Page 82 of Allure

More laughter. Such a great group of women.

Honestly, the class flies by. I listed the class as two hours, but toward the end, I open up the mat for any questions. Some women give stories about why they wanted to come here. Others ask about certain techniques, and I mostly deferred those to Declan for his expertise on the subject.

One woman who nailed just about everything on the first try raises her hand. “How do we sign up to take classes?”

"You can see me afterward or Declan, excuse me, Sempai Declan, and we'll get you squared away. That goes for any of you who are interested. Sensei has given me permission to tell you that you can come and take three adult classes for free before you decide to sign up, or you can take just one class and sign up if you know it's what you want or sign up tonight. Whatever feels right for you, but there is one thing I wish to mention. The moves you learned tonight, the self-defense moves especially, if you do not practice them, you will lose them. You'll forget them. For them to become second nature, you must do them over and over again. That is why one class like this is a start, but if you truly want to learn self-defense, it should only be the start. Signing up for class will help with that. I know that sounds a bit salesy, but I promise I'm not trying to sell you on this for my sake. It's for yours."

I hesitate and then nod.

“I know some of you said you haven’t felt safe because of all of the attacks on women recently from that mugger. I was one of his victims.”

Some of the women gasp.

"It was shortly after I started here, and I didn't have the benefit of training for years, the repetition of the moves so they become second nature so that even if your mind freezes, muscle memory will take over. Now, he had a gun, and the basics of gun defense are to give them what they want and run away. Don't just hand them your purse. Throw it away, so they have to go and get it, and you can flee. That's what I did with my wallet. Your life is more important than your purse, than your car keys. But there are instances when you'll be able to use these moves. In a bar, if a guy comes up to you and starts to invade your space… if a date starts to go south… You are strong and capable, and you deserve respect, and unfortunately, some people need to be shown that we deserve that respect before they'll give it."

Okay, all of that had been off the cuff, and I rambled a bit, but I think I made an impact. Some are staring at me slack-jawed, and it’s a bit unnerving to be the center of so many women’s attention.

“Any other questions?” I ask.

A teenage girl who hasn’t spoken yet raises her hand timidly.

“Yes?”

“I want to do this.” She glances at her mom, who nods. “I think my brother will want to. Boys can train here, right?”

“Yes. We have kids and adult classes. Adult classes are for thirteen and up. Kids classes… the youngest is about five?”

Declan nods. “Once or twice, we’ve allowed four-year-olds to start, but we have to have an introductory class with four and five-year-olds to ensure that they’re ready mentally to handle class. We can’t have unruly students who will disrupt classes. There has been talk about maybe having some one-on-one classes for younger kids who might need more induvial attention before they can become acclimated enough to join the larger classes. If that happens, if it’s applicable to any of you, we will keep you in the loop.”

Another woman raises her hand. “Do you have any families who attend here? Couples? All of their kids?”

“There are several families who have multiple kids enrolled,” Declan says. “Some have three of four, two of three… There’s one family who has six members doing class, the mom and five kids. The dad doesn’t. He’s too busy training for marathons all the time, so I guess I should cut him some slack.”

A few chuckles.

“And we do have some husbands and wives who train together as well,” he adds.

There aren’t many more questions after that, and I have the women step off the mat. Out of the seventy-five, ten sign up for classes outright, and another fifteen ask for a class schedule to take advantage of the free days.

There’s chatter and excited whispers and laughter in the locker room, and Declan and I step outside. The other male students rush back and forth, walking the women to their cars, and I say goodbye to the women in between scanning the parking lot. No police presence, but then I hadn’t expected one, and we ran over time too.

As more and more of the women leave, their cars emptying the lot, I notice a truck parked toward the back. I can’t see if the driver’s inside or not, and after the last woman leaves, the truck just continues to sit there, waiting, maybe not realizing they had all gone, but after a few minutes, the driver takes off. Unfortunately, he doesn’t swing around close enough for me to see his license plate, and it’s dark enough that I can’t tell the color or even the make or model.

“Did you see that truck?” I ask Declan.

“Yes.”

“A Toyota?”

“Yep. Toyota Tundra.”

“You see the plate?”

He snorts. “No. Come on. It never drove where we could see it.”

“Do you think…”

“I don’t know, but if it was him, he didn’t go after anyone. I know you tried hard to get the police to come, asking three different guys—”

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