My Suzy's Hand

Early the next day, Sarah drove Suzanna to the Sammartino Centre. The latter needed a cushion the whole way, which was somewhat effective, but not completely.

Sarah had been utterly ruthless last night, and when she was done, she made sure the neighbours would see Suzanna standing in the corner with an "I'LL NEVER RIDE A MOTORCYCLE AGAIN" sign on her back as they collected their food. And the punishment would continue well after they were gone.

When they arrived, the actual building was still closed.

"Looks like we got time," Sarah said, "I can wait with you if you want."

Suzanna squinted and pursed her lips, "I'm good," before grabbing her bag from the back and opening the door.

Sarah chuckled, "Okay," before slapping Suzanna hard on the butt as she was getting out.

Suzanna yelped and spun around, screaming, "WHY?""It's for good luck," Sarah said with a cheeky smile, "Work hard today, okay?"

And then she drove off, leaving Suzanna to fume and rub her sore butt. She turned to face the doors, grumbling under her breath as another car pulled in and its occupant climbed out.

"Suzanna?"

The big girl spun around again to see Fatima Gamal, clad in a violet burqa dress.

"Good morning."

"Oh, morning, Ma'am. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," there was a note of hesitation in Gamal's voice. She was analysing Suzanna's face, specifically the left side where 5 faint claw-shaped scars could be seen, "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

Suzanna nodded, "I know, but... I wanted to come back early."

Gamal tilted her head a full 90°, "Does Thompson know you're here?"

Suzanna nodded again, "I told him last night."

Gamal straightened in surprise, "... You... told him?"

"Yes, ma'am. Right after we..." Suzanna trailed off, looking out into the distance as she remembered her outing with Simon.

Gamal stepped closer, eyes wide and curious, "After you...?"

"After... A-After..." It was a new day. A new tomato face, "A-A-After..."

Gamal hummed with both understanding and sudden disinterest, then walked past, "Never mind. As long as you're ready."

Gamal tapped buttons on the keypad, then put her key in the door. She turn it right away though.

"Thank you," she said, bringing the big girl back to Earth, "For coming back."

Suzanna looked at her with a concerned frown, "Huh?"

Gamal then turned the key and opened the door.

Suzanna just kept staring in confusion as Gamal held the door open.

"What are you waiting for?" the older woman asked, "Get inside."

"Oh, sorry. Thank you." Suzanna took step forward, but then said, "Actually, after you."

Gamal nodded, "Very well. You can have a seat in my office until Thompson gets here."

Suzanna took hold of the door, "Thanks, but..." then looked down at the ground, the pain in her butt flaring again, "... I won't need a seat."

Gamal simply went inside, "Suit yourself."

Suzanna was about to follow when she saw a large black 4x4 truck parking on the far end of the parking lot. The driver turned out to be driven by Simon, who, upon seeing her, just... stood there and stared. He then frowned in apparent irritation before getting out and going to open his tailgate.

(Oh no. Is he mad about last night? I mean, it was his fault...)

She sighed, let go of the door and walked over to him. He was pulling cinder blocks off the truck bed, and she cringed.

(Not these again. He must be really mad.)

"Uh, hi," she said.

He paused, but didn't look at her, "Hello," and went back to unloading.

"How... are you?"

"Fine..."

"Okay," she said, looking at the increasing number of cinder blocks and starting to regret her bold return, "Uh, hey, about last night..."

"What?"

"I'm... really sorry that I slapped you yesterday," she said, "I just... It wasn't right."

After taking off the large stone pillar, he slammed the tailgate shut, startling her and gripped the edge fiercely.

"Don't apologise," he murmured through his teeth, "It's beneath you."

She went from fear to confusion, "Wait, what?"

He finally looked at her again, "I meant-" then averted his eyes, "It... I deserved it."

Her eyes, nose and mouth all shrank and began to converge to the centre of her face as she tried to process what she just heard, "What did you say?"

He looked at her again, "I said..." then away, "I deserved it, so..." he finally let go of the tailgate, which he had dented with his fingers, "... you don't... need to apologise."

"Okay..." she said, blinking several times.
(I must have hit him harder than I thought.)

She looked the truck over and asked, "So, does he have a name?"

Simon's brow furrowed, "Who?"

"Your truck," she said, pointing at it, "What's his name, or her name?"

He stared at her like she was utterly mental, "It's a pick-up truck."

She was taken aback by his reaction, "I-I know, I just-"

"Then why are you asking if it has a name?"

She slanted her eyes, "I was making conversation."

"Well, you're not very good at it."

"You're one to talk!"

"Are we going to start or what?"

"Fine," she huffed, picking up one of the blocks and muttering, "I already feel like punching something anyway."

He did hear that, and his response was, "You're not punching anything today."

"Huh? Then what are these for?"

He briefly averted his gaze again before asking, "How familiar are you with Puroresu?"

"Puro-what?"

He looked at her almost with disgust or offence, "Japanese Pro Wrestling."

"Oh. Why didn't you just say so?"

"I. Literally. Did."

"No, you-"

(Wait... PU-RO-RES... Now I feel stupid.)

Simon clicked his tongue, "And you call yourself a fan."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Suzanna exclaimed, "I watch plenty of clips online."

Simon shook his head and rolled his eyes, "Clips..."

"Watching the shows is hard, okay?!"

"You're not helping your case."

Unable to find a response, she let her head drop.

"Anyway..." he continued, "Tell me what you noticed in those 'clips', in terms of striking, I mean."She raised her head and held a finger to her lips in thought, "Those guys hit each other really hard."

"How? With what?"

"Mmm... Kicks, knees, forearms..."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, "Yes, and...?"

She held up her finger, "They also slap each other a lot."

That same look of disgust returned in earnest, and she panicked.

"Chop!" she yelled, dropping the cinder block to hold up both hands, "I mean, they chop each other a lot," and whispering, "But they do slap each other though."

He clenched his jaw, but moved on to his next question, "But what's missing?"

She took another moment to think, "They don't really punch each other a lot."

He held up five fingers, "Gold star, Mouse," then one finger, "Do you know why that is?"

She shook her head.

His one finger became two to represent the number of reasons: "There's an old unspoken rule against closed fists."

She frowned, "Really? I've never heard of that."

He shrugged, "Most people haven't. It hasn't really been a thing for enforce decades, but many in the East and on the indies still adhere to it."

"So then, what's the other reason?"

He answered her question with one of his own, "What does more damage? A fist or an el-"

"Elbow," she said flatly, and from firsthand experience.

"... Correct," Simon said in surprise, being unaware of said experience, "But...?"

"You... have to get closer," she said.

"Exactly," he concurred, "With punches you can make use of your full reach, while still doing a lot of damage, but there's a caveat."

She cocked her head to the side in confusion.

"A limitation," he said with drooped eyelids, "What is it?"

She looked at her own fist and then at the cinder blocks, remembering their very first lesson, "It really hurts."

He snapped his fingers, "Precisely."

She continued to look at her fist, then opened her palm, then the pain in her butt flared up again, and she gasped, "I get it now."

A crooked smile formed on Simon's face, "Great. Why don't you go inside and change into your gear?"

She looked down at the cinder blocks again, "Is this all we're doing today?"

He nodded, "Mm-hm,"

"The whole day?"

He nodded twice, each accompanied by another "Mm-hm."

He then said, "I figure it could be your speciality."

"My speciality?"

"You have big hands and a lot of strength. It's a perfect fit, plus..." he leaned in, holding a hand to his mouth as he spoke into her ear, causing her to blush, "... it was something the War Chief was very good at. Got a reaction, every single time."

Her eyes widened as she remembered watching one of her uncle's old CPGW tapes, especially his matches against cruiserweights for whom she always felt bad.

(He's right. Uncle always used his palms when he hit someone.)

But then a newer memory intruded into her thoughts. One that caused her to run her fingers over the five deep grooves under her left eye. The house show, more specifically, the bathroom within which she came face-to-face with the reigning Jewell's Champion, Big Mama Moolah, the woman who slapped her across the face and left those scars.

She re-clenched her fist with a newfound determination and an even greater rage, clutched her bag tightly and walked back to the doors of the centre.

As she opened and shut them, that crooked smile returned. He ran his hands through his hair and started to breathe heavily,

"That... was easy..."

He swallowed again.

(Now comes the hard part.)