Nora Whitaker sat on her knees facing the front of the dojo, breathing deeply to prepare herself. To her right a line of five people faced the same direction. As soon as their Aikido instructor clapped his hands, they would all rise up to their feet and attack. The rondori exercise was the last part of her blackbelt test. Nora had prepared for this moment for over five years. Physically she was ready, but mentally she was not so sure. Wisps of light danced around her, doing their best to distract from the task at hand.
Auras were a bad sign, but not surprising. She had skipped her morning medication to keep her mind clear from the resulting mental tar pit. The cost was leaving her vulnerable to the hallucinations, stomach rumblings, and mood swings that had plagued her since childhood. They were often a warning that a focal seizure was imminent. Unlike its more famous cousin the grand mal, a focal seizure would often freeze her in place like a statue with complete loss of awareness for several minutes. Thankfully those were rare. The dancing lights were a more regular but annoying expression of her disease.
Stress could also induce seizures, and the whole point of a blackbelt test was to perform under pressure. Her instructors already knew what she could do. The real question was whether she could do it under duress. For anyone else, being asked to trust their training and throw away doubt and hesitation was challenging enough. For Nora it required extraordinary effort.
She had another way to cope, however. Though it gave her a disorienting feeling of déjà vu and could make her feel worse the day after, it would ease her symptoms long enough for the task at hand and potentially provide an edge while doing it. At moments like this it was well worth the cost.
“On my mark you will bow to the front, then bow to each other, then begin.” Johnson Sensei said forcefully. After a brief pause he clapped the two wooden blocks he carried together with a sharp clack and shouted “Begin!”
She bowed to the front of the dojo, then to her would-be attackers. Then she jumped to her feet and rather than wait for them to attack she went on the offensive.
No matter who was arrayed against her, one person always came first. People had a natural tendency to queue up, not wanting to get in each other’s way. Today that person was a rather large man named Gregory, his intent being to grab her clothing and subdue her. She stepped toward him, ready and waiting. Then she opened herself to her disability. The lights of her seizure coalesced around him and the sound of bellows filled the air. It was all an illusion. No one else could see or hear them. But if she paid attention, they showed her what was to come.
The lights took the shape of her attacker, the bellows becoming the noise of Gregory’s labored breathing as he rushed in to grab her. Then her opponent stumbled, his foot catching on the edge of a training mat. There was no way for her to throw aside two hundred pounds of flailing weight. He tumbled onto her, driving her down into the mat.
Then as quickly as it came the scene shifted again. Now he was once again several feet away, still in mid charge, hands out to grab her. Though time had passed in the vision, in reality it had taken no time at all.
Aikido had no punches or kicks. The primary goals were to redirect attacks and throw your opponents using their own momentum, or control them with joint manipulations to prevent them from successfully attacking. Rondori, however, was about staying calm and controlling the group. Throws were preferable, but sometimes it was better to just avoid getting grabbed at all.
Rather than deal with Gregory, she sidestepped. His foot caught on the mat just as it did in her vision, but this time she was no longer in the way. He tumbled to the floor, nearly falling on his face, but tucked himself into a ball to turn it into a controlled roll. Going head over heels, he returned quickly to his feet so he could come at her again.
Then came the next person, and the next, for each the world collapsing into a quick vision of the future then returning to the present. For most there were no surprises. They came to grab. She would step in, both hands arching in front of her like turning a steering wheel to brush their arms down before they could properly take hold. Redirecting their momentum to one side or the other, she sent them into to the mat one after another.
Sometimes she altered her approach, using her attackers as obstacles against each other. She might drop one in front of another or hold on a moment longer than expected before tossing them aside, using them as a human shield. These would stop everyone short, making them pause mid stride and giving her a much-needed break.
This went on for a several minutes, though it felt like forever. Then, having proven her competence, the blocks clacked again and the exercise was over. Everyone stopped in their tracks. Returning to their starting positions, they got down on their knees, bowed toward the front of the dojo, and then bowed to each other in thanks.
When it was over the dancing lights went away. From past experience, Nora would be free of them for a while. She let herself feel relief, pleased it had gone so well. She looked around for her girlfriend to share her joy, but she was nowhere to be seen. Sandra had an important meeting at the law firm where she worked as a paralegal, but said she would try to be there. She didn’t make it. So Nora turned to her surrogate family for congratulations.
Her Sensei shook her hand while the other students clapped in approval. “That was a great rondori. Congratulations! You are officially a Shodan,” he said, using the term for a first degree blackbelt.
After changing back into their street clothes, they celebrated with a lunch of pizza and beer in the waiting area. Nora took only a few sips of lager to mollify her fellow students. Alcohol never sat well with her epilepsy. The pizza, however, she enjoyed with gusto. Besides being hungry from the workout, she wouldn’t get another chance to eat for a while. She had work that afternoon and would be heading there directly with no time to do anything else.
When they were done, everyone slapped her on the back one more time before filtering out the door. Smiling, she made the mistake of glancing at her watch. It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. She had only ten minutes to get to work, and it was a forty-minute bus ride at best.
Cursing to herself, she double checked her image in the changing room mirror. Wisps of curly hair had escaped her braid, and dried sweat had given an oily sheen to her dark complexion. With no time to shower, she dabbed on some deodorant and brushed out her hair the best she could. Then she packed her bag to head out.
“Congratulations,” her Sensei said again at the door. “I’m proud of you.’
“Thanks. And thank you for being so understanding and working with me.” When she had joined the dojo, Johnson Sensei had brushed aside her condition with calm assurance. When seizures struck, he would give her the time to recover and continue on without comment. He made sure she felt safe there and never talked down to her. She could not have asked for a better teacher.
He waved away her gratitude. “Everybody who walks through this door comes with baggage, whether we can see it or not. And whether they know it or not, people don’t come in here to learn a martial art. They’re here to learn how to deal with that baggage. My job is to help them through that. You had the hard job of figuring out how. And now comes the harder part.”
“What’s that?” she asked curiously.
“Applying what you’ve learned to the rest of your life. You have the tools to handle your baggage. I’ve seen you do it here, but the big question now is, can you do it out there?” He pointed out the door to the world outside.
“Good question.” She looked out the door, wondering if she was up for the challenge.
“Not one you need to answer right now. Have a good day and see you next week. I can show you how to wear your hakama.” A hakama was the traditional garb worn by black belts in this style of martial art. It was a set of black, baggy pants with a complex set of pleats and straps. She had bought her own a month before, but until that day had not been allowed to wear it. She would definitely need help putting it on properly.
“Oh, and pay for the test,” he continued, looking embarrassed to ask. “I still need to keep the lights on in here.”
“Of course, Sensei. I’ll bring the check then. Have a good day.”
At the door, Nora bowed briefly back toward the dojo before walking to the bus stop with her backpack hanging off one shoulder. Checking the schedule, not only was she late getting to work but the bus was not due for another fifteen minutes.
She could not afford to be late. It was time to pull out the other ace up her sleeve. This one was more challenging because it made her symptoms immediately worse rather than better, but in for a penny, in for a pound, as her mother used to say.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
She looked around. Seeing no one about, she closed her eyes and imagined appearing in a quiet spot in the parking garage of the mall where she worked. Then she emptied her mind and prepared for the inevitable feeling of disorientation.
The sound and feel of the world changed. The chirping birds and gentle breeze of the bus stop was replaced by the echoes of cars looking for parking spaces and the smell of exhaust fumes. When she opened her eyes, she was in the parking garage, in her quiet spot just out of sight of the mall entrance.
She called it blinking. During her more severe seizures her awareness would slip away for a time. From her perspective people or things would appear to move suddenly around her. For others she would freeze, still as a statue while the world moved on. When she blinked, however, she was the one moving. It gave her the same sense of disorientation but without the need to wave away an ambulance or face a crowd of onlookers concerned for her wellbeing.
The first time was triggered by a life-threatening experience and the need for escape. Being of mixed race and a gay woman, she was used to harassment – it was one of the reasons she took Aikido – but she had not been prepared for three drunken men after a late night out with friends. Blinking had saved her life, sending her back to the safety of her home in an instant. The cost was high, however. She spent the next half-hour throwing up into her toilet. Though it had become less unsettling with time, she did her best to use it sparingly. Today she was willing to pay the price, however. It might just save her job.
Looking at her watch, she saw she was cutting it close. Nora rushed through the mall to get to the shop. It was on the mezzanine level, a store that catered to wannabe goths by selling shirts, dresses, and accessories aimed at teenagers and Gen Z. Working her way through the weekend crowd, Nora wished she could just call in sick and celebrate her test at home. But she couldn’t afford it. Her boss was fond of telling her there were ten people waiting to take her place if she missed a shift. It was come in or get fired. All she could do was hope the day went quickly.
“You’re late. Again.” Cynthia, her boss, looked at her disapprovingly, her perky blonde ponytail swishing behind her with every angry shake of her head. The motion made her look like a preppy high school cheerleader, even with the crucifix earrings she wore. Nora hated her for it, having always been conflicted by her own curly locks and dark skin.
Nora looked at her watch and frowned. She had walked through the door exactly on the hour. “It’s one o’clock. I’m on time.”
“You’re not on time until you clock in.” Cynthia looked smug, her posture daring Nora to push past to get to the time clock in the back room. Feeling the need to punch something, Nora momentarily wished she’d taken a harder martial art than Aikido. Instead of succumbing to violence, however, she took a deep breath and slipped past Cynthia. She clocked in at one minute past the hour. She was officially late.
“You look like you just woke up,” Cynthia said when Nora came back to the register.
“I had my blackbelt test this morning. No time to clean up.” Nora self-consciously pulled back the curls of her hair into a ponytail, mirroring her boss.
“That Karate stuff? But I thought you were sick?” Cynthia asked slyly as if catching Nora in a lie.
“I get intermittent seizures. I’m not an invalid. And it’s Aikido. You know, part of the basis for the Jedi in Star Wars?” Nora gestured over to the stack of themed t-shirts on a shelf behind her portraying various characters from the latest movie.
“Yeah, whatever,” her boss sniffed at her dismissively before walking away to check inventory.
Nora took a deep breath, trying her best to calm herself before she did something she would regret. Still the tension in her body remained. The lights were back as well, flickering around her like fireflies, and her stomach started to churn.
“Goddammit,” she mumbled to herself. Her gut rumbled like an overflowing boiler, threatening to send her running to the bathroom before she spilled over. Her blink was coming back to bite her.
Then Nora realized she still hadn’t taken her medication. With the test done, she was allowed to embrace mediocrity once more. She started to head to the back room to get her medicine from her backpack, but was interrupted by a customer walking into the store.
Cynthia would take her hide if she left her post with a customer present. So she stayed put, holding onto the counter with both hands like a life preserver. She desperately hoped the turning of her stomach would pass quickly for once. Then she thought about using her power to ease her symptoms. She couldn’t just view the future and call it good, however. Her ability was triggered by immediate choices and their consequences, looking forward no further than a few seconds. If it was just about seeing the future, she would have bought a winning lottery ticket long ago and quit her job. Her ability was only useful when she had choices with immediate consequences. Like her test, that meant doing something. Yet at that moment her only choices were deciding if it was better to throw up on the counter or in the garbage can.
She looked toward the customer. Talking to them was a standard part of her job. It was less of a choice than a duty, but what she said was all up to her. Perhaps she could make a sale and look amazing doing it, picking just the right shirt out of a stack and handing it to them after countless visions of their sad face as she made bad choices over and over again.
Allowing herself to observe the lights, they coalesced around the young man riffling through a pile of shirts. The lights showed him tucking one into his coat before running out the door. Then the vision was gone, returning him to the shelf where he looked for the right shirt to steal.
Nora shook her head sadly. Dealing with a shoplifter was not the option she had hoped for. Still, seeing it allowed her stomach to pause in its churning.
“Hi,” she said, walking over to him. “Can I help you?”
He looked startled as she walked up. “No, no, just trying to find a gift for a friend.” He held up a shirt as if that was proof.
Nora looked him over, from the pimples on his chin to his faux leather jacket. He was just a kid, fifteen years old at most. “Dude, I know what you were about to do. Just walk away. No harm, no foul.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said with the feigned innocence of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was still holding the shirt. It looked just like the one Nora had seen in her vision.
“What’s going on?” asked Cythia as she walked up to stand beside Nora.
It didn’t require special abilities to know how this was going to go down. “This kid was about to steal something. Just asking him to leave.”
“Did you steal anything?” Cynthia asked the boy.
“No! Search me.” He was defensive, waving the shirt in his hand like a flag. “I was just looking. I have no idea why she’s saying that.”
Cynthia turned to Nora. “How do you know he was going to steal something?”
Nora sighed. “I thought I saw him about to put that shirt in his coat. I just stopped him before he did.” At least she wasn’t lying. It was a version of the truth from her perspective.
Cynthia looked at Nora suspiciously. “I’m sorry for the bother,” she told the kid. “You’re welcome to keep looking. Nora, can I talk to you in private?”
Nora followed her boss to the back of the store. “What’s the matter with you?” Cynthia asked roughly.
“The kid was going to…” she started, but Cynthia cut her off.
“You harass customers, call in sick half the time, and are late when you do show up. Even when you are here, you’re usually staring off into space. I think we’re done. You’re fired.”
Nora knew this was coming. She expected nothing less from Cynthia. But it still hurt. Looking around, Nora saw that the kid was gone and the clothing pile one shirt shorter. She nodded reluctantly. “No problem. I’m outta here. But you might want to count those shirts, and I suggest you review your corporate policy on the Americans with Disabilities Act. It would be a shame if you got sued.” The job wasn’t worth involving a lawyer, not that she could afford one. Nora just hoped it would give Cynthia at least one sleepless night. “I’ll get my pack and leave.”
Cynthia followed Nora into the back room, allowed Nora to rummage around her pack for the store keys which she returned, and then escorted her out without another word.
Nora took the escalators down to the mall’s central courtyard and sat on a bench. She finally had the time to enjoy her success on her test, but now wasn’t sure how to pay for it. Nora was sure her Sensei would let her pay in installments, but the irony was not lost on her.
When she discovered her abilities, there was a moment when she thought she could be a hero like Portland’s duet of superheroes, Afterimage and Pressure. She thought she could use her abilities for the greater good and feel like a useful, contributing member of society. It became quickly apparent, however, that her gift, if she could call it that, rarely brought her anything but grief. Nobody would believe she had visions because to them time ran in a single smooth line. She could prevent a tragedy, but she could never prove she had stopped something that for others never happened. And the next day she would be sick to her stomach, throwing up or frozen, her mind caught in an endless loop of seizures. It wasn’t worth it.
Besides, who would want a hero with a chronic illness? Nora was flawed and knew it. People wanted their heroes to be perfect. That was something she could never be. Instead, she vowed, as she had done a dozen times before, that this would be the last time she acted on her visions for anyone’s benefit but her own.
The bigger question now was what was she going to tell Sandra? Her girlfriend had helped get her through previous job losses. This time, however, it could very well be the straw that broke the camel’s back.
There was no avoiding it. Nora dug her cellphone from her backpack and dialed. As expected, she got Sandra’s voicemail. “Hey babe. The test went well. Guess I get to start wearing the black pants at the dojo now. The rest of the day hasn’t been so great, though. Cynthia fired me for trying to stop a shoplifter. Would you believe it? Well, I’m going to see if anyone else in the mall has a job opening. I’ll see you tonight. Wish me luck.”
Instead of looking for a job, though, Nora tucked her phone back in her pack and sat on the bench to people watch. Looking at packs of kids herded by parents, couples walking hand in hand, and singles rushing to and fro, took her mind off the future. She had no idea what she was going to do now. She knew the mall well and wasn’t hopeful about finding another job there. Getting fired from one shop tended to make you a pariah from the others. It didn’t look good.
Then the lights started flickering about like tiny wisps floating among the crowd around her. The queasy feeling in her stomach returned as well. The lights seemed to collect around certain people, following them as they entered the courtyard. Nora had only seen that happen a couple times before. It was her ability’s way of telling her something important was about to happen. It made her sit up and take notice.
The lights followed an odd assortment of men and women, all wearing bulky coats and carrying long black canvas bags over their shoulders by nylon straps. There were ten in all, striding in purposely from various directions before arraying themselves in a ring around the central courtyard.
Suddenly the lights swarmed about them before coalescing into a horrific vision that assaulted Nora’s senses. Snapping back to the present, Nora flew up from her seat to lean protectively over a nearby child. Then came the guns out of those bags, followed quickly by screaming. She held the boy beneath her, concentrating on him rather than the shooters. She already knew what was happening and didn’t need to see it again.