#sonyafletcherchronicles

Michael replaced his own mask and took an offensive stance as Sonya tried to remember where to put her feet for the appropriate defensive posture. When Michael lunged forward, she just barely managed to deflect the hit from landing on her right shoulder. Then quick as lightning, he twisted and thrust toward the left side of her body, easily touching her sleeve before she could react.

“Good. Again.” Michael said.

Sonya reset her feet as he came at her left hip this time. Once again, she barely deflected the blow and was too slow to block the next hit to her shoulder.

“Enough! I’m done. I’m terrible at this, we’ll just have to get someone else to do it.” Sonya said, exasperated at having failed yet again.

“Nonsense, you’re doing rather well for your first lesson.”

“Your second attack hits me every single time, how is that ‘doing rather well’?” Sonya tore off her mask and scowled at him, dropping her foil to the floor and turning to walk away.

Michael was next to her in an instant, his hand gentle on her shoulder. “Be patient with yourself, you are learning. You parry my initial attacks well; what you lack is the ability to anticipate my next move in time to block it. That will come with time and understanding of how body movement can indicate the direction of the next attack in this sport. Watch.”

Reluctantly, Sonya turned around. Cramming her mask back on her head and crossing her arms over her chest, she glowered at him through the mask. Michael took a few steps back from her before running through a sequence of attacks slowly, explaining the techniques he employed and instructing her to observe his body motion as he transitioned from one attack to the next.

As if she wasn’t already paying enough attention to the way his body moved. He was tall and lean, his movements possessing such easy grace that it was impossible not to watch him. She blushed, grateful she had the mask on to hide her face.

He finished with a final flourish and walked back over to her. Picking up her foil, he placed it in her hand.

“Now, let’s try putting you on offense. Perhaps it would help if I guide you through basic attack techniques. May I show you?”

“Sure.” Sonya replied, taking a deep breath.

He moved to stand behind her, lining his body up against hers as he gently placed his left hand on her hip to direct her movement and his right hand over hers on the foil. Sonya held her breath, not daring to breathe with him so unbelievably close.

“Relax, Miss Fletcher. You’ll never be able to move with the fluidity required in this sport if you’re so tense all the time.”

Sonya snorted, barely disguising it as a cough at the last second. She wanted to shout at him that it was hard to be calm when she could feel his warmth up against her. Instead, she took another deep breath and willed her body to relax despite the butterflies in her stomach. As distracting as it was to have him so close, she was more comfortable around him than she wanted to let herself admit. He was one of the few she trusted completely.

“Much better. Now, turn your wrist like this, with a slight bend at your elbow, then thrust forward, keeping the blade in line with your arm. Footwork is equally important. Step forward with your right foot as you thrust.”

Michael continued to guide her through a few different attacks, showing her how to position her feet and body to put more speed behind the thrust while controlling the angles of her arm and wrist to guide her from one motion into the next. Sonya did her best to focus on the task at hand rather than his warm body pressed up against her back. She wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or disappointed when he finally released her.

Michael walked back across the mat, turning to face her as he took up a defensive stance. “Okay. Now, attack me.”

Sonya readied her feet, then lunged toward his left arm. Michael deflected her attack with ease but not without leaving a small opening in his defense. Sonya changed angles and aimed for the opening, but Michael blocked her at the last second.

“Excellent! You redirected exactly as I showed you. See, you can learn, Miss Fletcher, when you choose to.”

“Yeah well, getting to stab at you is rather motivating.”

Even through the mask, Sonya could sense the exasperated glare on his face.

“Again.” Michael said.

Sonya went on offense again, with Michael deflecting three blows before returning the attack and putting her on defense. They continued several more rounds, and even though she felt like a discombobulated slug next to Michael’s practiced finesse, she had to admit it wasn’t an entirely detestable sport.

Sonya was just starting to feel like she was getting the hang of it when she missed a key block. Just a tad too slow to parry the incoming thrust, Michael’s foil pierced through her glove and stabbed into her hand.

“Shhhhhppfffft.” Sonya winced as she dropped her foil. Blood trickled through the hole in her glove. She removed her mask and glared down at the foil as if it had lied to her. “I thought these things weren’t that sharp!?”

Michael tore his mask off and was there in a second, removing her glove and inspecting the small puncture near her the base of her thumb. “The tips are blunted, but can still cause harm with enough force behind them. I’m sorry, you were catching on so fast I felt comfortable increasing my attack speed. Perhaps a bit too much.” He frowned at the wound, pulling his own glove off with his teeth so he could put pressure on it to slow the bleeding.

Sonya flushed, not expecting or needing him to be so attentive to what was barely even a scratch compared to numerous other wounds she’d suffered. He continued to fuss over her for several minutes, wiping the blood from her hand once the small wound had stopped bleeding. When his hand continued to linger on hers, she cleared her throat.

“Michael, I’m fine. You can let go of my hand now.”

As much as Sonya didn’t want it to end, she’d never admit to him how much she enjoyed his hand on hers.

“How about we try again tomorrow?” She said.

His eyes found hers, and he gave her a knowing half-smile.

“I am.” It was more of a whine than he’d intended and he huffed, his body moving with increasing agitation. A guy only turned seventy-five once, after all.