Where Loyalties Lie

2

I didn’t go over to say hello. It was just easier to avoid conversation than to tiptoe around subjects and gloss over questions with a thick coat of ambiguity. Sometimes, when I felt particularly lonely, I’d try to engage my fellow students, but it always left me feeling like a fraud. I wore a sugarcoated smile on the outside, but on the inside, I clung to each word like a miserly old man refusing to part with a single cent he owned. Words were knowledge, and every conversation I had was potential ammunition in the wrong hands. I saw small talk as a series of landmines, each one a rigorous exercise in self-control. When Jeff, the car salesman, gleefully told the others about the new job he’d acquired and how the hours of the old job made it hard to check in on his ailing mother, his words were unfiltered. Honest and forthright. There was no threat to Jeff if he said the wrong thing. He was simply happy to share his good news. Each class was mainly comprised of the same core group of people, so they grew to know one another, often inquiring about sick relatives or following up on stories told in prior classes. A camaraderie existed among them. How could I feel a part of that when they knew so little about me? I couldn’t. Every question directed my way was another reminder of the lies I’d told and how complex my life had become. A reminder that no matter how well I camouflaged myself, I wasn’t like the people around me. I used to be, to some extent, but anymore, I found I couldn’t relate to them. The course of events my life had taken changed my perspective in a fundamental way that couldn’t be undone. I didn’t see things the way they did, and I certainly couldn’t allow them to see me. The real me. Instead, I kept my comments superficial and my smiles broad, hoping to compensate for my lack of substantive contribution to the group. If they thought I was pretty and sweet, chances were, they wouldn’t examine what I said too closely. Blending in was far more important than confiding in friends. I was there to learn self-defense, not socialize. The Krav Maga studio was roughly the size of a basketball court. Whatever existed there before had been gutted long ago to make way for the gym. Now, only the worn window frames and ancient light fixtures remained. The dense rubber material lining the entire floor must have served some purpose besides cushioning because it was one step away from asphalt in the realm of softness. A small portion of the room contained thicker mats for practicing advanced takedowns, but I had yet to advance to those lessons. Krav Maga, known as contact combat, was both a way of fighting and an aggressive form of self-defense. When I first looked into taking classes, I quickly realized it was by far my favorite option. The skill set drew from several forms of martial arts and knife wielding—all techniques used in fighting someone up close. I’d come from an area where guns were commonplace, so I knew how to shoot, but fighting was a different matter. I wanted to know I could hold my own if I was ever in a threatening situation. That meant coming to class as often as I could. Fortunately, Krav Maga had become the favorite part of my day. The musky odor of sweaty bodies didn’t faze me a bit. I grew up in a warmer climate, so the sultry air was refreshing in a way. A small sense of home. My eyes drifted back to Tamir without my permission. His presence in class certainly doesn’t hurt. I chided myself for the thought. The last thing I needed on this earth was to involve myself with a man. And that man, in particular? He was regret waiting to happen. Something about the predatory grace of his movements filled me with unease. He didn’t have to ink tattoos on his skin or carry a gun on his hip to broadcast a threat. The lethal confidence he exuded did the job far more efficiently than any overt warning. He carried himself with a kind of self-possessed aloofness that distinguished him from every person around him. That was probably why he was the only man who’d piqued my interest since I had arrived in New York. I seemed to enjoy picking especially challenging men. It was a talent of mine. I’d had three long-term relationships, and not one had ended in an amicable separation of mutual respect. It shouldn’t have been surprising. My natural inclination was to gravitate toward swarthy and dangerous over demure and polite. I was drawn to intensity and an air of intrigue, even when I knew the combination was toxic. I blamed my father. You sought what you knew, and I had only ever known a shadier side of life. But that was before. Now, I was turning over a new leaf. I would make a conscientious attempt to give demure a chance and let dangerous latch on to some other sucker. Releasing a long exhale, I chewed on my lip as I picked at the red sweatband on my wrist. I had to stop beating myself up over the past and focus on all the progress I’d made. For three months, I’d been in the city, and I’d acclimated rather well, considering where I’d come from and the fact I’d had to start from scratch all on my own. I’d taken self-improvement to a whole new level. Why improve on who you were when you could start over and be someone completely new? My face was the same, but that was about it. New apartment, new job, new friends, and a completely new past I’d conjured in meticulous detail. I’d taken the term “new year, new me” to a whole new level. My gaze reluctantly drifted back to Tamir as he greeted my classmates and initiated our session. I shouldn’t have been watching him, but I couldn’t help myself. Like was drawn to like, and I sensed a familiarity in him. He was just as good at playing his role as I was at playing mine. He smiled and shook hands with the students, perfectly executing the motions of an interested instructor. No one suspected he wasn’t genuine in his regard. If I hadn’t been putting on a show of my own, I never would have seen his act for what it was. A front. A fake. I knew the signs all too well because I had to guard against them every time I talked to someone. The slip of a smile a fraction too soon after the close of a conversation. Eyes that do a sweep of the room rather than focus on the person speaking. The practice of asking questions while avoiding answering any of my own. Maybe the others couldn’t tell, but it was obvious to me that his actions were guarded. Insincere. He was going through the motions for the sake of the show, and I knew exactly what that felt like. The part that made me uneasy was the motive for his veiled behavior. Someone suffering from depression might put up a front, but that scenario didn’t fit with Tamir’s easy confidence. He wasn’t just attempting to function under a crimpling emotional illness; Tamir was actively keeping the world at bay. But why? What was he hiding?