February 27, 2001

Eight years ago, I submitted a short story to an East Coast publisher for a fiction contest. A month later, I received a letter stating that I was a semi-finalist, and that all semi-finalists were published in an anthology.

Excited, I skipped to the last page. The letter offered to sell me the anthology in batches of 500, so that I may sell them to bookstores and spread my work around. Feeling scammed, I tossed the letter in my files. Let them publish me. I wouldn't buy any issues.

I dug out the original letter during my latest move this year. I had skipped the middle page, evidently. Reading it over, I found that it was the consent form to allow them to publish my story.

It was unsigned.

...

Eleven years ago, my first girlfriend was a pretty Vietnamese Catholic girl who didn't want her parents to know she dated. We snuck out to parking lots outside her work, met at school plays, and went to isolated "makeout spots."

After three months, I sat her down, then told her that we were taking each other for granted, that I didn't want to lose her as a friend, and that we should break up.

She paused for a bit.

Then she said, "Um...that's what I told you last week."

...

Fifteen years ago, I earned my green belt. I wanted to stop going to karate, but my parents wanted me to keep an eye on my brother, who loved it, especially the knives.

Our sensei invited a tae kwon do sensei and three students to attend one of our classes one night. They sat in the sidelines in their street clothing watching when our teacher asked them to perform a kata (choreographed combinations) for us. Their form was sloppy and they lost their place every so often.

Then our teacher invited them to spar with us. He paired me up with the sloppy one.

I decided to take it easy on him, so I lazily lashed out with my leading hand.

POP!

I realized a second later that he had kicked me in the groin. If I hadn't worn my cup, I wouldn't have been standing.

Cautious, confused, and wary, I faked with another punch to surprise him with a kick.

POP!

I never even saw his foot. I lost my cool, and a part of me hoped he forgot to wear his cup.

His leg flew up and I stepped backwards to avoid it. I watched in shock as he kicked over my head, and then, somehow, his other foot smashed in between my legs, and lifted me up into the air.

BANG!

As I lay on the floor, I heard my teacher say, "First degree black belts never seem to be able to control their kicks..."

I quit karate that night.