Fighting by Cat Phoenix

"Knowledge is power.  You take away my ability to outsmart someone,
you kill me.  Only this is fighting, so it's strength and skill, not wit."
    "You
think you don't use your mind to beat someone in a fight, then you're not doing
it right.  Reacting and being one step ahead of an opponent is half the fight. 
Or, like a third of the fight.  Point is, it's important.  You're still using
your mind, you just talk with your fists instead of your mouth."
    I
finally looked right at him.  "That was a lame metaphor."
    He
smiled and shrugged his shoulders.  "I'm an old man.  I'm currently in the
used-to-be-cool-but-now-he's-lame stage of my life."
    I
smiled weakly and rolled my eyes.  "You're only thirty six.  And you're
cool, Brooks.  You'll always be cool."  The smile slipped off my face and
I stared at my boots.  "You think I can do it," I said softly.
    "Yes,"
he said on an exhale.  "You're here for a reason.  This is just another
obstacle in your life, but this time you have us to help you through it.  So
let us help you, Alex.  Let us see you through to the other side."
    "It's
easier to offer help than to take it," I said.
    "Just
another thing to work on, yeah?" he asked.
    I
sighed.  "Yeah." 
    He
stood up and held out a hand to help me up.
    "How
symbolic," I quipped.  "Go team," I deadpanned.
    "Come
on, I have something that I think will make you feel better," he said. 
    And
then he led me to a room full of knives.
    Whoa.
    Finally, Brooks is going to teach me something instead of spouting
philosophical crap at me. 
    There
was a table filled with all kinds of knives.  I took a seat and he began
teaching me about them.  How to hold one, throw it, aim it, and move my body. 
He threw a few across the room and they sunk into a target that was set up against
the wall.  And then it was my turn.
    I
picked up the beginner's practice knife and held it between my thumb and
forefinger in a pinch grip like he showed me.  I felt energy trill through my
limbs in anticipation.  Standing about seven feet from my target, I threw it. 
And it spun diagonally and bounced off the target. 
    I
looked at Brooks dejectedly and he smiled.  What was with this guy and his
smiles?
    He
gave me another knife and told me to go through the throw in slow motion
without releasing the knife.  He corrected my throwing arm, because I was
throwing it like I'd pitch a baseball when really, I was supposed to throw it
straight out.  My elbow was cocked out instead of in.  He also brought his
hands to my shoulders and pushed forward slightly saying I needed to lean into
it to add power to my throw.  That made me think of Ethan and his advice about
exhaling, so I mentally added that and tried again.  I was right handed, so I
had a stance just like I would if I were to throw a punch, with my left leg in
the front.  I cocked my arm back and made sure to keep it aimed straight, and
exhaled as I leaned forward and whipped the knife away from me. 
    And
it went in!  Hot triumph blossomed in my stomach.  I gave an
uncharacteristically girly jump and squeal, which made Brooks laugh out loud. 
After a few more experimental throws, he stayed with me and talked me through
different techniques and distance rules.  I didn't realize it until later, but
I was smiling almost the whole time we trained.
    Brooks
was right.  I loved the knives.  After we finished, I walked back to my
room to change and shower for supper.  Letting the water cascade down my
shoulders, I thought about how much I liked being there, even though I was used
to much more alone time and I was struggling with hand to hand combat.  After
learning about the knives, I felt a much needed burst of optimism and energy. 
So much so, that after I was dry and dressed again, I left for the kitchen an
hour early. 
    I
found Gwen already preparing the hamburger meat for burgers and fries.  She was
in her own little world, humming and occasionally tossing in words.  I wasn't
that