So I was talking to Takamine about some of the freaky fun times her dude and her had, when she brought up an email you sent her about some of your own. Full honesty, I was totally expecting the kind of flowery nonsense you see in those vampire books the kids are into these days. Man was I ever wrong! The whole time I was reading it, my mind-along with whatever image I had of you as a super stuffy prude kept getting blown the buck out of the water. With each scene and sensation you described, I slowly realized that I had no idea you had that kinda freak in you, Tavi! Seriously, in all the years I've known you, I would never ever ever ever have guessed you were the kinda gal to get down wherever and whenever. Kinda makes wonder if I'M the prudish one of us, now that I know how you boogie. Of course, the flowery nonsense I still hold as true about love probably don't help matters much, as I learned back in high school.
On the first day of school, some kid with a braided ponytail was in the seat next to me. "Big deal,"you're probably thinking. Well, in the school my mom signed me up for, it's heavily styled in how things are done in Japonica, from the uniforms, the absurd rules they have on them and other crap, and how classes are done. How they're done is that, outside of gym, art and other classes needing special gear and settings, students don't come to where teachers teach, the teachers come to them. Basically, that means whoever's sitting near you on the first day of class is who you'll sit near 'til the end of the year, no exceptions. (Teachers also come to your house if they feel something's up, but that's another discussion for another day). The big reason this is important is that between the end of one class and the next teacher coming to start the next one, students get the chance to shoot the breeze with each other however they please, including if they don't wanna do anything with anyone.
My mom told me all this after she signed me up, so when I saw the kid with the ponytail, my major thought was, "Oh man, this guy's gonna be sitting next to me all year!? What in Tartarus am I gonna say to him? What CAN I say to him?" While I was getting my pencil, paper and all that jazz ready, he smiled at me, and said, "Koncha! Rushing River desu. Yoroshiku ne!" At that point, I had no idea that he said "G'day, there! I'm Rushing River. Pleased to meet'cha!"so the only thing I could reply with was a blank stare, to which he answered, "Let me guess, you ain't from Japonica?"and started explaining what school life was about. Apparently, most of the kids there were transplants, and expected each other to speak as much Japonican as they did our language when they were getting to know each other. Naturally, that put a huge set of hurdles between me and making friends with the other kids, but thanks to Rushing River being both my translator and teacher, I was able to skip past the "err" and "uhh"part of speaking to someone in a different language, and get straight to the getting in where you fit in bit, which I was neck deep into when the big push to join clubs kicked in.
You know how they say the clubs you join reflect on what you're about? That goes triple for clubs in my high school, 'cause their club reps were in full on recruiting mode when sign up day came. The athletic clubs, especially, were pushing hard to drum up the next championship winning superstar to add to their ranks, buttering up their targets like their lives depended on it. While we were having lunch under the cherry blossom trees around the school, the Track, Baseball, Judo, B-Ball and Boxing club reps all did just that in the chase to recruit Rushing River, each of 'em coming to stump for their folks, and sway him to join up. (From what I remember, the deciding argument of "You can punch people in the face," came from the Boxing Club rep.) Soon enough, we were in the training room, and I was getting what some folks call "The Vapors," watching him work the heavy bag, speed bag and jump ropes like they owed him money, with him inviting me to lace 'em up, and join the other punch junkies-not that I needed any more of a reason to follow in his footsteps, natch.
The year went on, and each day I got to work out with him, study with him and chill with him at lunch, learning more about how he gets down. How did he get down? For starters, he loved to spar with his folks, loved a good slice of deep dish (which was the ONLY way to enjoy pizza, according to him)and loved old school hip hop, immediately recommending me to his boys in the Hip Hop club after I mentioned me working on my beat juggling. Said they needed a DJ to complete their 4 elements, so even though I didn't feel like my experience or swag was quite there, yet, I went right ahead and joined up, thinking that someone as cool as him would only send me to hang with folks as cool as him. Sure enough, after I told him and his boys about Pon-3's services, business started picking up, and I was earning enough to be able to treat us to some fun outside the school, like failing in epic fashion at mini golf, and sweating up a storm on In The Groove. It was during one of our breaks from mad arrow stepping that we were sitting together on a bench outside the arcade.
At that point, I've been hanging with him for over 6 months, and was completely hooked on the breezy and frosty way he handled even the toughest fixes he ended up in. Couldn't get enough of his unshakable swag, and was wild about him being down for whatever, so as coolly as my hormone addled nerves could manage, I started getting at him. Best I remember, this is the chat I had:
"Guess your feet ain't as fast as your hands, eh, River?"
"I think my ego can handle not being the best at In The Groove. Not exactly the same kinda swag you get from cold clocking someone in the squared circle, you know?"
"Guess so. Gotta admit, though that watching those kids handle it on the harder levels is never not crazy to watch"
"High level anything is always fun to watch, especially if it's as physically demanding as Boxing, Basketball or ballroom dancing."
"Ballroom Dancing? For real?"
"For real, man. Takes not just getting your routine on lock, but also reading your dance partner's body language and responding with something proper, something I'd actually like to practice with someone someday"
"Me too. My folks always seem to have tons of fun when they dance together, and I imagine with the right partner, I would, too"
"Who do you think the right partner is?"
"Gotta be someone that I've known for awhile, that I feel comfy chilling with, that knows me like the back of their own hand"
"As in, like, knowing that you can't start the day off proper unless you've had a glass of papaya juice, a bowl of French Toast Crunch, and some Mikan slices?"
"Totally!" At that point, I sensed a certain electricity in the air. I felt a tingle cruising from my nose to the tips of my toes. The blood in my cheeks felt like water in a boiler getting hotter and hotter. My lungs felt like they were working double time just to get some air in 'em. Our lips grew closer and closer together, our eyes closed until the first time they touched. Silence hung like 10 ton weights in the air as I looked deep into his murky greens. Not a moment later? Total tonsil hockey time, complete with hands running all over each other, through each other's hair, and generally like you'd expect from the raging bundle of hormones we both were ("Implying you're not a raging bundle of hormones now," yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you're thinking it). Wasn't long after the first kiss that we were buying a pack o' rubbers, and heading off to do the other first only possible been two lovers, the one my gal pals at school said was supposed to be the most magical moment of my life.
Each step we made toward his bedroom filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement so indescribable, the only word I felt could capture it was one I picked up from Pinkie when we hung out at Sugarcube Corner: nervous-citement. This guy was about to pop my cherry, this guy was about to make me a woman, this guy was gonna let me have my first time! When we finally got to the bed, though...well let me put it this way. When we got to the bed, it was about 8:00 PM. When we got through the awkward fumbling around, painful insertion, and he finally popped his top, it was about 8:03 PM, and he fell asleep with his arm across my chest. Needless to say, my gal pals were dead wrong about it being magical(unless they meant it being magically brief); they were, however, right about it slowly changing everything I thought our relationship was, in this case letting me see further behind his cool demeanor, and towards the problems they covered up so well.
After our first time, I noticed that whenever I said, "I love you" he rarely said it back, including when I said out after our first time, and all he did was smile and nod. He was always up to let me blather on about my day, and all that, but never heard much of anything about what he went through. No matter what I did to try and be a bigger part of his world, like train with him, play games with him or study with him, he didn't just feel cool, he felt impenetrably ice cold. He must've heard me muttering about as much while we were cramming for our next test, because he tapped me on the shoulder and hugged me tight before saying, "I know I'm not the most expressive dude in the world, but that's just how I roll. For me, strength comes from not letting your emotions throw you or the people you care about onto some outta control roller coaster that won't let 'em see one step in front of 'em. People deserve better than that. You deserve better"
"You deserve better" became the running theme of our time together. He detested lasting less than the average dude in the sack, so he started working out his kegal muscles to where they'd let him last longer. He knew I wanted to spend more time with him, so whenever he could, he made the time to come and see me. He knew I wanted to know more about him, so he always did his best to share stories from his life, however tough it was for him. Being a punk kid, though, I tended to see where he went wrong over where he went right, and only when he was switched to another class the next year did I start to see the steps he made in the right direction. It didn't help that as he got better at boxing, the girls started to throw themselves at him, with me getting mad jelly every time he sweet talked 'em.
I still remember when I went to go see him box a top prospect from the school's rival, expecting him to handle him as easily as he handled the others. What happened was that for 3 rounds, the only thing they could achieve was a brutal, hard-fought stalemate that left Rushing River's face with a super swollen left eye, and a cut above his right. It hurt me big time to see him get that banged up, and I wanted him to quit the sport after I dropped out of the boxing club, a step that ultimately lead to what I knew was gonna happen, but didn't want to until he sat me down during winter break. While we enjoyed a cup of spiced mikan coffee, he looked straight at me and told me, basically, that it was over. To be exact, he said, "Chasing a dream means I gotta do whatever I gotta do to make it happen. If it means putting myself one step closer to it, then I'll put myself in spots I might not get out of in one piece, spots that'll probably make folks like you bite their nails down to a nub. Just as you wouldn't give up your dream for nobody, though, I ain't giving up mine. Likewise, if me going through the tough times makes it tough on you, then there ain't no point in us being together. You're a sweet, fun and kind kid, and you deserve better than that. You deserve better than a punch drunk palooka like me. You deserve to chase after your dream and not have to worry about if someone you care for will make it home under their own power"
I think you remember how much of a wreck I was when we met up the week after that happened, right? Well, the rest of that year, the only thing I wanted to know was what happened. Was it something I did? Did I not give him enough space to do him? Was I not supportive enough of a girlfriend towards him? For years, I thought I was the reason he left the school to transfer to Japonica, the country he ended up boxing for in the Equestrian Games. Whatever the case was, though, I knew one thing was for sure: in him calling it quits, he also gave me one last first: my first heartbreak. As you imagine, it was pretty much the exact opposite of the ecstasy I felt when we first got together, and was about as pleasant as a bikini wax, the sting staying with me years after the fact. Shoot, I didn’t even know where he was until I heard about the boxing match Twilight was in, and saw that Flint Rock was in the main event. Minus the chrome dome and super cut physique, I knew it was him. When I saw his murky greens, I had no doubt that I had to see him, whether it was watching on the big screen at home, from the front row seats Twily hooked us up with or in person. I had to know why he had to go, and would not be satisfied until I did.
Seeing him box for the first time in years brought out a lot of memories of my own pursuits. As I became more of an adult, I started to realize that chasing dreams does mean doing what some folks would consider absolutely crazy, what some folks would consider fatally dangerous, what some folks think they not might even be able to walk away from if something goes wrong. He moved like water, hit like a tidal wave, and would've put on one of the most exciting fights the boxing world ever saw, if Thunderlane took him half way serious, tried to guard his chin worth a crap, and didn't go down like a sack of bricks in the 3rd round when Flint Rock landed a lucky upper right in his solar plexus. The glow on his face as he was crowned the new champ brought me back to our days in the Boxing Club, and reminded me of what I found so charming about him in the first place. So charmed, was I, that I didn't notice when his handler tapped me on the shoulder, and said in my ear, "Mr. Flint Rock would like to see you soon, ma'am" handing me a piece of a paper before he went to join his boxer in the celebration.
The morning after, while I nursed a serious hangover from both the party I DJ'ed and the after party I had with you, Twi and her friends, I plucked the note from my jeans pocket. From the somewhat scratchy Japonican on it, I could tell me wanted to meet up with me at the In The Groove machine at a local arcade in a couple hours. Sure enough, when I got to the spot, he had a smirk on his face, and a chocolate cream Frappuchino to offer, the kind he knew I liked back when we dated. The first thing he asked while we explored the strip was "So did you have to look up a translator to figure out what that said?" to which I asked, "Did you have to look one up to write it? Because chicken scratch looks more legible than what I had to figure out" After we kinda stared a hole into each other, we busted out laughing and caught up on old times, including when he renamed himself Flint Rock, after the trainer he studied under while he was in Japonica, and how things went for us both since we split all those years. The whole day we spent together felt just like old times, and when my ride to the airport pulled up in front of the burger joint we were chilling at, we smiled at each other, knowing that both of us grew up way too much to ever have the kind of relationship we did back then, and that we would never-ever ever-ever become a thing again. While you and I were riding to the airport, though, he texted me, asking, "Wanna be buck buddies?" I think it's better I don't say what my answer was, but I will say that I now have one mighty fine workout partner when it's time to hit Wild Card, and get my sweat on.