Obake Memories
By LeahNardo
Chapter 4: Dragons
Deja Fu The feeling that somehow,
somewhere, you've been kicked in the
head like this before.
On Martial Arts and Metaphysics
The place was a mess. It was obvious that no one had been here for some time. Dust covered the floor, and litter was scattered hither and yon.
It made me sad to see it. After all, I had put one-seventh of my week every week into cleaning it. The broom and rags were still there, even. I picked up the broom and started sweeping. It was the least I could do for the place. How many times had I swept this floor? Buffed and rebuffed its surface until not a speck of dust marred its shine? A large part of my training had involved cleaning this place. At the time, it seemed like busywork, but I can look back and know it made me stronger. A refining fire fueled by dust-bunnies and floor wax.
What had pushed me to start training? I think it was Raphael that goaded me into it, originally. I never could turn down a real challenge, and he had a way of challenging everything I did…
School had just started (What? You didn't think I went to school?), and I didn't get to see them as much as I had in the summertime.
The remainder of the summer had been memorable. We had gone down to our building almost every day. They weren't always there (Off doing whatever important things ninja did outside fooling around with my brother and me, I guess. They didn't tell us much about their daily routine), but Brian and I had fun anyway.
And the pranks they pulled on us! I got in trouble when my mom's flute kept disappearing, and then reappearing in my room. Things got moved around the house and we'd have to go searching for them. I had a time talking my way out of trouble when a whole pot of spaghetti floated off and magically popped into existence on the fire escape. Some people have car key gnomes, I had everything gnomes. They told me where to find something if I couldn't after a while, but usually not before I got a lecture. My mother was convinced it was me, and when I kept talking my way out of it, I think she worried I was becoming a pathological liar. I think it was Mike doing it, for the most part. He thought it was terribly funny when my candy stash was whisked away (He gave it back after many threats and a few whacks from his brothers).
But then I had to go back to school. It was hard for me. I didn't need to be told I was awkward for my age. I also found myself suffering from an acute case of breast envy. So what if the other girls had chests and mine was still abysmally flat? So what if I didn't have to wear a bra and nobody even noticed? Unfortunately, these were not things to be discussed with the opposite sex, no matter what species they were. So I suffered in silence.
Donatello proved to be a Godsend when it came to school work. I am really bad at math, and anything involving numbers (I've heard there are people out there who love numbers and math and anything of that sort. I envy them). It took him a while to warm up to me, but once I got his mouth going on something he knew about, I very nearly couldn't shut him up. He was also exceedingly patient. I am in no way easy to teach anything I don't immediately like, as I have no patience. I'm surprised he put up with me. My algebra book suffered for it, as did his ears. Leonardo helped me out occasionally, too. He was appalled at my lack of good study habits, saying many times I lacked discipline. I ignored him for the most part, and for the not-most part, argued and got generally frustrated. One did not win arguments with Leonardo. One did not even have the occasional draw. I left from most study sessions with him in a peevish mood. I am not a good loser.
Which is probably what helped Raphael goad me into training. Being, as I said before, not generally liked in my neighborhood, I got pushed around a lot in school. A good day was when the bruises were not where my mom could see them. Raphael regularly ripped into me for it.
"Why don't you ever stand up for yourself? Knock 'em on their butts!"
I would usually glare at him, already frustrated and feeling very much like the wimp he thought me to be. "Because I can't win, that's why."
He would often shake his head, baffled. "At least then you'd know you tried. You just let 'em walk all over you!" And he'd walk off, growling to himself in thorough disgust. I don't think he understood those who were weaker than he was, or so I regularly thought.
Trying to fight, instead of just getting out of the line of fire ASAP (This was my usual tactic), seemed to me just another way to get thoroughly pounded. I would put up a fight when cornered (I don't just curl up and take it. I'm not a complete weenie, just most of one), and this did get me thoroughly pounded on more than one occasion.
One such occasion was on a Friday afternoon in October. The wind was cold, and I was wearing a favorite scarf my grandmother had knitted for me. Someone saw fit to grab the scarf. As it was still attached around my neck, it did a good job of stopping me. I found myself surrounded by unfriendly faces, one of which I had one-upped in World Geography class that day (I didn't say I was dumb at everything. I happen to really like some of my subjects, like English and Art and History and such. Ones that couldn't nail me with weirded out logic. I'm actually kind of smart at some of them. This was another source of trouble for me, as I don't excel at keeping my mouth shut).
The guy I had outdone in Geography was in my face now (I was still at an age where it was okay to hit a girl. We hadn't quite reached phase where this becomes "uncool") "You think you're so frickin' smart."
Well, no, I knew I was smart, though I wasn't really feeling such at the moment.
"You think it's funny, makin' everybody laugh at me?" He hissed.
I relished the small revenges, most of which were in class. It gave me a short-lived sense of triumph to know I knew more about some things than they did. It usually came back to bite me in the butt, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.
I get a shove from behind. "How do you know so much, nerd girl?" Another boy snarled.
Usually I don't say much. It pays to keep one's mouth shut in situations like these. But, as I said, sometimes my mouth runs away with me. "How can you not, loser?" I said in irritation. My mouth fights back, even though the rest of me can't quite back it up.
I didn't see it coming. Those guys can be pretty fast when they're angry.
Getting punched in the stomach is a rather unpleasant experience, especially if they get you just right. They got me in that spot that stops your lungs from working and is just excruciatingly painful enough to make you want to groan, but you can't. It usually keeps you from focusing on anything around you, as well. You're to busy trying to breathe to care about much else.
It was actually over pretty quick, as these things go. Maybe two minutes. Some random adult usually comes and breaks it up. We were still close enough to the school for it to be a teacher. I was the worse off, as it had been five against one, but I got a few choice licks in. Not enough to make me feel better about the whole sorry situation, but it was better than nothing.
I finally wandered into our warehouse, and was horrified to notice in the cracked mirrors that I was developing a whopper of a black eye (My mother would have kittens), when Raphael decided to lit into me with his usual lack of tact.
"Got whipped again?" He snorted condescendingly.
It was, all in all, the straw that broke the Matchstick. I felt my face screw up into a hideous snarl (No small feat as it was swelling), and I gave him as withering a glare as I could muster. "I'm sorry I'm not a freaking ninja, all right?!" I yelled. "Like I've trained for this crap!" I threw my book bag at him with all the strength left in my stick arms, and grew even more frustrated when he dodged. "If you're so damn good, why don't you show me how, then, huh? Instead of just shooting off your big, fat mouth about it!"
Everybody in the room, my brother included, was staring at me in shocked silence. Raphael looked at me warily, tensed for some other move, I guess. Like I was going to try to fight him. I'd had enough of a beating for one day.
"That is a very good idea."
We all turned. Splinter was sitting on a beat up easy chair we reserved for his exclusive use, and looking at me with keen interest, his whiskers twitching.
I blinked, not quite comprehending (We don't often remember things we say in anger, even right after we say them. Ever notice that?). "What?"
"You would do well to have some formal training, child." He said calmly. "I believe it would do wonders for your discipline." This a tad chiding.
All right, so I lost my temper, well, a lot. So I beat up my textbooks and couldn't win a fight at school. But it had been me who said it. 'Why don't you show me how, then?' I must admit the idea intrigued me. They had already been showing Brian a few moves. Why not me? I needed it more than he did, anyway. He got along with his schoolmates.
"Raphael will be an excellent teacher for you."
"WHAT?"
"Yes." He said again. "Raphael will do very well."
I think Raph looked as horrified as I felt.
Ye Gods, anyone but Raphael. I would sooner brave Leo than Raph, and I knew what a slave driver he was. Raphael despised me. We despised each other. I was the epitome of wimpiness, in his eyes. He was a completely insensitive jerk, in mine (In other words, he was exactly like an older brother, though I little cared to admit it).
Raph opened his mouth, I think to say something to the order of, "The HELL you say," but he never got it out.
"You will start now." Splinter folded his hands in his lap sagely, the matter closed.
Great. Just peachy. So much for learning anything useful; I would instead become a human punching bag.
I began by doing push-ups. A lot of push-ups. Something in the upper double-digits number of push-ups. My opinion of Raphael was suffering for it.
"You need to build more muscle," was his first assessment of me.
He was not starting off gently. After my stint of push-ups, my arms were shaking. My everything was shaking. He found my endurance severely lacking. His solution to this was to make me do a large set of sit-ups to accompany it. Then several laps around the perimeter of the studio, studying me critically with every step. That was one thing I could do well. I excelled at running (I'd had lots of practice). His brothers didn't interrupt him, and I took it to mean they agreed with his methodology. It didn't give me much leverage to argue with him.
After I had finished ten laps, he let me stop to catch my breath.
"All right. Now you're warmed up."
Warmed up? That was just the warm up? I'd never survive this.
He hauled out several of the gym mats, making a square of floor space I assumed we'd use to train on. Well, at least my feet wouldn't suffer for all this. I was pretty keyed up, actually. I would finally learn how to kick some butt, even if it meant they'd have to scrap me off the walls first. I wondered what we would be working on first.
"Do you usually do punches or kicks first?" I asked.
He gave me a look. "You ain't learning nothing about that."
What? What the heck was I doing all this for, then?
"C'mere." He pointed to a spot in front of him.
I walked up to where he told me, easily within the range of his fists, and felt rather nervous doing so. For valid reason, it turned out.
WHAM! My butt hit the mat so hard I bounced. He didn't even punch me. He just sort of shoved me over.
I looked up at him, pissed as all get out that he'd taken such a cheap shot. Like I didn't hurt enough already. He was looking at me thoughtfully, though, and it stopped my mouth temporarily.
"You don't fall right." He concluded finally.
That set me off. "How am I supposed to fall? Like there's a right way."
Leo answered from behind me. "Yes, there is, actually."
Humility is a good thing, I'm told. It goes down kinda hard, though. Like swallowing nails. It was especially galling to get it from Raph.
I sucked in my lower lip. "All right." I got slowly to my feet. "How do I fall right?"
Raph told me to show up the next day bright and early and in old clothes. So I came in, at the crack of dawn by my clock, with a yawning brother in tow. He wasn't about to miss any misery on my part.
Raphael was standing impatiently in the middle of the room.
"You're late."
I didn't apologize. I could hardly move, I was so sore from the day before.
The mats weren't out. That meant more push-ups. Crud, I didn't think I could handle any more push-ups.
It's amazing what you can do when you're forced. If I stopped, I got a smack in the middle of my back by a broom he was holding. The push-ups were the lesser of two evils, at that point. My brother added such encouraging comments as, "You are such a wimp."
He was the first person I was taking out when I got good at this.
After I went through the same routine as yesterday, my muscles were fairly limber, by comparison. I waited for Raphael to haul the mats out, but he didn't. Okay, something new. I could handle that.
He handed me the broom.
What, weapons already? He pointed at the floor.
"Sweep it." He ordered.
What the heck was this? "The Karate Kid"? Wax on, wax off…
I looked at Leo, but no explanation was forthcoming.
Donatello smiled. "Clean it well, Grasshopper."
I snorted. "I'm more of a "walking stick bug", Don."
His grin widened. "You were paying attention in science."
Michaelangelo held up a couple of rags and a can of floor wax. "Got more after that, Mags."
Like I didn't clean enough at home.
My shoulders were suffering by the end of it. It had taken me three full hours to sweep and buff the floor, and Raphael made me do it more than once.
"You missed a spot." He grinned evilly. The power-hungry sadist. I was severely tempted to take the broom to his head. Fat lot of good that it would have done me, I'm sure.
We practiced falling again. If anyone had told me I needed to practice how to fall, I would have asked for some of what they were smoking. It takes on a certain realism when you're hitting the mat over and over, though. Especially when you're as sore as I was.
I thought I was finished when he put the mats away. I was laying on the bare floor, thankful to be simply stationary for a few seconds, when he walked over and hauled me to my feet again.
"Fifty push-ups." He ordered.
I think Mike felt sorry for me, after I had finished the same routine again. I was leaning against the mats, wishing death on Raph and Brian and most especially myself, when he plopped himself next to me.
"It's always really hard, at first." He smiled sympathetically.
I sighed, stretching my sore back. "Like you haven't been doing this since you were born." I paused, and gave him a rueful smile. One had a hard time wishing bad things on Mike. "Do you even remember before you started training?"
He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Not really. Splinter always had us doing some kind of exercise, even when it seemed like games to us. It was pretty hard, sometimes." He leaned over in a conspiratory fashion. "You know something?"
"What?"
"I hate push-ups, too." He whispered. "Splinter used to smack me with his stick a lot."
I giggled. He smiled. It was hard to be in bad mood with the cheerfulness he exuded. He was contagious.
Raphael walked over to where we were laughing, and stared at me seriously. "You gotta do 50 push-ups and 100 sit-ups before you go to bed at night, too."
Mike frowned. "C'mon, Raph. She just started yesterday. Give her a break, huh?"
Raphael glared at him. "She needs to get stronger before she can learn anything else. When we get down to the gritty stuff, she won't have time to do the strength stuff here. She'll have to do it all at home."
Don frowned, too. "You're worse than Leo, Raph. Remind me to never let you run practice."
Raph snorted at him. "Say whatever you want, Stick Boy. You ain't teaching the Twig, here."
I stuck my tongue out at him.
He folded his arms and gave me a dirty look. "Listen, Bean Pole, if I gave Splinter that kinda crap, he'd toss me through a wall." He leaned over, an inch from my nose. "You start treating me like a Sensei, or I'll wup your bony behind. Got that?"
Yeah, I got it. Power had gone to his head. Still, it was that, or get the wall treatment. I nodded.
"Good."
He walked back over to his own corner, where nobody bothered him, and I glared down at my lap.
Mike leaned over to me, frowning gently. "Believe it or not, he knows what he's doing, Mags."
I picked at a ragged fingernail, one of many, and sighed. "You're the experts."
Guess I had a lot to look forward to. My "sensei" was a dragon. All I could do at this point was sit back, and hope I didn't get burned.