Never Forget Taking the Brown Bomber Jacket

What Goes Around Comes Around

“Harder!” my training instructor shouted from behind me.  “You punch like a girl!”

            I clenched my jaw and whirled around to punch him in the stomach.  He doubled over, wheezing.  I leaned down and whispered, “Do you really think that’s an insult?” in his ear.  He didn’t respond, so I straightened back up and walked away.

            “Stop,” the guard at the door said, blocking my exit.  “The session is not over yet.”

            I looked back at my instructor, who was standing again and giving me a loathing look.  “How much more time left with him?” I asked the guard.

            “Fifteen more minutes.”

            “Thank god,” I sighed, turning back around to continue.  So much for a dramatic exit.  Well, at least I only had fifteen more minutes with this sexist douchebag; then I would be free.  After my previous outburst, though, he stopped making comments.

            Fifteen minutes passed quickly, and I was allowed a ten minute break to get a drink of water and eat an energy bar.  For some reason, they were making sure that I was extremely fit.  Why I needed to be in such good shape, I had no idea.

            “Are you ready for your next lesson?” a voice asked from behind me.

            I gasped and spun around, coming face to face with a young Chinese man.  I mean, everyone around here except for me was Chinese, so I wasn’t surprised.  I was beginning to think that I was actually in China.

            “Sorry,” I apologized to the man, though I didn’t know why.  “I didn’t hear you.”

            “I noticed,” he said, a small smirk on his face.  He walked around me and headed over to a metal cabinet that I wasn’t allowed to touch.  He unlocked it and, to my surprise, pulled out a drawer full of throwing knives.

            “Whoa,” I said, finding myself reaching out for one.  I had no idea when I started walking over, but suddenly I was standing right next to the man.

            “Hey!” he exclaimed, swatting my hand away.  “Not yet.  I have to show you first.”

            I frowned.  “Why?”

            “Because you need to see the right technique before you can try.”  He pulled three small knives from the drawer and walked calmly over to what looked like a shooting range.  I thought the reason for that was to teach me how to shoot, but I guess learning how to throw knives was pretty sweet, too.

            The man took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  After a moment, he opened them again and swiftly threw the knives one after the other.  All of them hit the center of the bulls-eye.

            My mouth fell open.  “How-How—?” I stuttered.

            He chuckled and went to retrieve them.  “Now,” he said, coming over to me, “your turn.”  He held the knives out to me.

            “I-What?” I asked, staring blankly at the knives.

            “It’s your turn to throw them.”

            I began to protest, but he carefully placed the knives in my hands.

            “Go,” he said sternly.

            I swallowed nervously and nodded, stepping up to where he was previously standing.  I took a deep breath and then just chucked the knives toward the bulls-eye as hard as I could.  The first two bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor, but the third one managed to stick into the wall a bit to the right of the bulls-eye.