Belt

It took me fifteen minutes to find my martial arts training uniform and black belt. Apparently Roman had unpacked it for me after the move, and she buried it in the drawer with my pajamas. I missed having Roman as a roommate. She cooked and kept the place tidy. She took care of things that I didn’t have time to. But I didn’t miss waking up to her sleep-over friends. She frequently brought home men she’d met in bars. It unnerved me walking into the kitchen and bumping into her half naked sex partners.

Wearing the loose-fitting black gi uniform belted around my waist made me feel powerful again. It was a feeling that I savored as I sat cross-legged in the back row of Max Hiroaki’s class. Other black belts had welcomed me with a wary eye when I assured them that I’d been practicing for years.

I’d left the dojo I practiced at for five years because of petty rivalry, but that was the least of the problems I had with them. The owner of that school regularly used his wife as a verbal punch