Colored Corner Homes

                       Colored Cornered Homes

         My stomach is filled with ice and my legs hold no support. My trainer wraps my fists and wrists as I listen to the crowd cheering on the fighters currently in battle. The smell of cleaning solvent and body odor fills my nose as my trainers calls out combinations for me to hit his hand pads. He is tall and lean with a ready smile and sharp as a whip. The final applause for the victor dies down as an over worked and under paid woman pokes her head in and nods to my trainer. Time to go.
         Fear raging in my body and feeling unusually tired, I follow my trainer down a long corridor. Lining the walls are other fighters either resting from a battle or anxiously awaiting one. We enter the arena to see a mass of people. Spectators turn to look at me, some muttering and some pointing. Briefly I catch a glimpse of my family waving with excitement and worry. We check in and then wiggle through shouting fans and angry onlookers to the ring.
         Up and through the ropes I go into the light that blinds and illuminates for all to see. My muscles turn to water as I see my opponent enter the ring. He is about a foot taller and twice as muscular as I remembered. He lightly hops from foot to foot examining me from across our divide. We’re called to the center and given rules we have already heard. Our eyes briefly meet as we touch gloves and return to our corners.
         Ding! Round one began quickly. A front kick goes to my stomach, adrenaline and excitement put that to the back of my head. I return with a left jab and a right wheel kick. Just then his leg makes the long journey to contact my head. White light and numbness for a brief moment before that too is pushed back. I don’t feel excited, scared, or tired anymore. With unrelenting resolve I jab, jab, right cross, right wheel kick! Most are landing cleanly! My right hand connects square as the bell goes, Ding! Round one over. Off to my stool sucking air in my nose pushing it out my mouth, I try to slow my heart.
         Ding! Round two. As we begin again I can hear the cheering from my brother drowning in the crowd of mixed blurs, colors, flashes, and various other chants. Without notice another head kick strikes igniting me with frustration and slight anger. My fists and feet fly as they land wherever possible. My numerous array of strikes are a bit to much to counter. I press him into the corner and begin pace myself, Ding! Again the bell sends us to our colored corner homes. I am tired. My muscles are pumping, my lungs are burning. My body temperature is like an oven.
         Ding! We begin for the last time. He attacks at an exhausting pace. I’m able to duck a heavy right hand and block a left kick, then WHAM, another of those sneaky head kicks penetrates my defense! He is pushing with all he has. It takes practice and accuracy to land a head kick, my opponent has trained well. I launch an unusually low right wheel kick catching his ankle causing him to back pedal. I follow him with my four weapons. I strike hard and well knowing this is the final round to complete, he is left to cover up and defend. Just then I feel great respect for my opponent. He is part of my journey to self discovery. A factor in my overcoming fear. Ding! Fights over.
         Relief and exhaustion roar in me. We are taken to the center and after a few words my arm is raised in victory. Surprisingly a loud cheer and applause is unleashed! The audience saw our battle as a good one. Both of us fought hard and with our hearts. Through this I learned a valuable life lesson; keep fighting my fear and anything is possible.
         
                                       Benjamin Shaw 07