Packback
7. Changes
I didn’t see Josh that night but he joined us for breakfast. Graciela was beaming while he seemed pensive, like his world had changed, and I had no doubt that it had. He was working on his doctorate in Forestry, researching fire management. The waiter gig was temporary but the resort needed good people and treated them well. He wanted to teach. I hugged him goodbye ... I was pretty sure we would see each other again.
Thousand Island Lake. I took a lot of photos there, especially near sunset and sunrise, knowing that much more talented photographers had done the same. Tuolumne Meadows and the Yosemite backcountry. We live in such a beautiful world, that so few of us see. 60 miles of Lake Tahoe views. Maybe overrated but still wonderful. Old Donner Pass. New Donner Summit. A bunch of old mines near Sierra City. We checked one out and figured the rest were the same, meh, except Megan got horny underground so I fucked her from behind, which I loved. I tried to keep her on the edge, working her g-spot, and her ecstasy echoed through the mine when she finally came.
“I love you,” she said, after. She seemed to say that a lot now, and of course I said “I love you, too.” I’d been looking ahead on the map for romantic places where I could plan to say it before she did, but she kept beating me to it.
It was the best two weeks of my life. So far. I know I’ve said that before, but it was. Just Megan and me and whatever other people we ran across. Cozy cabins with dinner and breakfast at Decker Lake Lodge and Dragonsback. Burney Falls. Some crossings little more than a gas station mini-mart, some places with a nice view where we stayed overnight, trying to be awake for sunset and sunrise. Seiad Valley. Then it was three weeks, and then four. She did her exercises every day, and eventually she did a push-up with me on her back. She wanted to peg me again, because she knew I’d wanted it when it was my turn even though I don’t remember saying so. I got to be a punch dummy three times a day, morning, noon, and night. The only times her striking edges touched me they were gentle and loving, but good lord she was fast, and if I hadn’t been staying as still as she wanted, she could’ve killed me a hundred times.
“We aren’t going to make it, you know,” Megan said.
“I know. Let’s get to Crater Lake and go home.”
Five of the very best weeks of my life.
“I want to fight, Scott.”
I was pretty sure she didn’t mean with me, which meant ...
“My silat and muay thai teachers told me I was ready in my first month with them. I got my first BJJ black belt after just two months. I can’t find anyone to spar with, I’m too good, you’ve seen it.”
“You ...”
“My silat teacher told me how it works. For the first couple bouts, at least, I’ll be against other novices. He says that’ll be nothing. Then sometime between my 3rd and 5th bout, they’ll find someone more experienced to match me up with. Scott, there might not be another woman my weight in the world who can beat me. Where this’ll lead is fighting against men a couple weight classes above mine. I don’t know what happens then, but I feel like I have to try.”
“What then? Is it worth it to get beat up by a faster, stronger, heavier man?”
“No. I know that. But I need to know my limits, and right now I don’t.”
“You know I’ll support you no matter what?”
She sighed. “I love you, Scott,” but it seemed like something remained unsaid.
We took a Greyhound back to L.A. Megan spent a lot of time nestled into me on the buses, the armrest between our seats up. Two more of the best days of my life. Flake and Greta picked us up in Irvine. We hadn’t seen much of them this summer because they were traveling, an extended honeymoon.
“You finished California,” Flake said.
“It was the best time ever,” I said, sighing.
Greta held Megan in the back seat. Greta was concerned. Megan mostly slept on her, just as she had with me on the buses.
“You’re done for the year?” Flake asked me.
“With hiking, yeah.” Flake heard my unsaid.
“Stay strong, buddy.”
“I’m not the one to worry about,” I said.
Megan’s first bout was a walk, she forced a submission in 13 seconds. Her second took 17. For her third she got a woman her weight who’d been around the block: 20 fights, 12 wins. Megan took her out in 25 seconds. Each time Megan seemed to be whispering in the submitting woman’s ear. “I’m sorry,” were the words I thought I saw her lips form. She fought under an assumed name and wearing a wig. If her opponents had been better that wig might’ve come off, but none of Megan’s MMA opponents ever laid a finger on her.
For her fourth bout she was offered a guaranteed $1000. She faked and reversed a taekwondo kick. Her opponent dropped. Megan went back to her corner, pacing and maybe praying. The woman stirred 20 seconds later and was carried out on a stretcher a minute after that. She was fine but Megan’s reputation was made, and as beautiful as she was, promoters were all over her. Her next fight would come with a guaranteed $5000. Megan submitted that opponent in 25 seconds.
We talked.
“I need to go underground,” she said. “These are like taekwondo competitions. I know I’m going to win, there’s no challenge. I need to go against heavier opponents. Men. They have unsanctioned tournaments in L.A. They start out in weight classes, but there’s only one winner. I need to do this, Scott. 3 fights a day for two days. The first one or two will probably be against women my weight, two more against heavier women, eventually the #2 male seed, then the best fighter they have. I need to know, Scott. And then, if I’m not good enough, I need to improve whatever I didn’t do as well.”
Without telling her, I talked to all four of her instructors, including Master Kim.
“I was afraid it would come to this,” he said, “But I will be there.”
Megan won her first three matches easily. Next morning was the women’s final. Most women’s winners decided not to fight in the men’s bracket, but I knew Megan would. She won that fourth match as easily as the others. Megan was so good, it was like watching a master artist work. Master Kim and her other three instructors sat with me, appreciatively. In her noon bout she was matched up against the #2 seed, a scarred man 30 pounds heavier. In a corner of the audience I thought I saw someone I recognized.
“Excuse me,” I said to Master Kim, and went over. That man didn’t see me, but I recognized him as someone who’d been at Kennedy Meadows. I still had my hiker beard but I don’t think he recognized me. I came back and told Master Kim about it.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “We will entertain him.” Then he and Megan’s three other teachers walked over, still 10 minutes before Megan’s bout began. They returned in time for its beginning.
“You are a very fine guardian,” Master Kim said. I didn’t see that other man again.
Megan eventually tapped out even after she hurt her opponent’s leg. He might have been going easier on her before that, but he sure wasn’t pulling any punches later. The other semifinal winner became the champion later that night.
Megan wasn’t significantly hurt, but she was sobbing. She hadn’t lost to anyone in more than a year. All four of her teachers came into the locker room with me, when it was allowed. She hadn’t seen any of them watching, and seeing them now moved her.
“You did well, Megan. I’m very proud of you,” Master Kim said. “Perhaps we can improve your technique.”
Megan looked daggers at me, but only for show. “I love you,” she mouthed, her beautiful eyes red with tears.
All six of us got dinner together, Cambodian, and headed home.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said.
“Yes I do. That was the best martial arts experience I’ve ever had.”
Megan had four instructors that next month, twice a week, twice in each studio plus workouts with me at home walking through what she’d learned from her teachers, trying to teach me some of what she’d learned, each studio lesson attended by a very appreciative crowd of one art or another ... it was a wonderful opportunity for everyone to see how each proficiency complemented the others. I actually learned a lot—I wouldn’t go down her competitive path but all of it would be handy if I ever got into another situation like I had with Mike and Jack. I was starting to feel like if I knew then what I knew now they might not have beaten me, but I also recognized the danger in that kind of thinking—I was nowhere NEAR as good as Megan. A month later, Megan was better than ever and all healed up. She consented to another MMA bout that she won as quickly and easily as ever, pocketing $15,000, $10,000 of which had been guaranteed. She entered another unsanctioned open tournament even though by this point the MMA offers she was getting were for $25,000, guaranteed. She was on the verge of being ranked. I figured she was done with that and in fact she never fought MMA again, retiring with a perfect 6-0 record.
In her next open tournament, in front of an increasingly raucous crowd, Megan beat the guy she’d lost to last time, slipping past one of his kicks in a move her BJJ teacher had been showing her, grappling him from behind and on the ground, him squirming and rolling and trying his best to dislodge her legs from their tight hold on his waist, which had basically been impossible for me when we’d practiced together even when she showed me how. She reminded me of nothing so much as a spider with her captured prey, her arms locking tight around his neck, dislocating his jaw as he tried to escape until finally he passed out. When she staggered up she seemed as surprised as everyone else, but I’d never heard one of those crowds be louder. She smiled, realizing what she’d done as the fog of combat faded, exulting in the crowd’s appreciation as it sank in. She lost in the final, but no woman had ever gone so far.
“You have nothing left to prove,” Master Kim told her, after. “He is 40 pounds heavier, as skilled as you are, and you will just get hurt if you return. Let us help you ... you will not have to fight men like that again. You must prepare for the kind of attacker you are more likely to encounter. Let us work with you. We want to help.”
“I’m not angry anymore,” she told me. “I’m still amazed, like I’ve been blessed. I used to be so angry but now it’s just ... gone.”
She’d broken off her domination arrangement with Ian. She no longer needed it. I imagine he was relieved at some level, but I’d never met him and didn’t want to.
Megan didn’t fully retire from fighting but she would never be a regular again. She could find sparring partners now that she wasn’t so angry, but people at her skill level were rare, and even fewer mixed skills the way she did, so she still needed an occasional full-contact bout to continue improving.
I asked Peri on one of her weekend visits what she and Glyn did to free Megan from so much anger. Peri sat me down.
“You heard what she said before you left with Graciela. She was angry and frightened, especially about you. She had very mixed feelings, she just couldn’t feel free to trust you even though she truly wanted that. We helped her work through it, to know that all the fear she had, that her mother and sister kept feeding her, really had nothing to do with you, that you’d never been anything but wonderful with her, and once she truly felt free from that, everything else just fell into place. Scott, as twisted up as this might sound, most of Megan’s anger was directed at you. Glyn had never witnessed such a complete breakthrough before. She’s actually producing a screenplay using that experience as source material. You’ll hear from her about it soon, I think.”
“Thank you, Peri, for everything you helped Megan with. She’s the most precious person I could ever imagine having in my life, and our lives might be very different now if it hadn’t been for what you did. Thank you so much.”
Peri kissed me, looking deep into my eyes. “I love you both very much, you know,” she said.
“I could probably ...”
“I’m not looking for a partner, Scott. I don’t think I’m ready for that now, if I ever will be. Whatever my demons are, if that’s what they are, they aren’t as accessible as Megan’s. I actually think I’m pretty well-adjusted, if a little mature for my age.”
I snorted. “Mature for your age, ha. Mature for any age, more like.” Then I got serious. “You’re welcome in my life any way you want, and I’m pretty sure Megan feels the same way.”
“Try saying that again tonight when I have your lovely cock in my ass, my tongue in your mouth, your entire hand in my tight hungry pussy, these long red fingernails you love so much guiding the fingers of your other hand as they roll and tease and pinch my nipples, Megan’s tongue laving my clit while she has her hands around your balls and neither of you has a functional brain,” she said, smiling.
I must’ve held my breath for a few seconds. “I love you, too, Peri,” I said. She kissed me again. Later, even as everything else she’d predicted happened exactly as she’d said it would, I failed her challenge miserably.