~ Episode Eighteen ~

Heavy Metal Chick:

The Girl Who Was Forged From Iron

She’d been staring at her own reflection for a good, long, while now. All essence of time had fleeted. She stared deep into smoky-gray eyes. That’s all there was. Eyes upon eyes. Eyes upon shoulders, upon torso, upon arms.

Eyes upon everything.

Not an ounce of her body showed fat. All of her was iron strong. She knew her strength and her body proved this, though no one knew … nor did she care for them to. Toned core and biceps, defined thighs and legs—all stashed away, hidden beneath baggy t-shirts and ripped skinny jeans. Hand-me-downs from her older brother, back home.

An old life.

Isa Keitel stood in the tiny bathroom of her new apartment, staring at her reflection in the elongated mirror that hung off the back of the door. The air was still foggy with steam. The tile walls were grimy and perspired from her morning shower.

Isa and her reflection sighed. For a moment, their eyes studied each other, and then dropped to their toes. They were calloused, nails painted punk rock black.

Memories of the past few weeks flooded her. Sadness and anger, too. Voices and images that were snared and crudely-stitched like old-fashioned filmstrip.

“Izzy...”

“Yeah, Sensei Oji?”

Master and Student both faced each other long after class had ended for the day. The other black belts had already gone home. Isa was waiting to be picked up.

She and Sensei Oji stared at each other—eyes upon eyes. The evening sun was a blaze of ruby-orange that cast them both in shadow through the front windows of Lotus Arts School of Karate—Isa’s second home ever since she was nine years old.

“Izzy, you have excelled so much in the five years you’ve been a student under my instruction. You show grace and determination. You show restraint, yet equal repercussion. You show empathy and leadership.”

Isa blushed. Her eyes dropped to her bare feet. She wanted to thank Sensei Oji.

But he hadn’t yet finished.

“You have transformed so much in that time. Into a fine young woman. Into a fine warrior. And I am proud to consider you my finest student. In the twenty-five years I’ve taught karate, no girl has ever paralleled you. Izzy, I’ve not known you to be a girl who has ever backed down from a challenge. So allow me to present you another—”

Sensei suddenly took her by the shoulder—a gentle caress that made Isa’s heart skip on a caught breath. Butterfly warmth fluttered against her ribcage as she studied the mat between their toes.

“—I see promise in you to become a capable mentor in your own right, a councilor-in-training,” he said. “Izzy—I’d like to offer you the position of Sempai here at our dojo.”

“S ... Sempai?” Isa looked back up, eyes upon eyes. Sensei’s smile at her broadened. It warmed Isa from the inside out.

“What do you think? If you’re up for it, I think you would make a great leader,” he said. His affectionate caress squeezed her shoulder. Then fell away. “Think about it, at least.”

But Isa didn’t have to think about it.

“I ... I would be honored!” She bowed for him without hesitation. “Sensei, thank you!”

“It’s my pleasure,” Sensei said. He straightened, proud of her—his finest pupil. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

The scene swirled. The reds, blacks, and oranges of the memory became hybrid with a flood of new memories that took precedent. Memories that filled Isa with an unforgivable brackishness.

“What?! No way!”

“It’s okay, Izzy. I know it’s a big move,” said her father. The two of them sat at the kitchen table, their backs to Isa’s mother. He patted Isa’s wrist. “But the company offered me the promotion to Regional Manager at no contest...”

“Way to sell out, Dad!” Isa yanked her arm out of his grasp and pushed away from her seat with a loud screech. She stormed past her mother, out of the kitchen. “I’m not moving!”

“Isabella Eve!” her father snapped.

Isa stopped in her tracks.

“That’s no way to speak to me,” he continued. “I’m sorry, but I took the promotion, and we’re moving to Ontario, and that’s it!”

“Frank...” Her mother sighed and leaned into Isa, caressing her tight shoulders. “Izzy, it’ll be okay...”

“When?” Isa asked, trembling.

“Close to the end of the month,” he replied. “Two weeks.”

“And you just found out today?”

“I accepted the promotion today, yes. Your mom and I have been talking about it a while now. Everything’s settled.”

“I…” Isa’s chin drooped. “…I can’t stay with Brandon?”

“What? No, Isa—of course not. Your brother’s got his own plate to fill—that’s not fair to him.”

“Not fair. Right.” She shifted out of her mother’s clutch and snapped through the hallway, towards her bedroom.

“Izzy!” her mother called out. “Honey—please, try to see the bigger picture. Look at this like—like—a new beginning. The new beginning you deserve.”

“…I deserve?” Dumbstruck, Isa turned to face her, fighting back tears that dared to fall. “How can you say that? How can you rationalize my feelings that way?! I don’t want this! I don’t need this!”

“Izzy?” Her father appeared at her mother’s side and approached on tentative steps. “Why are you being so dramatic? What’s wrong?”

“I—How can you make that decision for me? You both of all people? How could you?!” Isa asked, concealing her tear-streaked face in the shadows cast across the unlit living room. “I hate you!!”

The memory swirled and faded. Isa found her smoky eyes in the bathroom mirror of a new and tiny apartment she now shared with her parents and little brother.

“H’—yaa!”

With sonic reflexes, she and her reflection snapped a leg up at each other in a clean and graceful high kick. Their gazes stared each other down the whole time.

There was a knock on the door.

“Izzy, everything all right in there?” Her mother, voice muffled.

Isa sighed and lowered her leg.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” She caressed her forehead, eyes closed.

“Get dressed, okay? You’re going to be late. There’s some oatmeal on the table for you. Don’t forget your meds!”

“…I won’t forget.” Isa stared into an open palm and squeezed her hand into a tight fist. She listened to the sound of her mother’s footfalls down the hall, then looked up at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Eyes upon eyes. A lone tear began to fall.

“Forgive me, Sensei.”

~

“Ugh, I’m dying for a smoke. Eddi-chan, you’re coming to The Dreaming Tree, right?”

“Nope. I brought a lunch.” Eri stuffed her pencil case and Social Studies notebook into her desk and smiled up at Mackenzie, stretching beside her.

Macks wilted at the news. “But Shinji and Evan are going. It’ll be weird without you.”

“Shinji didn’t mention another meeting.”

“No meeting—just lunch. Evan’s treat, if you can believe it. But knowing our beloved Izuma-san, it’ll turn into one—probably about the Eldrom thing that almost killed him.”

Eri shuddered at the thought, secretly glad she hadn’t been conscious for that part. “Well, he’s not dead—thanks to you.”

“Pffft. So being the Warrior of Air makes me the apparent healer of the group, or whatever. Big whoop. Shinji’s too stubborn to die.” Mackenzie studied her, suddenly looking grave. “To be honest though, you had me pretty worried. Scared you had a concussion or something.”

Eri smiled, gently rapping the side of her head. “Nope! Fit as a fiddle!”

“I dunno what’s luckier: your gray matter or your butt—I don’t think your brother’s ever been late before to pick you up. Maybe last night’s the start of a new trend.” Mackenzie studied her, hopeful. “You sure you don’t wanna come? Like I said, Evan’s treat. I wouldn’t be going, otherwise.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“No, go. Enjoy!” Eri urged her. “Honestly, after last night, I just need a break from all the Monster stuff.”

“Come on, Eddi-chan! You’re not gonna leave me alone with a pair of dumb fourteen-year-old boys.”

“It’s just Shinji and Evan.”

“Your old best friend and his new best friend? That’s not awkward.”

Old best friend. A rake of guilt tore across Eri’s heart. New best friend.

“Sorry, Macks. I’ll make it up to you—I promise.”

“Free fo-o-o-od!” Mackenzie sang to her. She let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You suck.”

“I know. Bring me back a snack, okay? Surprise me!”

The girls merged into the line of students that seeped out into the noisy hallway. Eri waved goodbye to her trio of friends and headed to the coat rack just outside 208-B, to fetch her Hello Kitty lunch bag from her matching backpack.

Only a handful of kids remained in-class to take their meals or play quiet rounds of President and War. On the opposite side of the classroom, Ms. Youse was bent over her work station reading a memo from the principal’s office, spooning down tomato soup from her thermos.

A glance to Ms. Youse’s left revealed the transfer student, Isa Keitel, at her new desk within the row that spanned across the second-floor window.

Nervous warmth bloomed in Eri’s chest at the sight of her.

The new girl nestled a cheek against the crook of her elbow, busy dragging a fingernail along the desktop’s wood-patterned finish as she listened to music off her Walkman.

Eri let out a long exhale and hedged brave steps towards her.

“Um, hi! Isa, right?”

Isa blinked. She looked up at Eri, now looming over her on the opposite side of the desk. Her sleepy-sad gaze became almost frightened at the sight of her.

“Or—Izzy?” Eri clarified. “I heard your mom call you that when we saw each other the other day—at—at—the Dreaming Tree.” It was a struggle just to get the words off her tongue. What was she doing? “Um—is—that what you wanna be called?”

Isa's wide-eyed stare didn't budge. Eri couldn't take her eyes away from how feline-like Isa's eyes were. And grey, too—at least, they seemed grey. Isa just stared at her. It was like she wasn't even breathing.

Then, her eyes narrowed into steel. Her mouth curled into a frown.

“Isa,” said Isa. “My name is Isa.”

Eri brandished a polite smile, a shield against the impact of irritation that sounded in Isa Keitel's otherwise bored-monotonous tone. The once-or-twice Ms. Youse had called on her for an answer, Isa had always seemed so sad—distant.

Then Eri's attention fell to the Walkman laying on the desk, next to Isa's slender hand. Her long fingers curled into a loose fist, like she were about to knock-knock-knock on the faux wood of where she sat.

Eri hadn't seen a Walkman in ages. Most everybody she knew their age had a Discman or MP3 player. Eri, herself, still liked to listen to her favorite Go-Go's and Joan Jett cassettes from time to time, but that was only because her personal CD player at home was a two-in-one, with an obligatory radio feature that she never switched on.

Eri watched the pair of little black spindles churn whatever tape Isa currently listened to in a slow loop. The sound was low, but Eri could hear a male singer wailing away in Isa's ears alongside angry or passionate guitaring. Definitely punk rock. Noah was a big punk rock fan, too—or, at least he used to be, before he started university. “Um, what—um—are you listening to?”

Isa snapped her thumb against the stop button. Her hardened gaze dared Eri any closer, a lioness protecting her territory.

“Nothing,” she said.

“O-oh...” Eri felt herself start to back up. Coming over here had been a bad idea; a big mistake. Why had she thought it smart to approach this new girl in the first place? Isa clearly wasn't interested. Why would she be? Isa was too cool to associate with a girl as plain and painfully shy as Eri. An apology was already forming on her tongue, for bothering this girl—for—for—

Eri's backside caught against the edge of a desk behind her. She froze solid.

In that moment, it was clear now that Isa's eyes were grey—definitely grey. There was no question about it as they glared deep into Eri, a pair of gleaming ice shards ready and aimed to kill.

Then she remembered why she'd come over in the first place, why introducing herself to Isa was so necessary:

“…You don’t have a lunch,” Eri quietly observed.

The lioness dare around Isa's eyes softened a moment, then hardened again.

“I have one,” she said. “I just don’t feel like eating.”

“Oh.” The trembling clutch on Eri’s Hello Kitty lunch bag slowly tightened against the folds of her pastel violet-print skirt.

Then Isa gestured at her with an impatient chin shake. “So-o-o, are we done here, or—”

A sudden flood of panic directed Eri to grab the nearest chair from the row of unoccupied desks behind her. She let out a sharp breath and sat down in front of Isa’s desk.

Isa stared at her, startled. “Uh…”

Eri unzipped her lunch bag and started to unpack the meal her father prepared that morning: a diagonally-cut bologna and cheese sandwich on white (with the works); a little dish of seedless green grapes; a Sunny D juice box—and two Chips Ahoy! rainbow chocolate chip cookies wrapped in saran, for dessert. She unwrapped the wax paper that contained her sandwich and scooped up one of the sagging halves, offering it to Isa. “Um, here…”

“Why are you...?” Isa started to retort, but hesitated, eyes darting in the direction of their teacher. Ms. Youse sat not ten feet away, still busy looming over whatever notes the main office had sent up that morning. She sighed, relenting, and took Eri's offering, grumbling, “…Kid, you don’t have to give me your lunch. I told you, I brought one.”

“I don't mind. There’s too much food for me, anyway.” Eri offered a shy smile, her face feeling suddenly warm for some reason.

Isa considered the luncheon peace offering, seemingly stunned by its mere existence. Slow rosiness tinted her cheeks as well.

“Well—Thanks, I guess,” she said.

Eri replied with a quiet, “Welcome.”

The girls sat in awkward silence as they ate, sharing the spread of food in equal parts. It was strange for Eri—she’d never been this kind of outgoing before, more used to keeping to herself. Mackenzie did most of the talking for the both of them, and Eri was more than happy to react or interject, accordingly.

She nibbled on a grape, doing her best to not make direct eye contact with Isa—for fear of the horde of butterfly cocoons lining her guts that dared to erupt at any given second. Being an extreme introvert, often mistaken for an alleged vampire, with a love for alternative rock music and old Nintendo games, instead of the current pop boy band trends or makeup and jewelry, didn’t land a girl many friends or great first impressions. Eri wrinkled her nose at the thought. Her ears weren’t even pierced yet, the gun scared her so much.

Then Eri's eyes betrayed her with a quick peek at the new girl.

Isa's ears were pierced. And her makeup was flawless.

Instantly, the cocoons began to crack a little.

Isa stated, suddenly, “You're not Japanese.”

“Hm?”

“Your name. It’s Japanese, right? You’re clearly not Japanese.”

“I’m, um, not,” said Eri. “My dad named me. Um, after a cadet he served with, who died. Dad’s Italian. Mom’s Irish.”

Isa chewed on this alongside her half of Eri's sandwich. Then she uttered, “Must’ve been some cadet. So—you’re a military brat.”

“Yeah. Reserve Force.”

“That’s rough.”

“…Yeah.”

“My mom’s Italian,” said Isa. “Dad’s German. Anyway, what’s up with your eyes? Red contact lenses?”

“Oh … no. I’m not wearing contacts.” Eri paused to sip at her juice, feeling awkward. “My eyes are red for real.”

“You an albino or something?”

“No.” Albino. That was a new one. “I dunno why they’re red. Neither does my doctor. They just … are. Born with ‘em, I guess.”

“Looks like you jumped out of a photo or something. Bet they freak a lot of people out, huh?”

“…Sometimes.”

“Hm. Thought I heard some kid call you a vampire the other day. Makes sense now.”

Isa suddenly leaned in across the desk to have a better look at them. Doing so sucked the air right out of Eri’s lungs. She nearly choked on her grape, fully consumed by the deep and smoky pools of Isa Keitel’s intense scrutiny.

The new girl’s nostrils flexed, wolf-like. “What is that? You wearing Strawberry Dreams?”

“Um—yeah.” Eri preened at her hair, nervous. She’d purposely worn a few extra squirts today. “S—so, what’s Vancouver like?”

“Huh? Oh.” Isa frowned, settling back into her seat with arms crossed. “Better than this crappy place. There was stuff to do, at least. Shorebrooke doesn’t even have a skate park.”—She scoffed.—“The dojo here looks like a joke.”

Eri blinked. “Dojo?”

“Yeah. The karate place. You know, across from that diner … Tree, something? Anyway, nobody looks like they know what they’re doing in there. It’s embarrassing. A total McDojo.”

“Do … do you…?”

“I have my black belt,” Isa supplied. “I was supposed to—” She paused, the steely look in her face drooped into distant sadness—but only for a half-second before the hardness she radiated returned. “What about you?”

Eri shook her head. “I run track.”

“Track.” Isa chewed on this for a time. She threw a dismissive look across the class room, scratching an errant itch on her bicep. The sleeve of her oversized Iron Maiden shirt hiked up the arm just enough for the shadows to hint at a kind of muscle definition attained only by intense discipline. “Cool.”

Eri smiled, mid-chew. The cocoons in her stomach stirred alive from Isa’s affirmation.

“So—do you play any instruments?” asked Isa.

“Instruments?” The question caught Eri off-guard. No one had ever asked her that before—not even Mackenzie when they first started hanging out. But that was probably because Macks didn't play any instruments, herself. The first question she'd asked the first day they'd met was, of course, about anime—and which Sailor Scout was Eri's favorite.

Instant memories from before the move to Base Borden flooded Eri's consciousness. Some of her most favorite memories were playing the drums—Noah, enthusiastically teaching her on his own prized set.

Back then, Eri had nearly perfected the percussion notes to the Darm Tower level in that old Ys: Book 1 & 2 game she loved, on the Turbografx-16 that both siblings had been given dual-custody of by Santa. That is, until Noah eventually went and traded it in—along with all the games—for his current and solo-owned Sony PlayStation and a copy of Syphon Filter 2 that she wasn't allowed to play, because of its M-rating.

Eri pushed away an unwelcome throb of sadness when that memory decided to resurface.

She bit into another grape and murmured, “Um, yeah. I played the drums—when I was a kid.”

“Drums?” Isa's jaw went so slack it almost clattered against her desk. “You play the drums?”

“I used to,” Eri repeated. Then, feeling suddenly self-conscious, asked, “Why? Is—is that weird, or something?”

“No!” exclaimed Isa, wide-eyed again. Then, like a total reset, she scooped her jaw back up and settled back into a veil of aloofness without the slightest hint of interest in Eri. “No—I just wasn't expecting an answer like that. Girls like you play piano, or flute, or—or usually nothing at all. That's all.”

Eri blinked. Girls like her? What did that mean?”

The lunch recess bell rang overhead. Eri placed the last bit of sandwich into her mouth and crinkled up the wax paper. She then quietly started to gather her things and placed the chair back where she found it.

When she turned around, Isa was gone.

“Hey—” Eri grabbed her bag and darted out into the hallway. “Wait up!”

She found Isa at the coat rack, swapping the cassette in her Walkman with something else from her backpack. Eri hedged nervous steps towards her. “Hey, um…”

Isa turned, shooting a glare of daggers at her. She slapped the flap of her Walkman's tape deck shut and came forward with breath-taking whirlwind speed. “Thanks for lunch, but I don’t need you to be my friend. Just because I’m new doesn’t mean I need your sympathy, okay?!”

Eri stumbled back on surprised heels. “Wh—”

Isa shouldered past her with a hard shove. “I can take care of myself. Got that, Red-eye?”

Stunned into silence, Eri watched the new girl storm down the hall towards the first floor stairwell. She touched fingertips to a cheek, scalding hot with embarrassment.

“ ‘Red-eye’…?”