She’s swaying in front of me, her arms oscillating from her chest to her sides in a flowing but precise movement. It looks like some kind of dance, but the moment you let yourself think that is the moment you get taken down. The ginga is the foundation of the art practiced by the capoeirista, and the launching point for all manner of incredible moves. She continues the swinging motion, shooting a smile in my direction that tells me, as it always has, to stop wasting time and make contact already. She is in no hurry, and can keep it up for as long as she needs to, but she does want to get this underway. It has been five minutes, after all.
I finally oblige, shaking off what is unashamedly intimidation for long enough to reach out a hand. I try for a collar and elbow tie-up. That’s the image that pops into my mind, almost instinctively. I’ve never forgotten my wrestling training, and so my palm shoots forward towards her open neck. It should be so easy, but with next to no effort her hand provides a guard for her throat, her knees bend and her pelvis drives ahead, letting her whole upper body reel backwards in a manner usually reserved for Neo. She didn’t need to do this, but she’s playing with me. It is a game, after all.
Just like the 16-bit battle we engaged in all of twenty minutes ago, this is a friendly game. That’s often how capoeira fights are referred to anyway. That’s not to say its practitioners take it anything less than seriously, but there’s often a playfulness to the art, especially seen amongst friends who compete at it. Granted, I’ve no experience with it other than the regular sparring Melanie and I take part in, and if anything this is an outlandish mixed martial arts that one might expect out of a video game. Of course, Melanie is still learning her style of choice, whereas I’m essentially retired. This is the only real exercise I’ve been getting, and it shows.
Here in the cleared-out dining room, which has been a sparring room for as long as we’ve been doing this, I tell my concerns and tension to take a hike and instead let my old friend experience the skills that made me a champion - and she promptly humiliates me as thanks. My simple stereo system is playing her CD of capoeira music, filled with drums, clapping and Portuguese singing, along with some instruments I can’t pronounce the names of. Melanie insists on having it in the background, as music is important to the art, in both spirit and in helping her find the flow to the complex movements she has to execute. Many times I’ve asked for David Bowie instead, to her disapproval. No taste, that girl.
In all honesty though, she’s fantastic. I’d like to chalk up my failure to hit a move on her to a number of awful excuses; like my chivalry, or my unfamiliarity with capoeira (which is nonsense because six months of getting swept onto one’s arse by Melanie is enough to familiarise anybody with it), but the fact is she’s fantastic. And as I stare and acknowledge just how fantastic she is, she taps me across the head with a light but nonetheless grandiose meia lua de compasso kick.
Say what you will about me, but I’ve darned sure learned the names of the moves she’s been embarrassing me with.
“Get your head back in the game, Reto,” she tells me, her ponytail swinging as she does, “There’s no way I’d have been able to hit that so early if you were paying attention.”
My head is a little rattled despite the light contact. This time it wasn’t the tension that distracted me. Melanie’s back into the ginga, and I decide to heed her advice. I close the gap between us with another grapple attempt, and she sees it coming. She quickly slides down to one side at an angle that seems physically impossible for any normal human being to stretch into, and as she supports her weight with her right arm and foot, a sweeping motion of her left leg catches me and I lose my footing. That damn rasteira. Luckily I’ve been in this situation more times than I can count, and I go with my instincts as I roll backwards with the fall. As I return upright, I’m almost positive I see an opening, and think it’s time to give her a true taste of what I can do.
I’m in position, and I take the quick-step motion that I’ve performed time and time again. I’m channelling Shawn Michaels here, baby. My form surprises me, along with the swiftness of the delivery, as my super kick is fired at her point blank... and she twists her head to the side with zero hesitation and intercepts my leg with her rising arm, and I’ve no choice but to take a headbutt right to the stomach. There’s not even any real force to it, just enough of a push to knock me off balance.
She lets me fall and this time I can’t roll. I’m on my backside before I know it and I really should be used to the sensation at this point. And yet ow ow ow ow.
“That’s got to be a new record,” she says with a laugh, finally out of the ginga and reaching a hand out to help me up.
“That didn’t count,” I tell her, not meaning it, as I accept the hand, “Ramming your enormous head into me can’t possibly be capoeira.”
“They call that a cabeçada and you know it,” she smirks, and slumps down on one of the beanbags I’d littered around the edge of the room, taking a sip of her bottled water.
“I call it cheating,” is my less-than-inspired response, and I follow suit by taking a seat on the opposite side of the room. I don’t even know why I keep my distance, as we’re taking a break, but I pay it no mind lest I have to actually put some thought into the matter.
“Your opinion is invalid until you can land a single strike or one of your fancy throws.”
“How does that even work?”
“You don’t get to ask that question until you...”
“Alright, fine,” I cut her off, and we both smile. We smile a lot around one another. I’d accuse it of being samey if I really cared.
So why there’s this big invisible barrier between us I will never - ah, sorry. Thinking again.
“Come on, one more time,” she says, hoisting herself back up and swaying back into the ginga, her long Cordão belt trailing her every move, “No headbutts this time. How about that?”
A sigh escapes from me and I’m up before I can even rest my sore bottom for long enough, “Okay then, but don’t blame me when I take you down this time.”
“Oooh, is that a promise?”
I don’t know why we do this, other than the fact we both enjoy it. It’s not like I’ve got any plans to go back to wrestling. It’s probably for the best that I don’t, because I’m being thoroughly outmatched day after day.
Grapple attempt again, she rolls out of the way.
I suppose it does scare off the recurring issues that keep sneaking into my mind, at least for a while. If anything, I look forward to these sparring sessions for that alone. It’s quite the relief for me when she’s at my door, a bag of capoeira gear slung over her shoulder, telling me to get my butt into the sparring room. I can put everything aside and focus on not getting beaten up for just a while.
She’s up and pulls off a martelo kick, and I try to grab her foot, but she snaps it back.
If I’m being completely frank, I look forward to seeing her full stop. That’s to be expected from friends, of course, especially old ones, but this relationship is stronger than others. I can’t even explain why. There’s something there, something intangible that keeps us in constant contact these days. It goes beyond our shared interests, I think.
She plants both hands on the ground in preparation for a negativa, and I take a page out of her book by sweeping them from underneath her.
What the hell is it with Melanie and me? I’ve spent so much time letting those issues from before consume my mind that I haven’t truly thought about what’s going on between us. This has been staring me right in the face and for some godforsaken reason it hasn’t occurred to me to actually stare back. Whoops, again with brain activity. How could I forget...
She pivots her foot to salvage the move and tries to right herself, but I scoop her around the waist and drop her with a side slam.
Wait, did I just do that?
Try as she might to fall like she’s been trained, her body hits the floor hard and the rug provides no cushioning. The air leaps out of her lungs and I feel both triumphant and really, really guilty.
“Jeez, are you okay? Sorry, Mel I-I...” I stammer like an idiot out of concern, as her eyes are clenched shut and she’s coughing pretty bad, “Damn it, this is why we needed a mat in here...”
She takes a breath as soon as she’s in control of her respiratory system again and manages to get some words out, “Oh don’t be such a wuss,” she coughs again before continuing in a strained voice, “I’m just winded.”
“Let me get you a drink,” I say, too worried to actually listen to her, and motion to get up, but she doesn’t allow me to. Her hands are gripped around my arms, and I’ve only just noticed this fact. Her strength hasn’t let up a bit, even after the impact.
“Congratulations, you’re pretty good,” she informs me, and she pulls me in and what the hell why in the name of all that is reasonable is she kissing me?
This should make sense. This shouldn’t be a surprise, all things considered. And yet here I am completely and relentlessly baffled by this turn of events. And being confused wasn’t enough, that damned creeping feeling has burst into a full-blown sprint and is currently swallowing me in tension and I’ve no damn choice but to cut this short before I’m overwhelmed.
“What are you doing?” Melanie asks in an annoyed tone, and it’s more than understandable. I’ve pulled away and backed off into the corner and she’s giving me a death glare. I deserve it.
“I-I... um... that is to say....” I’m a bit lost for words and that too is understandable, “...Sorry,” is the best I can manage at this time and I want to hit myself because of it.
“Chris, I thought this was...” Melanie’s not as angry as before, and considering my idiotic comments you have to give her credit for it, “Oh god,” she interrupts her own sentence with, holding her face as it gradually turns to scarlet, “Please god not again. I’m not the only one who... I mean,” she looks at me and her eyes are wide, “This was right, wasn’t it? I’ve... it’s just I...”
The usually sharp-tongued Melanie is all over the place here, and I want to be able to comfort her, to be able to tell her what she wants to hear, but it’s as though I’m watching her through a glass wall. The tension is dragging me down, clouding my mind, and I can’t take this situation in. I can’t help her right now.
“Chris?” she pleads desperately, and this is driving me crazy.
I grab my own water bottle, unscrew the cap, and pour the liquid all over my head. It doesn’t help. Damn it all to hell in a handbag. I turn to Melanie. She’s staring at me expectantly. I walk over to her, every step making that feeling bubble up from my gut even more.
“Could you please slap me?” I ask her, and my words came out clearer than they should have.
Melanie doesn’t answer, thrown off by the bizarreness of my request. She simply looks at me as if I just gave birth to a small aircraft.
“Seriously, slap me,” I repeat, “Slap me hard.”
This time there’s no hesitation. I see white sparks in my eyes as her hand rapidly bats me across the face and my cheek swells up like a skin-coloured balloon. Okay, that was sudden, but considering the situation I can’t say I blame her.
“Thanks,” I tell her as my mind clears up. Wow, it’s really cleared up. I should get her to slap me more often.
With my newfound mental clarity, I allow myself to think about it. To think about exactly what's going on here. To think about what's causing these problems. I do just that, and it sinks in. I accept it. Perhaps a little too well.
“Chris, what the fuck?” she asks.
“Very good question.”
“I thought we were... on the same page with this one,” she begins to say, starting to regain her usual speech pattern, “Just like when you called you out earlier. I thought for sure this was what we both wanted. We... we just needed that little push, and I thought that was it...”
“Actually, I think you’re right.”
“You just think I’m right?” she says, and the disdain in her voice is quite evident.
“Listen, I...” I struggle for a moment to find the words, “I think it’s only just occurred to me. That you and me... you know?”
Melanie shakes her head in disbelief, “How in the hell is that even possible? I thought it was obvious! We were... just scared to explore it up until now, because we’re friends and...”
“I’ve been blinded, Mel,” I tell her, finally locating those pesky words, “Something’s been getting in the way, some issues I’m still yet to resolve.” I’m saying it. It’s out in the open now, and there’s no putting these words back afterwards.
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” she curses, and drops her head back with a deep, angry sigh.
“It’s Soudouki, isn’t it?”
She really does pay attention.
Before I can answer, she cuts me off, “I thought you were over her! It’s been a year, damn it! You’ve supposed to have moved on!”
It’s really strange hearing her say this. I knew she’d never approved of my ex, since she’d known her long before as well, but I didn’t realise there was this much vitriol. If I’d opened my eyes before to what was going on between us, I wouldn’t be nearly as taken aback.
“I have moved on,” I finally say, and I mean it, at least for the most part, “I don’t want her any more.”
“Then what’s the bloody problem?” she yells at me, and the usually tough Melanie finally lets a few tears through, “Why not... us?”
“I can’t see things clearly the way they are now,” I tell her, “It’s prevented me from acknowledging... this.”
“What are you talking about?” Her words aren’t coming through as well as before, as they are interrupted by emotional snorts. I feel abysmal for putting her through this. I’m half-tempted to let her kick my head off for it.
“I can’t hide from my problems. I believe that’s why I can’t sit still. I need to resolve this. There’s no way in hell I’d ever want to go back to Soudouki, but...”
Melanie is glaring at me now, trying best to get a handle on her emotions. It’s not going very well.
Now all of this has been considered I finally realise what needs to be done. About bloody time.
“I need to wrestle again.”
“What?” she asks, utterly dumbfounded, and as clearly as she can in her current state, she continues, “What does this have to do with wrestling? I thought this was about Soudouki?”
I pause for a moment, and actually laugh. It’s completely inappropriate, but based on what my answer’s going to be, I just can’t help it.
“That’s the thing, Mel,” I reply, “They’re one and the same.”
Subject: Here's to you, Miss Riggs. 
Thu Dec 09, 2010 6:28 pm
