CHAPTER SIX
Now, at my new school, the whole black belt ranking system meant nothing. My instructor believed that the martial arts meant much more than fighting or self-defense. He saw it as a way of life, that it was beneficial for both the body and mind.
In his class, if a student wanted to test and move up in rank, he wouldn’t stop them, but he would say that the belt was a marker representing nothing more than newly memorized techniques. He also said that it takes a lifetime to master just one technique.
He was deep.
At the time, I really didn’t understand what he was talking about, but I did listen and remember. Later on with my life’s experiences, I came to understand a lot of the intellectual lessons he spoke of.
We spent a lot less time fighting and competing, and focused more on the mechanics; the rhyme and reason of each technique. He stressed the mental aspects of the martial arts a lot more than my previous teacher.
I still worked out five nights a week, until I was able to get a part time job. Up to that point I had only one real problem. I had all the money from my burglaries building up, but it did me no good because I couldn’t spend it. I had no way to explain where it came from. That’s why I needed the job.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t get one legally till I was sixteen, but I talked to a lawyer and found out a loophole.
It turns out that there was a law that would allow me to get a job at an earlier age if I could show evidence of hardship, like being poor and needing the income to help my family survive.
Well, I filled out all the papers and a judge signed them, which allowed me to get a job at fifteen years.
Of course, shortly after getting the job, I convinced my dad that I had two jobs. One of them was in the martial arts dojo, cleaning up and instructing the younger students, and the other was at the mall. I didn’t tell him exactly which store I was at; I didn’t want him to drop in on me or call and ask about me.
I enjoyed my life at the time. I had a ten-speed bike I would ride all the time, to school, work and the dojo. I’d ride it all over town. In addition to getting me around, it really strengthened my legs.
In no time at all though, I turned sixteen and it was time to give up the bike. It was time to get a car.
Now, of course I couldn’t get anything new, or extravagant. I didn’t want to attract attention.
I settled on a 1966 Chevy Nova SS with a 350 small block that I had seen in a guy’s yard about a mile from my house. The body was straight, with no rust but was painted with primer, and the interior was a mess. The driver’s seat had holes in it and padding and springs were showing. The carpeting was threadbare and the headliner was hanging down, unattached from the roof. It smelled pretty bad, and I’m pretty sure that an animal or two had made a temporary home out of the car. I also noticed it had no radio or speakers, and the dashboard was cracked and brittle from years of exposure to the sun and elements.
The engine had cobwebs and leaves all over it. I was surprised when the owner said it ran. The tires were bald and cracked, and I was worried they wouldn’t hold up long enough for me to drive it to the local car wash, then to the garage to get new tires.
I gave the guy fifteen hundred dollars and asked him to put down five hundred on the bill of sale. I told him it was for tax purposes, but in reality, it was because of my dad. I didn’t want him asking me where I came up with that much money.
By this time, I was only going to the dojo two days a week and to my ‘other’ job, selling cell phones at the mall, on the weekends. I worked eight hours per day there, getting minimum wage plus commission. It was perfect for me. I used the extra time I had after my classes at the high school to do other things; I would go to the school’s weight room and work out with the weights and machines there.
After going there for a while, I noticed that most of the guys who were working out there were aspiring to be bodybuilders, lifting for bulk. I tailored my workouts for strength. A big man is an easier target to spot.
I also practiced yoga for flexibility and mental control. I had read that Navy Seals did this also. An interesting fact I found was that the average size of a Navy Seal is five feet-eight inches tall and around one hundred-fifty pounds. They were light, agile and definitely strong.
While my school mates were making plans for their futures: college, military, jobs, etc…, I was already making a killing as a burglar. I had a lot of disposable income to spend.
So, after having my car cleaned and tuned up, I decided to let a few weeks go by before I started making visible improvements to it. I didn’t want anyone wondering about me.
I asked my shop class teacher if he would allow the class to make my car one of the projects for the semester. He told me that he didn’t have a problem with it as long as I paid for the parts the car needed.
So, the engine was rebuilt, I added a few little ‘extras’ to increase the horsepower and had a body shop and upholstery shop in town clean up the body with a couple coats of black primer. They also redid the entire interior, replacing the threadbare factory carpeting with thick grey carpet and custom floor mats. The seats were replaced with reccaro racing seats that were black and gray. The driver’s seat was snug and fit me perfectly, like a driving glove.
I left the primer like it was for a few months and got some factory rims for the tires. The old ones were too rusty to keep.
Although I was keeping a low-profile so as not to draw attention to myself by making the car all suped up and flashy, I did get a state of the art sound system. I figured that was the one thing that I could splurge on and no one would really notice it.
Well, a few people noticed it, only one in particular I really cared about.
Joy Purdy.
Joy Purdy.
Wow. Just speaking her name brings back a flood of memories.
Joy was my one and only friend in high school; the only person I could really talk to; someone who didn’t judge me or treat me as an outcast.
Of course, I didn’t tell her about my extracurricular activities.
That’s not something you share with anyone.
I met Joy the first day of Senior year. I had seen her around the school, but have never really ‘noticed’ her, you know what I mean?
I sure noticed her that year though! We had three classes together: Biology, Home Economics, and English. She sat right in front of me or beside me in all of them. The teachers in those classes seated us alphabetically, and her name came right before mine.
Hmm. I still remember the perfume she wore. Every time I smell it, I think of her.
Joy was beautiful. She was of mixed heritage—Asian and Spanish, she had long dark hair that was smooth and shined like silk, light brown eyes that tilted up a little on the outer edges, a petite nose and full, pouty lips.
And her smile. Wow! I don’t mean to sound like a cliché, but her smile lit up the room. When I look back, I under-stand now that it was my perception that made it seem that way. But at the time, that was the way I saw it.
So anyway, I met Joy on the first day of school, in Biology class, when the teacher, Mr. Pilkey, asked us to pick a lab partner.
As soon as he was done saying it, Joy turned around in her seat, looked at me for a few seconds, and said, “You’re my partner!”
I was so stunned, I couldn’t speak. She turned back in her seat before my brain re-engaged and I lost the opportunity to turn her down.
That was my first experience with Joy’s confidence of her overwhelming personality.
During the year, I learned a lot about Joy. I liked talking to her. Well, actually, I liked listening to her speak. Her voice was sweet and sounded like music.
She would tell me about all of her hopes and plans. She had a boyfriend/fiancé that she was going to marry right after graduation. They were both planning on going to the same college, then starting a family after they received their degrees.
I would sit and watch her speak. I was entranced by her beauty. I would watch her lips move and see her eyes bounce and sparkle as she moved from one sentence to the next.
Her face, her smile, were so full of life. She was like a breath of fresh air. A freshness that I enjoyed breathing in.
And she was inquisitive; always asking questions.
Nothing bad. No, just questions about things I had not given much thought to.
She made me think about my future. About life.
Up to that point, the only thoughts I had of my future were what I would be doing that night and maybe the next.
I was happy the way things were going. I was making a lot of money, and I couldn’t see going to college and then trying to find a job where I could make more than I already was. I mean, how could I?
Living my way, life was much more exciting. I’d let the rest of the world kill themselves trying to make it rich. And while these schlubbs were struggling to bring it in the front door, I would just effortlessly continue to take it out the back.
Joy was always doing something: one day she’d be telling me about a trip the she’d be getting ready to go on with her church, to help disaster victims in Central America, then the next day she would say something, a concert or a movie, that she would be looking forward to going to or that she had already been to.
I liked hearing her stories. She told them with such energy. She was very animated.
As I mentioned before, I was very attuned to the auras/life force of people, and Joy’s was amazing. She was so full of life.
Besides being very involved in her church, Joy was also really active in our school. She was in several clubs, and the captain of the debate team. She helped out with food drives. Heck, she even convinced me to donate a bag of canned goods for the poor.
How ironic! My family was one of those that the school gave a care box to!
In addition to all of her other activities, Joy was the secretary for our student council and after January, she ran track.
From all of those activities, she had plenty of material to draw, but I’ll tell you, even if she didn’t, I was hers.
She had extra energy to expel, and I was there to gladly take it in.
She didn’t ask too much about my family or my home life, and I didn’t volunteer any information. She was good like that.
You know, that year seemed to fly by. It began, and then in no time at all, it was gone. And with it, my Joy Purdy.
Looking back, I would have to say that Joy was my first love.
It feels strange to say that though, we really didn’t have anything together. In fact, I’m sure she saw me as just a friend, yet unbeknownst to her, she not only had my full attention, she had my heart.
My memories of her, her beautiful face; her vibrant life, kept me hopeful. They helped me to hang on during some very low and trying times in my life.
On more than one occasion, she told me that God loved her, and that He also loved me. And, if there was ever any doubt that there was a God in Heaven, Joy Purdy helped me to see the light. She was a beaming light sent down from Heaven, a gift to this world. She was God’s way of telling me that there is good in this life and that He does exist.