee to her ribs which had as much effect as my punch did earlier. She looped her left arm under my knee and tried to grab my head to either give me a headlock, stretch my body apart, introduce my knee with my head, or to body slam me. Whichever it was, I didn't want to find out, so I struggled to break out. I tried to get into position to punch her face, but she saw my intentions and pushed/threw me away from her. After a brief wallow in the mud again, I got to my knees in time to hear Sara give that blasted laugh again.



So there I was, sitting on my knees in the mud, in soggy jeans that felt like lead weights on my legs, facing some steroid freak who I never saw before in my life. And it looked like I was going to lose. All the events of that day, the visit from Ms. Cooper, the set-up, the mud, and not being able to put up decent fight against this woman has sapped all my confidence. I was going to lose. Then again, that may not be a bad thing.



Ever since I officially opened my garage, I've taken on tough guys, tough girls, tough gangs, hired muscle, muscle guys, and muscle girls; all for some insignificant title. All because I somehow was dubbed with the title, "the toughest girl in town." But today could change all that.



If I gave up, surrendered to Xena here, admit she's the new tough girl in town, then my life could be normal again. Surrendering would be fine as long as I don't have to do something humiliating like kissing her foot or something like that. I could be just plain old Betty Conrad - Barefoot Betty, local neighborhood mechanic. The only fights I would see would be Susan slugging it out for her Tri-State championship kickboxing bout. I was ready to execute my plan, then she ruined it all by talking.



"Little girl, you have no chance against me. I am familiar with and have mastered every martial art known to man," Sara said.



I knew that part was a lie, unless she spent the last 20 years in a monastery learning them, and even then, she would only know a handful of them. Anyone can become "familiar" with a discipline, but it takes time to "master" one.



"I have fought in the cage matches in New York City, and have never been defeated. I have faced them all and have come forth victorious."



Cage fights, huh? I bet Irena would love to take a crack at you. Wait a minute, did she say New York City? What is it with that place? Sheila is from New York City. That explains a lot. Sara reaches for her back pocket (I didn't think her outfit had any), and pulled out a sheet of paper. Why, she forgot her lines to that corny speech?



"Just so you know, after I'm finished with you, for my victory to be complete, I will vanquish your friends, starting with your assistant. Then I will defeat the judo instructor, Janelle. . ."



I couldn't help but smile as Sara went down the list. She wouldn't make it past Irena, who fought cage matches in Russia where just about all the competitors were bigger than she was. Janelle and Velvet are both masters in judo, Susan could punch her face five times before she could think of attacking, not including her crippling kicks. Loretta, a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, would get down and dirty with her, making sure Sara would eat a little mud before she got through. Kim, my sensei, may not be as muscular as Sara, but that doesn't mean she don't have power. She'd have Sara's legs cut out from under her before she got started. If I don't have confidence in myself, I have confidence that each one of my friends on her list would mop up the floor with her face. If she was even lucky enough to make it through half the names on that list, she wouldn't be in any shape to defeat a cold, never mind a master of their respective discipline. Then Sara kept reading.



"After I'm finished with your friends, maybe I'll give your family a call. You have a mom, dad, and a brother, right? And after I finish them off, I'll take care of your dog, too."



All right, that was it. I got up, a little tired of her speech.



"You said you were familiar with and have mastered every martial art known to man?" I asked.



"Yes I am, little girl."



Again with the "little girl" nonsense. "So you're familiar with Sambo and Krav Maga then, aren't you?"



"What?" Sara said.



"Sambo is a Russian martial art that specializes in joint locks and throws. My assistant, who is from Russia, is a master of it. She could dislocate or break your arm if you even touched her."



Sara grunted as I got up and brushed myself off before realizing it wasn't going to do me any good.



"Krav Maga," I continued, "is a martial art that originated in Israel. It's very close, very painful, and very lethal. The police force and Israeli soldiers are trained in it. If I had any sense, I would have used it by now. You know, I was going to give up and give you the title, and I knew my friends could handle you, but then you crossed the line. Nobody threatens my family, and nobody, but nobody messes with my dog."



Sara scoffed. "So what are you going to do about it, little girl?"



"Well, I'm going to give you a good whack across the head of course, then I'm going to pound you for threatening my friends and family, bop you for every time you called me 'little girl,' then I'm going to really hurt you for threatening my dog."



And just like that, it came back. My confidence came flooding back to me, and now this person who looked like an unstoppable giant before, now looked like every other punk I had to put down, except for the outfit and the "Fe, fi, fo, fum" speech that she'd assaulted me with since we met. If I wasn't a modest person, I'd take off my jeans and fight in my panties, but that's not very ladylike, and I'm going to be taking a long enough shower as it is. Besides, I think it's Sara's turn to sit in the mud.



It's amazing, when you have confidence, you see the whole world through new eyes. As I adopted my fighting pose, I took a good look at Sara's outfit. As pompous as she acted, there's actually a method to her madness. That leather outfit she wears is not the result of a Xena complex, it's a form of body armor. That explains why none of my blows affected her. That's probably worked to her advantage if she wore these in her cage fights. Also, leather, if it's treated right, can be waterproof too. That explains her choice of battlefield. She knew it rained the day before, and if she had any knowledge of my typical fighting attire, she knew my mobility would be hampered. I normally wear shorts, leggings, or jeans that only go as far as mid calf; my deciding to wear long jeans worked in her favor. That, along with my distaste for deep mud.



I remember how the great boxer Mohammad Ali used flowery speech, or the power of speech period to intimidate his foes along with his boxing prowess. Apparently Sara's tactic, especially with her speaking in the King James Version, was designed either to intimidate, or to anger you into making a mistake. And for the last few minutes, it worked. Not this time, Sara, I'm onto you.



Giving a quick assessment, kicking is out, unless I run to drier ground, wherever that is, and Sara won't allow me to do that. Hold on, that knocks out high kicks; low kicks are a different story. Sara's legs, bare arms, and that thick head are possible targets. Since she's more a grappler than a striker despite her supposed mastery of everything, she'll want to get up close and personal. That's fine with me, I have a surprise waiting for her. Regarding the mud, I now remember something my sensei told me; that your battleground isn't always necessarily your surroundings, it's what you have under your two feet. If you can defend that, you're ahead of your game.



Sara gave me a superior look as I stood up. She was expecting me to run to her to launch an attack again. I just smiled and waved my right index finger in a "come over here" motion. Unable to resist a little jab, I said, "Come and get your whoopin', steroid-head."



That got her. She started charging. "Steroid-head! You shall pay for such haughtiness lit-"



Before she could finish, she fell face down in the mud, the breath knocked out of her. I took a page from Irena's book of tactics and simply just leaned to the right side at the last moment, leaving her to trip over my left leg. Mud or no mud, I wasn't going to pass this chance up. As Sara slowly got to all fours and rolled over and sat up, she looked up and saw my muddy, smiling face looking at her. The next sight see saw after that was my right and left fists in a simple one-two combination hitting her in the face. Sara fell back in the mud, her body making a nice "splat" in the mud as it landed. Not the way I wanted it to end, but I'll take it. I've gotten so addicted to kicks since I first taken up Tae Kwon Do, I feel somewhat incomplete if I don't make at least one kick when I fight. An idea came to mind; it may seem petty, but why not?



I trod through the mud toward her head, then I looked at her face, clean, silent, and unsuspecting. I took my bare, muddy right foot, and planted it on her face, making sure I ground my contribution of this battle onto her forehead, her nose, her lips and cheeks. After I finished, I lifted my foot, saw I wasn't finished, and applied my left foot to her face. When I saw her face was good and muddy, I smiled. Like I said, it may have seemed petty, but at least I felt better.



I looked around the football field, then glanced at my watch (which was another mistake, I don't wear jewelry or watches to a fight). I still have plenty of time to make Krav Maga practice, but now I have a new problem; I can't go looking like I did, covered with mud, and I'm too far away from home. It was also starting to rain again too. Despite what a pain Sara was, I can't leave her here to be rained on, especially with the new "facial" I gave her. She could drown in this mess.



I pulled out my cell phone, realizing I made another mistake by leaving it on my person while I was fighting. It was a minor miracle it didn't get smashed in my splash landings on the ground. I called Irena, but she wasn't home, and her cell phone was turned off. That's strange, she's usually more accessible than that. I mentally went through the list; Susan was doing something with her fiancee David, Janelle was doing something with her fiancee Benjamin (that must be nice), Loretta is in the middle of running her "boot camp," especially in this weather. I could call Barbie, my old friend to help me out, but she has been like a mother hen lately, being rather concerned about my fighting, and I was not in the mood to answer twenty questions. I then remembered Velvet doesn't live far from here. I hoped she didn't have anything going on for the evening. I dialed her number, and she answered on the first ring. I told her my situation, and she told me to come right on over and to go ahead and bring my "guest."



As the first few drops of rain hit my nose, I took Sara by the arms and dragged her through the mud (have to admit I liked doing that) over to my pickup. Fortunately I always carry some old blankets and sheets for when I carry auto parts or anything that could dirty the truck. First I took some bungee cords and tied Sara's arms behind her back, then I placed a few blankets on the seats of the truck so they wouldn't get dirty. I put Sara in the passenger seat, then I jumped in and drove to Velvet's apartment. It was a good thing she didn't live too far, for my prisoner was starting to wake up, and it appeared she's the type whose mouth wakes up before her eyes open.



"Where am I? What have you done to me? I demand an answer!" Sara said, regaining consciousness.



"Hush up!" I said. "Did you want me to leave you in that mess?"



"Where are we going? What's all this gunk on my face?"



I couldn't help giggling a little bit on the last question.



As we arrived at Velvet's apartment, Brian, her "maid" opened the door immediately as soon as he saw us. He gasped a little when he saw Sara, who gave him an evil sneer. Velvet appeared in her gray workout unitard welcoming us, well, me anyway, and directed us to her workout room.



"So this is who you fought today?" Velvet said. "Why is she dressed like that? Are they shooting a Roman movie around here or something?"



I explained the rest of the story to her, especially of Sara's threat and her so-called "mastery" of every martial art.



"So you're a master of every martial art known to man, huh?" Velvet said to Sara. "Well, you're in luck. I was going to do a little sparring with Brian, but I think you'll fit the bill quite nicely. Brian, could you get me a wet washrag and a towel for our guest here?"



In case you're wondering why Sara hadn't said much since I brought her in the apartment, it's because I had to stop and gag her with an old bandanna so I could make the short drive in peace. After Brian brought in the towels, I untied her and it was a wonder the paint didn't peel off the walls from the language she was using. I don't think Shakespeare spoke like that!



Velvet threw the washrag and towel at her. "I'll make you a deal. As soon as you're finished cleaning up, me and you will have a go. If you win, you can go ahead and walk out of here. If I win, you'll stick around here for a little while. Sound good?"



Sara nodded her head as she was trying to wash her face.



"Brian, I think you need to get another washrag. Girl, how did your face get like that anyway?" Velvet looked over and saw me grinning. "Never mind. Brian, since you're finished with everything and I have a sparring partner, you're free to go."



Brian handed Sara the extra washrag, then grabbed a chair and planted himself in it. It looked like he wasn't going to miss the show. "That's okay, I don't have anything special planned tonight," he said.



Velvet shrugged then looked at me. "Girl, you don't have much time. Everything is prepared in the bathroom, you know the drill. I'll be keeping myself occupied."



I walked to Velvet's bathroom and took a much-needed, but all too brief shower. If I have any more fights like this, I may consider cutting my hair short. It seemed to take forever getting the mud out of it. After I finished, I put on the extra sweats and T-shirt she put out for me. As I was changing, I could hear Sara flapping her mouth in the other room.



". . .and when I finish with you, I will vanquish the other judo master," she said.



"Whatever," Velvet said, "let's do it."



"I will smash you like the flea you are, aaaaaah!"



Wham!



"When I get my hands on you, I'll-"



Wham!



"Urrrrkk!"



I rushed into the workout room to see Velvet kneeling over Sara, who was unconscious again, dialing her cell phone.



"What happened?" I said.



"Not much," Brian said, a little disappointed.



"I flipped her and choked her out," Velvet said. "I should've just choked her. She wouldn't shut up. I'm calling Janelle right now to see if she wants a turn. I want to see if she can beat my record of 40 seconds."



"Forty seconds?" I said.



"Yeah, how long did it take you?"



"I don't know. Look, since you have everything taken care of, I'll come back after practice is over. I don't want to miss anymore fun."



I took off out the door before my face turned red from embarrassment. Forty seconds!



I made it to Krav Maga practice just in time, but I didn't see Irena anywhere, and I still couldn't get a hold of her on either her home phone or her cell phone. I hoped she was all right.



When practice was over, I came back to Velvet's apartment to see Janelle's car parked outside. After I came back in, I saw Janelle talking to Velvet while Sara was sitting in a corner, bound and gagged again. Janelle was wearing a wheat colored tank top, which showed off her massive arms, and black jeans that went about as far as her knees. She was wearing a straw hat.



"Hi Janelle, what happened?" I said. "I thought you were out with Ben tonight."



"What didn't happen is more like it. It seemed like we were a victim of Murphy's Law tonight," Janelle said. "Ben planned a nice evening picnic, but then it rained, despite what the weatherman said. So we decided to go to a restaurant instead that we've been wanting to go to for a while now. Well that went badly. The waiter treated us like we were from outer space, and to make things worse, there was a group of boys who kept making rude comments about us. At one point, I had to hold Ben back from getting them."



"Really?" I said.



"Yes, dear, sweet, gentle Ben was going to jump over the table and rip the throats out of those three "gentlemen," and I use the term loosely. After we received our meal, which was horrible, we left the restaurant and decided to see if there was a nice movie playing tonight. While we were on our way, it started to rain."



"Well today, I'm not too crazy about rain."



"Especially if your car gets a flat tire. After he changed the tire, Ben was soaked and close to ballistic. I suggested that maybe we should call it a night and try this again some other time. He agreed, and took me home. I just stepped in the doorway when Velvet called me. This is great; after all that happened tonight, I'm ready to let off a little steam. Oh, by the way, Loretta is on her way. She put one of her assistants in charge of her boot camp this evening. She said she wanted to see this so-called expert from New York City. Where's Irena? I figured she would be joining in the fun."



"I don't know, she wasn't at practice tonight, and she left right after work was over. I haven't been able to get a hold of her."



"I'm sure she's all right, that woman definitely knows how to take care of herself. I know Loretta is on her way, but I don't want to wait. I had a lousy evening, and I think there's a program on Japanese martial arts on A&E tonight. Untie her and let's get this over with."



"A word of warning, she doesn't know how to shut up," Velvet said as she motioned Brian over to remove her bonds.



"No problem," Janelle said. "Sara, this is Janelle, the 'judomaster' you've been assigned to 'vanquish.' When you see Sheila, you can tell her that she is still a wimp."



Sara charged forward. "I'll smash your bones to a sticky paste - uhhh-"



Janelle, apparently in no mood to fool around launched a front kick to Sara's chest, her big toe entering her solar plexus. Leather body armor or not, the blow bent Sara over. Janelle administered a frontal choke hold and took her out.



Brian looked at his stopwatch. "That was 20 seconds."



Janelle dropped Sara's body and looked at Velvet. "That was your mistake, Velvet," she said, "you wasted time listening to her. Let's see if Loretta can beat that."



"See if Loretta can beat what?" Came a voice from the door. During all the action, as brief as it was, nobody noticed Loretta let herself in. "The door was left wide open, so I let myself in."



"Oops, my fault," I said. "Sorry about that, it's been a long day."



"I dispatched this Xena rip-off in 20 seconds and Velvet did it in 40 seconds," Janelle said. "You may need to be careful, this woman is supposedly-"



"A master of every martial art known to man, yeah, I know," Loretta said. "And she's a cage fighter too?"



"Yep, undefeated," I said, sarcastically.



"There's cage fights all over New York. Some of them are legitimate, others are not much different from a bar that has fights every Saturday night. If you go to the right ones and fight the right opponents, anyone can be 'undefeated.' The reason I believe Irena's claim is because I know all their matches are sanctioned, and she has the trophy belt to prove it," Loretta said.



"So this could be some run of the mill turkey that dabbled in a few fights?" I said.



"Yes and no. It takes some skill to win cage matches in the first place. I'm just saying that her claims aren't as big as she makes them out to be." Loretta looks over at Sara, noticing her strange outfit as Brian untied her once again. Since she was knocked out for a few minutes, there was no need to gag her. "Are you a pro wrestler? I love pro wrestlers," she said.



Sara still managed to talk about her prowess, despite her previous quick defeats. "I am a professional of the highest order, woman," she said.



I noticed at 6'3", Sara was wise enough not to call Loretta a "little girl." Loretta has talked about a few times about how some professional wrestlers scoffed at her boot camp and at her. After she had them submitting shortly in a challenge match, they didn't scoff anymore.



"Too bad you're not a professional wrestler," Loretta said. "I've had the privilege of putting a few more in their place the other day at my dojo. But things have been rather boring today, so putting you away should be a little exciting."



Loretta, who was wearing a black raincoat when she came in, took it off to reveal a one-piece silver leotard with spaghetti straps and designed to show off all of her muscular build as the result of her Jiu-Jitsu training and her hobby of power lifting. I always found it interesting that even though there's almost a foot difference in height, and they're from different parts of the globe, that her and Irena have almost the same taste in battle wear.



"Velvet, I'm sure I wiped my feet at the door, but could you throw me one of those towels just to make sure?" Loretta said. Velvet tossed her a towel, and she wiped off her bare soles to make sure she had traction. "Okay, I'm ready," she said in a bored voice.



Sara to her credit, didn't waste time talking. She charged toward Loretta, arms raised to engage her in a wrestling hold, or so she thought. Loretta quicker than our eyes could handle, delivered a devastating right kick to Sara's head. The move caught us all by surprise, especially Sara, who not only hit the mats hard, but slid on the mats all the way to the wall. Everyone was silent for a moment, except Loretta who asked Brian how much time she took.



It took Brian a moment to come back to his senses. "That was six seconds," he said.



Everyone was quiet for another moment, then Velvet finally spoke up.



"You know, if she's dead, I'm not claiming responsibility for this," she said.



"She's fine," Loretta said. "I wouldn't be expecting her to fight any more tonight, though."



"I don't know if that was fair," Janelle said. "You didn't use any throws, chokes, or anything to take her out."



"Of course it's fair. There's punches and kicks used in both judo and jiu-jitsu. You're just not happy I beat your record."



"What are you talking about, Janelle? You kicked her first before you choked her out," Velvet said.



Janelle blushed. "Oh yeah, that's right. Oops!"



"I have a bigger concern," I said. "What are we going to do with her?"



"Well, we'll have to keep her around tomorrow," Velvet said.



"What?"



"I contacted Susan, she'll be able to come by tomorrow, and so will Kim. If you get a hold of Irena, that should complete it. I guess tonight was for the grapplers. Tomorrow, we'll see how you strikers do."



This was too much. It took these three women just over a minute to dispatch someone that took me what seemed like forever to take care of. I'm not letting the other three off so easy.



"For the other three to take her on, I demand one condition," I said.



"What's that?" Janelle said.



"That they fight her in the same place I did, mud and all."



"Mud? We could've dragged her to my place and took her on there," Loretta said.



"I'm not dressed for mud wrestling, thank you," Janelle said.



"Mud? Yuck. Fighting her here was fine with me," Velvet said.



"Oh you weenies," Loretta said. "There's nothing wrong with getting a little mud in-between your toes. It feels pretty good."



"This wasn't a 'little mud,' it was the next best thing to quicksand," I said.



"You never fought in mud before, have you?"



"No, and after tonight, I hope I never will again."



"There's nothing to it. You just have to get used to it."



"Yeah, yeah. So where is she going to sleep?"



As everybody looked around, Brian suddenly excused himself and left. We probably wouldn't send Sara over to his place, but he didn't want to take any chances, I guess.



"All right, we'll do it this way," Velvet said. "Tonight, sleeping beauty over there will stay here. Since I don't have anything going on tomorrow, when she wakes up, we'll take her over to wherever she's staying so she can shower, polish her leather, whatever she needs to do. Then we'll take her over to the old high school football field where Betty fought her, and Susan, Kim, and Irena can have a crack at her. We can do it around noon tomorrow. Sounds good?"



"I notice you keep saying 'we.' Who is we?" Janelle asked.



"We is 'we,' o' sensei. I don't want to be the one stuck with babysitting this joker. 'We' can meet here around ten tomorrow to get her taken care of so she can get her butt beat again. Fair enough?"



We had no choice but to nod our heads. I didn't have anything going on until later that evening. My family was going to have a little cookout that evening, a sort of pre-graduation celebration for my brother, who will be graduating from college in a week or so. It should take him that long to say good-bye to all his lady friends who follow him around like a lost puppy. In the meantime, outside of a few minor car repairs, my schedule was open.



"Well, I'll help you drag her to the guest room," I said.



"Why? She seems to be sleeping pretty good right here. I'll just get her a pillow and turn off the lights," Velvet said.



We had a good laugh at that. We were able to convince Velvet to let Sara have a good night's sleep in a regular bed so she up and ready to get beat down again. It would be easy to say I had a good night's sleep that night, but considering it took three of my friends hardly any time at all to beat Sara, it wasn't super encouraging.



The next morning, I got up, fixed two cars that had minor problems with plans to get back to the two cars with more serious ailments during the afternoon. Saturdays are sort of a flex day for me. I can either take the day off or work a whole or half-day, depending on workload, mood or the unexpected. I only had to replace an alternator in one and run a diagnostic check on the other. Not too time consuming, but they had to be done right and not be rushed. The first two needed a fan belt and new spark plugs, no time at all for me, but then again, I'm a professional mechanic (no offense to you weekend grease monkeys out there).



Irena was there of course, and I asked her if she fell off the face of the earth or something. She's normally pretty bubbly in the mornings, well all day actually, but that day she had a more serious look about her. She told me she would explain more later, but at that time she wasn't in the mood.



"I will tell you this though," she said. "Your problem is solved."



My problem? Since we were going to put the finishing touches on one later on that day, by process of elimination, it must be Ms. Cooper. I was a little perplexed though. Why was she so serious? Did she spend last night burying the body or what? In the time I've known and worked with Irena, I know she'll tell me when she's ready, so I let it drop for now.



After we finished with the two cars (actually after I finished; Irena was doing some paperwork), I showered, changed into more casual garb (I wore jeans again, secure in the fact that I wasn't going to be doing any more mud-fighting that day), and we jumped into my 1965 blue Mustang convertible, and rode over there with the top down. The drive lightened Irena's spirits up; she told me the next car she'll restore will be a convertible. That was a good sign that she was back to normal.



We must've been an interesting sight; we escorted Sara to her hotel room like she was one of those criminals you see on the TV news taken into or out of a courthouse. All we needed to make the scene complete were handcuffs, uniforms, and being surrounded by reporters. The room was nice; where does Sheila get the money to pay for this stuff? Anyway, we took her to her room, allowed her to shower and change clothes. It turns out she carries an extra leather outfit, how practical. After she changed, we took her out of the hotel. We all just smiled at the clerk and waved as we left. There was some debate over escorting her out of town when it was all over, but I didn't care any more at that point. I figured she could crawl back to New York City on her own.



Irena, who didn't help with the escort, was laughing by the time I got back to the car as we prepared to drive back to the football field. She quipped maybe Sara should go to the local "embassy" and apply for diplomatic immunity or try to get "shock probation." I told her we'll she how much she laughs when she fights her in the mud. Irena in response gave me one of those looks like I've grown two heads.



"Mud? I've fought barefoot in the snows of Russia, comrade. What is mud to me?" She said.



Oh boy.



This time it was Irena's turn to ask me what was wrong when she saw the glum look on my face. I told her about my fun in the mud the night before, and how the others beat her in almost as much time as it takes me to explain this to you. Irena comforted me on the way to the football field, telling me I had an off day with my old gym teacher and everything else.



"It happens to everyone, Betty. Even me," Irena said, smiling.



I couldn't help but smile myself as we made it to the football field. Kim, my sensei, and Susan were there as promised, waiting. My sensei wore a white headband in her hair, a black tank top that could almost go as a halter top, and yellow shorts. Susan wore a black half-sleeve top with cut-off blue jean shorts, and an ankle bracelet and a toe ring. When I saw the outfits, I wondered what the deal was. Hasn't someone told these two they were going to me fighting in mud?



Irena, who was more appropriately dressed in a black T-shirt with black jean shorts elected to go last, to "finish her off." Susan voted to go first. Sara was told to go out to the middle of the field where she fought me. Some of the others ventured a little closer to where the fights would take place. Velvet, Janelle, and myself stood at the sidelines where it was the least muddy. Janelle, being prepared for everything, did bring a bucket and sponge for the combatants to wipe their feet after they finished.



As soon as everything was in place, Susan boldly walked out there like the mud wasn't there. While I was marveling at this, it then occurred to me that Susan spent a good deal of her spare time as a kid on her uncle's farm. Where else would you see a lot of mud but at a farm?



Susan's bout was over very quickly. As Sara charged, Susan launched a right side kick, followed by a left side kick. The kicks stopped Sara in her tracks, but didn't hurt her. What they did do was leave two muddy footprints on Sara's top. She looked down and became a little enraged. She started to say something when Susan tapped her on the right cheek with her left kick, followed by another tap on the left cheek with her right kick. I say "tapped" because the kicks didn't do anything more but leave mud on both sides of Sara's face. After her last two kicks, Susan turned and left the field, walking over to Janelle's bucket to wash off her feet. Sara, bless her, was yelling, demanding for Susan to come back and finish the fight. Susan smiled and said that the fight was over. Sara had a confused look that said she didn't get it. I had to admit I didn't either.



Kim noticed my confusion and explained it to me.



"What Susan did was more of a symbolic victory," she said. "Where she could have engaged Sara in a regular fight, she did just enough to know she could've beaten her easy if she wanted to."



It slowly started to dawn on me that there was a lot more to boxing besides knowing when to hit. I knew there was a lot of force used in boxing, obviously, but I didn't realize there was a lot of control used too. Any two people can swing at each other with all their might, but if you know how much power and when to use it, that indeed makes you a pro in the ring. I also realized how powerful Susan really was. If she went ahead and used full or even half power with those kicks, Sara would've been knocked out until sometime next week or drinking her meals through a straw for even longer. I can see how she hospitalized those three guys who tried to attack her many months ago.



Apparently Sara started to get the point too. When she realized she could've been kicked into the middle of next week, she roared with what looked like anger and frustration. She was planning on taking it out on the next contender.



"Susan performed a symbolic victory. I don't plan on being as educational," my sensei said and she got up and walked on the field toward Sara.



Unlike yours truly, the mud didn't bother Kim at all. "Ah, this feels good!" She said as she paused to enjoy the sensation of having that muck squish between her toes. I don't care how soothing it's supposed to feel, it was still cold and clammy to me. She resumed walking until she was about six feet away from Sara.



"What's this? First you send an amazon who just pats mud on my cheeks, now you send me a diminutive shrimp to take care of me? Surely you jest!" Sara said, but with a little less bravado as before.



Kim just smiled. "Let's go string-bean," she said, "or do you have problems fighting a 'diminutive shrimp?'"



Once again, Sara charged, this time a little more confident that she was attacking someone standing 5'5" instead of 6'0" in a lot of mud. Kim stood her ground until Sara was almost on top of her, then fired a left side kick into her belly. When I landed blows there earlier, her armor absorbed the blow. Not this time. As soon as Kim's kick hit its target, Sara bent over, stunned. What her kick lacked in raw power like Susan's blows, it had in precision. Sara backed up a couple of steps. My sensei just walked a couple of steps close to her, then without warning, jumped up and delivered a flying side kick with her right foot, smacking Sara full in the face. The tall woman fell over backwards, her back making a nice "splat" sound. Kim walked over to where Sara's head landed, and looked down at her.



"If you want to try fighting a 'diminutive shrimp,' you should try fighting my 5'2" cousin who is a grandmaster in judo. If you're lucky, you might get away with only one or two broken limbs," Kim said.



I remember my teacher once telling me that when they were teenagers, her, her sister Jasmine, and her cousin were the "Guardian Angels" for their neighborhood, taking on all the riff-raff that created a problem for everyone who lived there. It's nice to see she still has her touch, or kick.



"All yours, Irena," Kim said, as she walked off the field to rinse her feet off. "I left the rest for you."



"Thank you, sensei," Irena said. "But just the same, I'll wait a bit until she's fully up and around before I knock her back down again."



As she waited, a big smile was forming on her face. My co-worker really loved this stuff! She couldn't wait to go and kick this woman's tail. When Sara looked like she shook all the cobwebs out of her head from Kim's last two kicks, Irena almost skipped onto the muddy field.



When she came out there, Sara was out of flowery things to say. She just looked at Irena and said, "Who are you?"



"That's all I get, no long speech or name calling? I am Irena, Betty's co-worker, and I'm going to make you eat some mud. I understand you're a cage fighter, no? So was I, undefeated in Russia before I came here. Let's see how fast I can break you."



It looked like something in Sara snapped from what Irena said. Perhaps it was the fact that she's been defeated by all of us in record time (except for me). Whatever the reason was, she had blood in her eyes as she encountered Irena. This time she cautiously circled Irena, then she pounced.



If we were expecting a woman-to-woman grappling match, we would've been a little disappointed, but only a little. What we got instead was a little demonstration of almost every throw Irena had in her arsenal. Every now and then, she'd throw an occasional kick or punch, but mostly, we just saw Sara bodily sliding across the field like a baseball player sliding into home plate. You would've thought we were watching fireworks, the way we were going "ooh" and "ahh" after each throw. I think there was one "ouch" from Janelle on one brutal throw.



The climax of this one-sided battle was when Irena picked up Sara, held her over her head, and slammed her down on her back in the mud. I think all the spectators winced on that one. To finish her off, Irena gave a right overhand punch to Sara's face, putting her lights out. Irena wasn't finished yet though. She walked up to Sara, but her bare right foot over Sara's face, and gave a victory pose to the audience. We all applauded and secretly were glad she was on our side. At least I don't feel so silly with giving Sara my foot-facial the evening before.



When Irena came back, I mentioned the idea of pumping her for information when she woke up, but she waved her hand.



"Wake her up and send her home, she's not worth the trouble," Irena said. "We'll find Sheila without her help. If we're finished, I'd like to get home; I have things to do."



Following Irena's suggestion, that's what we did. We barely gave her a chance to wipe her face off. When she got in her rental car, I walked over to the driver's side window and motioned for her to roll it down.



"The next time you talk to Sheila, tell her that I'm looking for her," I said. "It might be a good idea for her to go to New York City with you, because it's not safe for her here. Drive carefully now, okay?"



Sara just grunted and drove off. The rest of us laughed and waved. I think it was Velvet that said, "Bye Xena, come by and get your butt kicked anytime."



Later that evening, my family had our pre-graduation cookout for my brother who was going to be graduating in a few weeks. We weren't that far apart in age, and normally, we would've been graduating college at the same time. However, my brother took a more "scenic" route, with doing internships at various companies, and a six-month mission trip. Along with my family, Irena was invited (my mom and dad had already made her an honorary part of the family), and Barbie Kendoll, an old high school friend of mine who recently got her life back, and has started attending school to attain her degree in journalism. Our old friendship was revived as well, and we spend a good deal of our time together catching up on old times.



I was tempted to wear what I wore earlier to the gathering, but it turned out I got a little mud on my jeans, and I did not want to explain to my family nor Barbie how they got there. In fact, I'm not sure myself, other than it coming from Sara during Irena's throwing clinic. Instead, I put on another white T-shirt, and my third pair of jeans in two days. Irena wore a blue tank top dress that had a split that showed off her muscular legs. Barbie wore a white and blue tie-dyed long sleeve T-shirt, straight leg blue jeans, and was barefoot. It's normally not a big deal to me, because Irena and I as well as my friends go barefoot all the time. But until about six months ago, this was a woman who would not leave the house without wearing matching footwear, as well as have so many pairs of shoes, she could open her own shoe store. After she underwent six months of a recovery program given by Susan, Janelle, and Velvet, to help heal her from an abusive relationship, so much has changed. She now has a new spirit, new muscles, new fighting skills, and a disregard for shoes. The three ladies swear they had nothing to do with the last part.



In any case, the cookout was wonderful. Both my parents were excellent cooks. My dad grilled steaks and ribs that were so good, you would beg for more. He said once if he wasn't good with cars, he would've been a cook. It's a good thing he didn't, because the cooking gene wasn't passed down to me. However, my mom made some delicious dishes herself with mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, green beans, and her best desert, blackberry cobbler. This was rinsed down with sweet tea with a slice of lemon. For those who ask me why I haven't moved out yet, this was a pretty good reason. There's not too many places you can go where the food is this good!



Besides celebrating my brother's soon-to-be graduation, I had an ulterior motive as well. My brother is a pretty nice guy, and he deserves a pretty nice girl as well. Since Barbie is a pretty nice girl, why not try to subtly put the two together and see what happens, you know? Yeah, like I'm a relationship expert, but you never know, so what did I have to lose?



Since the meal was in his honor, Billy (my brother) talked about his collegiate exploits at the university upstate where he attended. After a few hours of hearing about the sights, sounds, experiences, and the women at school who seem to be part of his "fan club," my parents decided that it was time to put things up and put the celebration to a close, so we won't be too sleepy in church the next day. It was time to put my plan into action.



Behind the house was a wooded pathway that had a picnic bench at the end. My parents went there sometimes when they felt a little romantic. I saw Billy and Irena walk that direction, my brother still talking about his glory days at school. I didn't want to be too obvious following right behind them, so I helped put things up while Barbie was talking to my mother. After a lull in the conversation, I suggested to Barbie that we go down the pathway to walk off our meal. She agreed; so far, so good.



We walked down the pathway, talking a little about old times when we encountered Irena coming back toward us. There was something different about the way she walked, like she just won an award or something, and she had this strange smile on her face like the cat who ate the proverbial canary.



"Barbie, Betty," she said, "once again, I'm going to thank your parents for the delicious food, then I'm going to go home. I'll see you both in church tomorrow."



She walked her way back to the house. I wondered what was up, and I also wondered from the smile on Barbie's face what she knew about Irena's mood being a little more bubbly than usual. Those questions left my mind when I saw my brother at the picnic bench.



My brother was sitting on the picnic table with a look on his face like he saw a ghost, only it wasn't as cheerful. His eyes were about to pop out of his head, his mouth was wide open, and for Billy this was unusual, but he was speechless.



What just happened?



I was going to go to him to find out what the problem was when Barbie suddenly took my arm and steered me the opposite direction back toward the house. I tried to explain that Billy looked like he was in shock, but she told me he'll be just fine.



"But he, he looked, I was going to-" I sputtered, trying to explain something.



"Look Betty," Barbie said, "I know what you're trying to do, and that's sweet, but I don't want or need a relationship right now. I want to concentrate right now on renewing my old friendships as well as making new ones. Let's go get another glass of tea, sit down in your office at the shop, and talk some more."



"Uh, okay. . ." I said.



She then took me by the arm, and guided me back up toward the house. Barbie doesn't want to date right now? That's fine, but what in the world happened to my brother?



Any suggestions or comments, sent them to shrewsberry@juno.com.