She leaped two steps towards me, lunged forward, and stabbed me square in the chest. I looked down dully at the blade still quivering there.
      She stepped back and whipped off her mask. She was furious. “What is with you today? You didn’t even try to block that.”
      I spent the night falling down a bottomless razor-lined hole, I didn’t tell her. It’s a little draining, I didn’t add.
      I took off my mask and lowered my own fencing foil. “Sorry. Rough night. I’ll try to pay attention.”
      “Well, I hope so.” She put her mask back on, retreated to the end of the gym mat and dropped into en garde position.
      Kim was a foot shorter than me, but made up for her slight stature with a ferocity of competition found only in phys ed majors. She wore her blonde hair cropped short, the better to dry after frequent showers, and she was very cute. A ring on the fourth finger of her left hand exerted a powerful repelling force that kept me from thinking about her except as a fencing partner.
      I put my mask on also. Around us, the other fencers in the class leaped back and forth, foils flashing and clashing, with grunts and exclamations and the occasional cry of “Touch!”
      Although I saw these people every week, Kim was the only one in the class whose actual name I knew. I thought of the others only by nicknames.
      The Marine was a muscular guy with a crew-cut who wore USMC shorts to every class. He was a hacker, slashing madly with his foil, always getting finessed by anyone he couldn’t unnerve.
      The Stork was tall, with at least a foot more arm reach than anyone else in class. He was slow, though, often seeming two moves behind anyone he faced.
      The Ballerina was even smaller than Kim, with short dark hair and a pixie face. She was no menace with a foil, but her graceful footwork and artistic balance were breath-taking. It was a pleasure just watching her walk into position.
      I wondered what they called me, the bearded long-haired guy, awkward as hell, but occasionally pulling off a clever move. I thought about fencing, you see. I couldn’t always perform what I had thought up, but when I could it usually worked.
      I dropped into en garde position. Kim immediately advanced, the point of her blade spiraling in toward my chest. I still hurt from that last jab. This time I stood my ground, batting her advancing blade aside, sliding my point upward, forcing her to draw back. I took a step forward, quick, but none too graceful. She turned her wrist awkwardly to parry my point, and I slid my foil sideways, grazing her shoulder.
      “One,” she said. “Damn.”
      We en garded again. This time she advanced, I defended the same way, she dropped back quickly, I got excited and advanced too roughly, and she put one under my hand, waist high. “One-one,” she said in an intense monotone, dropping immediately into en garde. I could see her eyes gleaming behind the wire mask.
      I dropped into en garde and she advanced slowly. I advanced slowly also, and soon we were very close, our foils whizzing between us. I started bouncing my torso forward and backward, slowly and rhythmically at first, then faster and more unpredictably. As I hoped, it threw her off. She couldn’t tell whether I was advancing, retreating, or just moving my upper body. She had to look down at my feet to tell, and when she did, I bashed her blade sideways and struck her solidly in the side.
      “Two-one,” I said.
      “You pain in the ass.”
      I grinned behind my mask. I knew I was going to lose to her eventually – I almost always did – but at least I had made two hits. And I had tried out one of the new moves I had dreamed up.
      When we started again, she stomped one foot forward, which startled me. I lost a beat. She advanced and stomped again. I was expecting it this time, but the expectation itself made me lose another beat. I was a tiny fraction of a second behind her blade, racing to catch up, but I couldn’t. I felt like someone dangling from a rope, watching it unravel strand by strand. Her blade was whirring now, I was falling farther and farther behind, when suddenly she moved her blade up into mine, clang, down onto mine, clang, then straight forward. She hit me smack in the heart, and I just nodded.
      “Good one. Really, very good. Two-two.”
      This would be the deciding point.
      She was already in position, ready to go, her chest heaving. “Come on.”
      This was it. I settled into position. I was relaxed. I somehow felt that I was going to win this time, that my calm control would beat her intensity. I took a slow, oddly graceful step forward.
      And she bounded forward twice, lunged, and stabbed me full in the chest, just as before.
      And just as before, I looked down at the quivering blade. “Wow.”
      She pulled her mask free, all smiles now. “Good three,” she gushed, holding out her hand. I shook it.
      “You are getting better,” I said. “I can tell.”
      “You too,” she said automatically, bending over, catching her breath.
      I shook my head. “No, I’m not getting better. I think about it too much. And I’m no athlete.”
      She shook her head breathlessly. I couldn’t tell if she were agreeing with me or disagreeing.
      Since she was in gracious-winner mode, I decided to try something. “I did think of another new move to show you, though. Lunge at me the way you just did. I want to try it.”
      Our teacher was passing us. “Dr. Mueller,” I said. “Would you please watch this for a second?”
      She stopped near us. A woman in her mid-thirties, she was coach of the fencing team and took fencing very seriously. The class lived and died by her judgment, advice, and encouragement. She turned and watched us steadily. The rest of the class had stopped to watch us, and Dr. Mueller’s reaction.
      Kim got into position. I got into en garde but immediately lowered my blade. I was now defenseless, nothing protecting me from Kim’s advance. She bounded, lunged, and stabbed at me, just as before. At the last moment, I stepped swiftly to my right. Her blade slid harmlessly past my left side, and I reached out and grabbed it with my left hand. Astonished, Kim turned toward me, and I brought my blade up and tap-tap-tapped her gently on the stomach.
      Kim exploded, ripping her mask off and throwing it to the mat. “That’s not legal! Is that legal? No way that’s legal!” She demanded satisfaction from Dr. Mueller. The others in class were already loudly debating with each other about the legality, and morality, of what I had done.
      Dr. Mueller only looked at me, raised her eyes to heaven, shook her head in mock-profound disappointment, and walked away.
     
     
     
      After fencing, I was walking dripping from the shower to the locker room when a voice behind me said, “Hey, hippie.”
      Great. I usually got this kind of thing in dimly lit bars. Somebody compelled to make a comment about my hair and beard. I hated getting into fights, mainly because I didn’t have the slightest clue about what to do in one. Besides getting the crap beat out of me, I mean. I generally found that the longer I could keep them talking, the less likely it would get physical. Running fast helped, too. Still, it was a nuisance and a threat I didn’t need. And I had never had to face it on campus before. I didn’t relish running around campus naked and dripping. Streaking was no longer the in thing to do, especially in November.
      So I turned to face... The Marine. Swell. Naked, he was even more muscular than I remembered. His hands were big and powerful, with bony knuckles I could imagine would hurt. He brought one of his hands up towards me quickly and I stopped myself from flinching, but I did say, “Uh.”
      “That was a great move you did in class today.” He was smiling. His hand was waiting to be shaken. I shook it. He had a powerful and convincing, but not bone-crushing, handshake.
      It slowly dawned on me that he wasn’t going to beat me up for having a beard and long hair. He actually seemed to like me.
      “Dr. Mueller didn’t think much of it,” I said, coming pretty close to sounding casual.
      He snorted and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, well, it may not be legal in fencing, but take my word for it: a move like that could save your life in a real fight.”
      I shrugged. “You’re prob’ly right. But I so rarely find myself in sword fights these days.”
      He laughed. “Right.”
      I laughed, too.
      I suddenly had an image of us, two wet guys laughing with our hoohas hanging out. It felt strange.
      I fiddled with my towel. “Anyway, thanks.”
      “Yeah, see you around.” He got his towel down from the rack.
      I turned to go, then turned back. Don’t ask me why, I just can’t leave this kind of thing alone. “By the way, my name is actually Mark.”
      “Oh, yeah?” He sounded surprised. “So’s mine.”
      I was surprised, too. We shook hands again.
      “See you around.”
      I walked away, shaking my head. You just never know about people.