Teaser: Torreandos and Natural Disasters

A sharp, funny jiu-jitsu character sketch about a fiery red-haired woman in pink, a judgmental black belt, and an enemies to lovers short story

Ricardo

She appeared like what she was — a hurricane with fire red hair whipping around her head as if she, not even herself, could contain its personality. When she walked into the room, heads turned and multiple people, who had been drilling torreandos, stopped to smile at her.

Photo by Liza Pooor on Unsplash

I was annoyed before she even walked in the door for reasons I would later attribute to my Black belt intelligence. I was annoyed when I saw her through the glass window, with three bags too many for any self-respecting human being, and colors of pink that she should have outgrown 30 years ago, which she wore, unapologetic-ally, as if chosen to personally irk me.

Photo by Gold BJJ on Unsplash

One of the most seasoned fighters immediately stepped off the mats to embrace her in a hug. She was skating on thin ice. She seemed to know the ice wouldn’t break, given her petite frame, as she pushed the limits. She had the audacity, to not even make eye contact with me. It’s this entitlement that is ruining the sport. Luckily, she disappeared to change and finally some sense of normalcy returned.

She returned wearing vale tudo shorts that, while functional for the space, were also being tested by the limits of her muscular and round ass and defined thighs. Apparently, deception is also one of her vices in addition to being annoying. She wore a lose tank top, tucked into the top of the shorts, chanclas and had managed to gather most of the fiery halo into a messy bun on top of her head. Her now make-up less face looked like it had seen slightly more than I may have given her credit for. She picked up her handwraps, her gloves and her phone, and walked over to the heavy bag. She started to wrap her left hand, but then noticed Travis was working alone during live rounds.

Nikki

I could feel his anger and tall, dark and stormy thing he had going from across the room. In fact, it dominated the entire room leaving little room for much else. I ignored it like I ignore most men and their over sized egos in the sport. It’s how I’ve managed to survive for as long as I have (almost 15 years). I mean what was I supposed to do? Just turn around and go home because apparently my mere existence was a threat to god knows what? Your Black belt isn’t enough to satiate your insecurity, you still have to act like you probably did the very first day you walked on the mat? Gross. Luckily the next generation seemed to have some more promise and attend more therapy than his generation. Travis was trying to work through the round but didn’t have a partner which automatically told me he had something coming up. So I did what anyone who had ever competed would do. I got his attention from across the room and mouthed, “need an uke?” A look of relief passed over his face and he jogged over. I asked what he was trying to work on or what he knew about his opponent. He gave me a quick briefing. What felt like nanoseconds Travis laid down in a bottom half position, I felt a presence looming over me. “Uh hello. Hi excuse me, what are you doing?” he spat out as if I had kicked a baby. Shocked at the disproportionate reaction, I stated plain as day the exact logic I had thought of, “Sorry. I saw Travis was trying to work through the round and didn’t have a partner so I was just trying to help.” Rico Suave, seemingly expecting a fight, and still at about a 15 out of ten, started to chastise me, “Well you ask. You come talk to me. Class is 45 minutes in, it’s almost over.” Inside I wondered if I was not speaking the same language, because I was unsure where we had decided that I needed to take his precious class. His moody eyes drilling into me, the scowl on his face seemingly a permanent fixture, perhaps having accompanied the chiseled muscles. Like, is he so used to people worshipping him that that is the only possible logical conclusion that might be made for someone daring to step on the mats during his class?