Today, I was wondering, if I were to sign up for karate, would it make me afraid of myself. That's a strange question, isn't it?
Yes, I really thought that question. You see, when I was just fourteen years old, I spent a lot of time at home by myself for reasons I won't go into right now. I will tell you that it was quite a lonely time of my life, but I discovered that I was a lot more complicated than I had ever imagined.
One night, I was sitting at the foot of my bed, just before I was about to turn out the lights and go to sleep. My headboard was against a high Eastern window and my mother had just had a central air conditioning system put in and it stood, about two and a half feet square, underneath that window. I wore my usual pajamas which covered way more than any bathing suit, but they were my pajamas after all.
I heard a noise outside my window and saw a face looking at me. The next thing I knew, I was in a different place, as if I'd transported in the time it took for an intake of breath. My face was within ten inches of that face, now a fearful one, with my fist raised up in preparation for a blow. It was still moving forward and at the last second I opened my palm and slapped the window hard enough that a single crack appeared from one edge to the other. I had nearly rammed my fist through a pane of glass! What the hell was I doing?
The face disappeared and I heard scuttling noises outside. It sounded as though he fell down more than once in his attempt to get away. I called my brother at college and he told me he'd take care of it for me. That weekend, my brother set up all of the concrete casement windows, in typical Boy Scout fashion, with strike anywhere matches bound to black cat firecrackers so that I'd be warned if anyone got past their simple mechanism. I forget what he did to the upstairs windows. He fixed a couple of blinds and double-checked the locks. On Sunday afternoon, he had to head back to school. I didn't want him to go.
I was afraid of being left alone, but not quite as afraid as I had been before. Uneventful weeks went by until one night, I suddenly woke to a scraping noise below that same cracked window. I looked out and could see a figure huddled over one of the basement windows. I could almost hear the adrenaline rush through me. Without thinking, I ran downstairs in silence and in complete darkness. I grabbed my brother's old Louisville Slugger from the corner where it leaned and then ducked under the window where I could still hear the scraping as if someone was sliding a knife along the gap to release the simple lever.
I stood quietly for a moment, my heartbeat pounding. I didn't need to see much. I don't know how long I waited there listening, but I remember feeling the cold seep into my bare feet from the concrete floor. I also remember wishing I'd had time to call the police, but there I stood waiting for everything to begin.
Then, I heard it, a scrape as I saw the window fall inward, a sizzle, and a loud pop as the firecracker went off. Then there was silence for half a second before I could wait no longer. You could not imagine the obscenities that I began to spew. In between, I told this guy that in no uncertain terms that the second he put his head through my window I was going to crack it open like a watermelon. I actually taunted him to try it. I could not believe myself, a pretty girl, standing there in a frilly nightie and underwear, spewing this filth, truly filled with fury, almost wishing that I would get the chance to bash this guys brains in. Almost.
I heard this guy run off too, but this time, I called the police. They showed me where someone had disturbed the leaves by the window and the knife marks in the aluminum frame. They told me to call them immediately if I ever heard any noises again and one guy chuckled as he told me to leave that bat near my bedside. This was back in the days and in a place where the police actually had the resources and the desire to help in a case like this.
For the rest of the year, I had trouble sleeping. When I was alone in the house, which was often, I was jumpy. Yet, from those two incidents, I learned that I had a power inside that would protect me if I needed it. I have needed it a couple of times and thankfully, that usually inert part of my personality has protected me.
Since then, I've lived with a dilemma. I have chosen to live a quiet life, only calling on this part of my character when I truly needed it. I've always felt a certain danger in offering to bring it to the forefront, even in building muscles and the reflexes to match it. I have no qualms about using this power to protect me and my family, but would it be healthy for me to train it? If I had, could I have become dangerous?
I don't know if I'll ever answer that question. I'm not sure I want to.
Thank you for listening, jb
Yes, I really thought that question. You see, when I was just fourteen years old, I spent a lot of time at home by myself for reasons I won't go into right now. I will tell you that it was quite a lonely time of my life, but I discovered that I was a lot more complicated than I had ever imagined.
One night, I was sitting at the foot of my bed, just before I was about to turn out the lights and go to sleep. My headboard was against a high Eastern window and my mother had just had a central air conditioning system put in and it stood, about two and a half feet square, underneath that window. I wore my usual pajamas which covered way more than any bathing suit, but they were my pajamas after all.
I heard a noise outside my window and saw a face looking at me. The next thing I knew, I was in a different place, as if I'd transported in the time it took for an intake of breath. My face was within ten inches of that face, now a fearful one, with my fist raised up in preparation for a blow. It was still moving forward and at the last second I opened my palm and slapped the window hard enough that a single crack appeared from one edge to the other. I had nearly rammed my fist through a pane of glass! What the hell was I doing?
The face disappeared and I heard scuttling noises outside. It sounded as though he fell down more than once in his attempt to get away. I called my brother at college and he told me he'd take care of it for me. That weekend, my brother set up all of the concrete casement windows, in typical Boy Scout fashion, with strike anywhere matches bound to black cat firecrackers so that I'd be warned if anyone got past their simple mechanism. I forget what he did to the upstairs windows. He fixed a couple of blinds and double-checked the locks. On Sunday afternoon, he had to head back to school. I didn't want him to go.
I was afraid of being left alone, but not quite as afraid as I had been before. Uneventful weeks went by until one night, I suddenly woke to a scraping noise below that same cracked window. I looked out and could see a figure huddled over one of the basement windows. I could almost hear the adrenaline rush through me. Without thinking, I ran downstairs in silence and in complete darkness. I grabbed my brother's old Louisville Slugger from the corner where it leaned and then ducked under the window where I could still hear the scraping as if someone was sliding a knife along the gap to release the simple lever.
I stood quietly for a moment, my heartbeat pounding. I didn't need to see much. I don't know how long I waited there listening, but I remember feeling the cold seep into my bare feet from the concrete floor. I also remember wishing I'd had time to call the police, but there I stood waiting for everything to begin.
Then, I heard it, a scrape as I saw the window fall inward, a sizzle, and a loud pop as the firecracker went off. Then there was silence for half a second before I could wait no longer. You could not imagine the obscenities that I began to spew. In between, I told this guy that in no uncertain terms that the second he put his head through my window I was going to crack it open like a watermelon. I actually taunted him to try it. I could not believe myself, a pretty girl, standing there in a frilly nightie and underwear, spewing this filth, truly filled with fury, almost wishing that I would get the chance to bash this guys brains in. Almost.
I heard this guy run off too, but this time, I called the police. They showed me where someone had disturbed the leaves by the window and the knife marks in the aluminum frame. They told me to call them immediately if I ever heard any noises again and one guy chuckled as he told me to leave that bat near my bedside. This was back in the days and in a place where the police actually had the resources and the desire to help in a case like this.
For the rest of the year, I had trouble sleeping. When I was alone in the house, which was often, I was jumpy. Yet, from those two incidents, I learned that I had a power inside that would protect me if I needed it. I have needed it a couple of times and thankfully, that usually inert part of my personality has protected me.
Since then, I've lived with a dilemma. I have chosen to live a quiet life, only calling on this part of my character when I truly needed it. I've always felt a certain danger in offering to bring it to the forefront, even in building muscles and the reflexes to match it. I have no qualms about using this power to protect me and my family, but would it be healthy for me to train it? If I had, could I have become dangerous?
I don't know if I'll ever answer that question. I'm not sure I want to.
Thank you for listening, jb
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