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dustedmagazine · 4 years

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Derek Taylor 2019: Keep Going

Two words coupled by Harriet Tubman and coined into a credo essential for negotiating the human condition. It's also the title of and invocation to a sublime duo album by Joe McPhee and Hamid Drake released this year as rejoinder to their first recorded ten-years earlier. Taking stock of that decade is something we at Dusted did recently and as the New Year arrives it’s an exercise that feels all the more important, particularly in the extra-musical sense of recognizing the folly of where we’ve been as a world and where we really want to go moving forward. As always, music is both balm and adhesive in remembering that no matter how divisive and discouraging everything seems, we’re still all in it together.

Joe McPhee

Seventy-nine-years young and still a human dynamo of energy, empathy, and optimism, the Powerhouse from Poughkeepsie’s been a constant of these retrospective essays for as long as I’ve been writing them. I haven’t done a hard count, but his horns grace at least a dozen releases this year. Duos with Mats Gustaffson (Brace for Impact), Fred Lonberg-Holm (No Time Left for Sadness), and Paal Nilssen-Love (Song for the Big Chief) join the dyad denoted above in delivering dialogues as personal as they are potent. Tree Dancing assembles the super-group of Lol Coxhill, Evan Parker, Chris Corsano, and McPhee collectively and in component combinations with bassist John Edwards on board for a culminating cut, while Six Situations realizes a dream of bassist Damon Smith in teaming him with McPhee’s tenor and now dearly departed drummer Alvin Fielder. The Fire Each Time bundles six concerts of McPhee in the company of the DKV Trio from a 2017 tour that took James Baldwin and John Coltrane as lodestones. Saving perhaps the best for last, Invitation to a Dream comingles McPhee’s pocket trumpet and soprano with pedal steel guitarist Susan Alcorn and old confrere Ken Vandermark in a tripart colloquy delivered in crystal clear sound.

Peter Brötzmann

A year younger and another fixture in my yearly firmament, Herr Brötz has always had ears attuned to the early pioneers of improvised music through the unabashed embrace of Sidney Bechet, Coleman Hawkins, and others. Those unerring affections erode some of the surprise from I Surrender Dear, an album of tenor-rendered jazz standards and originals, but also enhance the overall experience in how literally he makes good on the debt. It’s arguably his best solo album since 14 Love Poems and bolstered further by the focus on a single central member of his reed arsenal. Also of note, Fifty Years After commemorating the golden anniversary of Machine Gun with longtime confreres German pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach and Dutch drummer Han Bennink,

Rob Franken Electrification — Functional Stereo Music (678 Records)

Four-hours of Fender Rhodes heaven recorded in elite Dutch studios between 1972 and 1981 that puzzlingly never found commercial circulation until last year as a six-LP series. The 2019 edition transfers the archive to three-CDs and only rarely flags as Franken’s fonky keys front guitar, bass, drums and a revolving cast of fellow aces fielding other instruments. Economy is the informal edict as morsel-sized originals alternate with covers of tunes by Herbie Hancock, Stevie Wonder, Atilla Zoller, and even Steely Dan. The utilitarian intimations of the title aren’t just lip service. Franken originally envisioned the music as an homage to the muzak strains common to “shopping malls, hotels, elevators, department stores, and airports.” Much of it sounds far better aligned with the kinetic cop and detective pot-boilers that populated television and cinema of the decade.

Brian Groder Trio – Luminous Arcs (Latham)

Keeping a working improvising ensemble together is no minor accomplishment, yet Groder’s been able to maintain one in his name with bassist Michael Bisio and drummer Jay Rosen. This disc joins two previous albums in demonstrating both the depth of the musicians’ bonds and their shared zeal in exploring and capitalizing on them. Any novelty surrounding the particulars of a trumpet-led piano-less trio is fortunately long since lapsed. The precedence allows them to marshal their attention to shaping music that is simultaneously the sum and multiplication of the substantial parts.

V/A — Pakistan: Folk and Pop Instrumentals 1966-1976 (Sublime Frequencies)

Seattle-based Sublime Frequencies weathered a stretch where the “weirdness” quotient of their audio excavations appeared to outweigh accompanying scholarship and attention to edifying annotations. This scintillating compilation suffers no such skew in the balance of carefully sourced sounds and accompanying copy to shore up the context. Sixties rock, specifically surf, is a through-line in the preponderance of reverb-riddled guitars and buzzing Farfisa organ on many of the tracks, but indigenous melodies and rhythms are also frequent fodder for enthusiastic appropriation. Best of all, there’s a pervasive sense of fun to the sequencing that makes it a handy soundtrack for soirees of all sorts.

Jaimie Branch — Fly or Die II (International Anthem)

If her ascendant flight pattern is any indication, death, artistic or otherwise, isn’t even an option for Jaimie Branch. This follow-up to her meteoric (and long overdue) 2017 debut builds organically on previous cosmetic aspects (core quartet, cover art, etc.) while making progressive-pronged politics even more prominent. “Prayer for Amerikkka” doesn’t mince words in proffering a platform of resistance and the musical propellant to keep it confidently airborne. A robust touring schedule and well-earned media attention are only furthering Branch’s designs at getting the sounds into as many ears as possible.

Sam Rivers

The Sam Rivers Archive Series is the brainchild of producers Danas Mikailionis and Ed Hazell. A projected eight-volume celebration of the music of the eponymous composer/improviser/educator/doyen curated from a vast trove left in the care of Rivers’ daughter after his passing in 2011, it’s also probably the jazz news that most set my heart aflutter with anticipation this year. The initial pair of entries, Emanation and Zenith, certainly live up to the promise in presenting clean fidelity concerts by a high profile trio with bassist Cecil McBee and drummer Norman Conners (pre-disco) and a workshop quintet involving tubaist Joe Daley, bassist Dave Holland and the eight-limbed drums juggernaut of Barry Altschul and Charlie Persip. Both discs are essential.

Jimi Hendrix — Songs for Groovy Children (Experience Hendrix)

Not a long-lost Hendrix kids’ album despite what the jejune title might suggest. Instead, it’s four nearly complete concerts from the guitar deity’s iconic New Year’s Band of Gypsies engagement at the Fillmore East in 1969/70. Producer Eddie Kramer largely quashes his invasive impulses in mastering the tapes, leaving the only real minuses to manifest in the occasionally extra-loose interplay and Jimi’s decision to indulge Buddy Miles’ mic access to a regrettably arguable fault. Math done, there’s nothing stopping an instant trigger-pull for true believers, even folks who have it all already in bootleg form.

Ezz-thetics

Fingers remain collectively-crossed that Werner X. Uehlingher will one day decide to write an autobiography of his countless adventures as a stalwart producer of improvised music. Ezz-thetics is just the latest chapter in the future tome’s story arc that started with the founding of the Hat Hut label back in 1974. The new imprint, named after a classic George Russell composition, balances reissue and archival releases with new ones, packing them with branding that memorializes the old while consecrating the new. Discs by Jimmy Giuffre (Graz Live 1961), John Coltrane (Impressions Graz 1962), and Albert Ayler (Quartets 1964 Spirits to Ghosts Revisted) are the marquee name highlights, but the entirety of the imprint’s releases to-date have had their merits.

Stephen Riley

The tenorist is no longer my favorite under-forty plier on the instrument simply because he’s aged out of the bracket. Oleo builds on last year’s transparently veiled Sonny Rollins’ tribute Hold ‘Em Joe by adding the sturdy trumpet of Joe Magnarelli to the equation and turning the referential calendar forward to the saxophone colossus’ collaborations with Don Cherry. It’s a beaut from a brisk beginning sortie on “Ornithology” to lengthy slalom on the Ducal “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.” Tangerine Rhapsody is technically under Dutch drummer Snorre Kirk’s leadership, but it wouldn’t be nearly the album it is absent Riley’s supple and sagacious involvement.

Milt Buckner & Jo Jones — Buck & Jo (Fremeaux & Associates)

Curious about what makes an individual improviser tick? Duo contexts are arguably the best aperture to gain edification and insight. Even better than solo or ensemble configurations, the dyad distills things down to solo and dialogue. This four-disc, four-hour-plus collection is a remarkable case in point and surprise that it even exists at all given its vintage let alone its scope. Thank French impresarios the Panassie Brothers who invited ur swing organist and ur swing drummer to indulge themselves with only the gentlest of producer-dictated strictures. The results are fascinating, whimsical, bombastic, and above all, endlessly entertaining. An epitome of intimately undertaken jazz tête-à-tête before it was anything resembling a regular thing.

Del Shannon — Two Silhouettes (Bear Family)

Preconceptions can prove obdurate edifices. Prior to my forty-eighth birthday this year I dismissed Del Shannon as one of the disposable princes of bubble gum pop on the rare occasions he entered my consciousness at all. “Runaway” remains an influential song, particularly in its use of musitron organ, but it’s hardly the makings of unassailable genius. Bear Family’s exhaustive single-disc survey levies a much more convincing appeal for the crooner’s embodiment of a nexus of odd congruencies as moonlighting jazzmen conspire with duck-tailed rockers and barbershop harmonists. Dennis Coffey and Hargus “Pig” Robbins show up as sidemen and there’s even an S&M-tinged canticle called “Torture” replete with whip cracks and a Greek chorus of moans, leaving one to wonder what Ward and June Cleaver made of it all?

Sun Ra

Cosmic Myth and Modern Harmonic continue to advance the mantle apparently abandoned by the Art Yard label in keeping Ra-related albums in circulation. The erstwhile Mr. Mystery employed numerous vocalists throughout his career, even contributing his own less-than-stellar (pun intended) pipes to the cause on occasion. None among that eclectic number could match June Tyson, who brought joie de vivre to the lyrical manifestations of Ra’s cosmic-afro-centrism that was at once wholly believable and infectious. Saturnian Queen of the Sun Ra Arkestra does right by her memory by culling an hour’s worth of highlights from a vast and varied recorded archive. Monorails & Satellites (now in three volumes!) and newly minted editions of Pathways to Unknown Worlds and When Angels Speak of Love were also welcome arrivals.

Derek Bailey/Han Bennink/Evan Parker — Topographie Parisienne: Dunois, April 3rd, 1981 (Fou)

The Topography of the Lungs trio in concert and at length with decent sound eleven-years after their initial seismic contributions to free improv. Bailey and Parker weren’t yet at irreconcilable loggerheads but there’s still a galvanizing and palpable tension that suffuses their interplay. Bennink can’t help being anything but Bennink, bashing away one moment and pattering at barely a whisper the next while keeping ears cocked with split-second focus to the contributions his compatriots. Duos combine with solos from Parker sweeten and season an already delicious aural pot.

Fred Anderson Quartet — Live at the Velvet Lounge Volume V (FPE)

Leftfield guest Toshinori Kondo and drummer Hamid Drake were one half of Peter Brötzmann’s Die Like a Dog outfit when this 1994 concert was committed to tape. That take-no-prisoners context allowed his plangent, frenetic, effects-saturated brass free and ferocious rein. Anderson’s outlets didn’t usually involve electronics and its instructive hearing the adaptations to the roiling controlled-chaos within his customary cerulean-hued improvisations. Drake and bassist Tastu Aoki maintain a stout terrestrial tether enlivened by a revolving array of undulating grooves. Extra points earned for incorporating the original Velvet Lounge wallpaper scheme into the production design. Bottom line: I miss Fred.

V/A — Hillbillies in Hell: Tribulations: Country Music’s Tormented Testament (1952-1974) (The Omni Recording Corporation)

Amusing alliterative appellation aside, this series has managed the no-meager-feat of avoiding diminishing returns while mining the same expanse of time over successive volumes. The fifth entry tilts the lens even more sharply toward the sort of fervent tent show revival circuit favored by fictional religious reprobates like Rev. Harry Powell and Elmer Gantry and comes up with a bonanza off-kilter cuts from names both famous (Hank Williams, Louvin Bros., Tex Ritter) and arcane (The Burton Family, Durwood Daily, The Sunshine Boys Quartet). Ernest Tubb’s “Saturday Satan, Sunday Saint” persuasively sums up the ecumenical ethos, but every song exudes its share of sinful charms.

V/A — Sacred Sounds: Dave Hamilton’s Raw Detroit Gospel (Ace)

As a both prolific and preternaturally talented producer, Dave Hamilton’s usual purview was left-of-center soul and funk. Urban (but not urbane) gospel offered a less-publicized commercial side outlet and he brought comparable emphasis on authenticity and creativity to the various acts he championed. This compilation comprises all-killer-no-filler assemblage that lives up to the unvarnished signifier in the title. It’s nearly eighty-minutes of jangly guitars, tambourines, and impassioned sanctifying and proselytizing of all sorts, as suited for Sunday morning as Friday or Saturday night depending on the preferred mood of your personal household. I’ve enjoyed equal fun plying it in both.

Art Pepper — Promise Kept

Laurie Pepper, like Sue Mingus and other jazz widows before her, remains a passionate arbiter and steward of her late husband’s recorded legacy. The title of this box set collecting a singular tributary of Art Pepper’s later career aspirations could just as easily serve as a signifier of that bond. In truth, it’s reflective of a pact the couple made with producer John Snyder and a string of studio sessions largely left unissued during the Pepper’s lifetime. Rivalries real and imagined are revealed across the recordings as the altoist wrestles with his insecurities and the realities of choices made and paid for as a consequence of his addictions and fictions. Straightforward and vital, the music avoids gestalt in remaining consistently strong and emotionally true.

Paul Bley/Gary Peacock/Paul Motian — When Will the Blues Leave (ECM)

The prevailing mystery behind this twenty-year-old concert rests on the reason(s) why the fine folks at ECM left it in the can for so long. I don’t have an answer but rather a simple expression of gratitude that they finally decided to rectify the error and get the sounds out into the world. Bley, Peacock and Motian were already three-decades deep in the periodic associations that quietly helped open chamber jazz to free improvisation when they took to the Swiss stage. The ensuing masterful performance manages to feel simultaneously like three old friends shooting the shit and a trio of improvisatory experts operating at peak collective capacity.

Prince — 1999 (Warner)

Residency in the Twin Cities for the better part of two decades has resulted in many boons, personal and vocational for this writer. As with any life lived, the red side of the ledger has entries, too. Folded among them is the frictional, frayed listening relationship I harbor with the region’s most famous musical export. Nearly three years after his premature passing Prince is still everywhere and everything here. That perpetual, and perpetually irksome, ubiquity is what makes this five-disc+DVD beyond-exhaustive box so refreshing to my patience-tested purview. It contains lots of impressive material from arguably his most creative and questing period. It also has plenty of songs that feel competent but quotidian by comparison. That blend of bliss and banality is as effective a corrective as I can think of to the cult of purple sainthood that persists around these parts.

And as is my habitual wont, 25 more in no hierarchical order… thank you for reading and Feliz Año Nuevo!

Josh Abrams Natural Information Society (Eremite)

Michael Formanek’s Very Practical Trio – Even Better (Intakt)

Charles Gayle/John Edwards/Mark Sanders – Seasons Changing (Otokroku)

Dudu Pukwana/Han Bennink/Misha Mengelberg – Yi Yole (ICP/Corbett vs. Dempsey)

Nat King Cole – Hittin’ the Ramp: The Early Years (1936-1945) (Resonance)

Willem Breuker & Han Bennink – New Acoustic Swing Duo (ICP/Corbett vs. Dempsey)

Whit Dickey & Kirk Knuffke – Drone Dream (No Business)

Mark Turner & Gary Foster – Mark Turner Meets Gary Foster (Capri)

J.C. Heard & Bill Perkins Quintet – Live at the Lighthouse 1964 (Fresh Sound)

Stan Getz – Getz at the Gate: November 26, 1961 (Verve)

Rita Moss - Queen Moss 1951-1959 (Fresh Sound)

Bill Frisell & Thomas Morgan – Epistrophy (ECM)

Marion Brown & Dave Burrell – Live at the Black Musicians’ Conference, 1981 (No Business)

Jon Irabagon – Invisible Horizon (Irrabagast)

Tom Rainey Trio – Combobulated (Intakt)

Joe Lovano & Enrico Rava Quintet – Roma (ECM)

Tomeka Reid Quartet – Old New (Cuneiform)

Johnny Griffin & Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis – Ow: Live at the Penthouse (Reel to Reel)

Takahashi Miyasaka – Animals Garden (Kojima/BBE)

Tiger Trio (Joelle Leandre/Myra Melford/Nicole Mitchell) – Map of Liberation (Rogue Art)

V/A – Jambu: E Os Miticos Sons da Amazonia (Analog Africa)

V/A – Put the Whole Armour On: Female Black Gospel 1940s/1950s (Gospel Friend)

V/A –Alefa Madagascar: Salegy, Soukous, & Soul from the Red Island (Strut)

Horace Tapscott with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra and the Great Voice of UGMAA - Why Don’t You Listen? Live at LACMA 1998 (Dark Tree)

Duster – Capsule Losing Contact (Numero)

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donotgogentlyintothatgoodnight · 6 years

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Stranger Places (a stranger things tale) chapter five: Therapy

Description: Everything changes when Dustin finds his mother’s lifeless body, but he is quickly reminded that he still has family when his older sister comes home. Though she is not the company he wants, can he learn to live with her? Can she readjust to life in Hawkins?

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Jackie was dead silent the entire car ride. It was a trait both her and Dustin shared; when they were upset about something, they would refuse to talk or listen to anything anyone had to say. Steve felt anxious from the energy being created. He knew he probably should stay quiet and mind his own business, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

“So,” he began. “Wanna talk about it?”

“We don’t need to discuss how Carol, Nicole, and Beverly are airheads,” She said, without missing a beat. He let out an awkward chuckle. “Why’d you let them get to you then?”

“It wasn’t just that,” Jackie replied. Without taking his eyes completely off the road, he glanced over at her. She hadn’t moved or switched her position since they got into the car; her arms still crossed, the same curl caressing her cheek, and her eyes locked on the ever changing scenery as they passed through town. “So what else hap-”

“Listen, Steve,” she said finally turning her head to look at him. “I get what you’re doing and I appreciate it, but I’m really not in the mood to talk about it.”

He began to say something else, but decided it wasn’t worth really saying. If she wanted to sit in silence, he’d just have to deal with it.

When they did arrive to the Henderson house, Jackie sat there for a second. Her eyes fell onto the numbers above the garage door. They were rusted and the number two was crooked; the same ones from when they first moved in. Another thing her dad always promised he would fix, but never did. She hated that she was allowing him to even slip into her brain, because he had no place in her life, not even in her thoughts.

“Jackie,” Steve broke her from her trance. “I do have to get back to school.”

“Yeah,” she said, remembering he was skipping.

“Thanks” She told him, unbuckling her seat belt.

“Jackie?” he stopped her, before she could get out. She looked at him with tired eyes. He better make this one quick he told himself. “Give it some time. Things will get better and people will change.”

She rolled her eyes and smirked. “People don’t change, Harrington. At least, not in this town.” She opened the car door and hopped out, closing it behind her. Jackie sped walk to the front door. She fished around for the spare key in the giant pot on the porch, since she forgot hers in her locker with her coat, and let herself in.

Dustin sat in the guidance office directly across from his designated counselor, Mrs. Gonzales; who sat there patiently with a smile on her face and hands folded together on top of her desk. Dustin smiled back at her nervously. He notices the Newton’s cradle sitting on her desk and reaches for it.

“Oh, please don’t touch that,” she tells him, reaching out her hand to stop him.

“Why have it on your desk then?” he asked her. Mrs.Gonzales smiled, as if to see his point. “Dustin how are you feeling?”

He looked at her like he couldn’t tell if she was being serious. “Okay,” he said, dragging out the a and y.

“Dustin,” she began. “You’ve just been through a tragedy. Its okay to not feel okay.”

His eyes darted from one side to the room to the other. “Okay,” he repeated the same way. She was being serious.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really,” he said. Anything he did want to say, he didn’t want to discuss with her.

She closed her eyes and smiled. “That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything to me now. But I would like to start seeing you once a week, every Monday, at this time.”

Dustin slumped back into his chair. Another reason to hate Mondays. Mrs. Gonzales scribbled down a hall pass for him before dismissing him. Dustin started the destination back to class, but came to a hault mid-stride. He looked over to his right into the windows of the library. He backtracked to the entrance, searching for an empty table to make himself comfortable at. Dustin unzipped his back pack and pulled out the book Mr. Clarke had given him. He flipped pass the first few header pages and started at chapter one.

“So you’re interested in learning about energy and its correlation with the afterlife? Let me start off by telling you this book is not a guide on how to resurrect yourself or a step by step how to bring back a deceased loved one from the grave (I recommend studying witchcraft if you’re truly interested). It is simply my theory of how the energy our bodies produce and use while we are alive is recycled after we die, and how we could possibly use this said energy to our advantage while we are still kicking and screaming.”

Mr. Clarke knew exactly how to get Dustin’s attention. He was only a paragraph in and already intrigued. He continued.

“First of all, lets define what energy is. Energy (symbol: E) is the property of matter, usually created by the vibration of molecules interacting with one another, that propels an object. Energy can be created physically or chemically, but can not be destroyed. So what does that mean for us? Our energy is both physical and chemical. We can create it from sleeping, eating, exercising, etc. However, besides just allowing us to move, think, and talk which is incredible in itself, energy can allow us to do so much more than what we are already aware of; such as telekinesis, telepathy, teleportation, even time travel. But, we’ll get more in depth with that in chapter seven.”

“Cool,” Dustin said, continuing to paddle his way through the voyage of knowledge.

Steve made it back to campus just in time for practice. He changed into his Hawkins High t-shirt and gym shorts and got out on the court, stretching his arms and legs out before practice actually began.

“So, did you here orphan Annie’s alive?” he heard one of his teammates say.

“Yeah, wild right? She’s actually sorta cute now too,” another one chimed in. Steve rolled his eyes. Jackie was probably getting this all day. No wonder she wanted to leave.

“Is she that sexy little curly haired brunette I’ve been eyeing all day?” Steve clenched his jaw. Billy knew exactly how to get under his skin, even when he wasn’t trying.

“Don’t waste your time on her, Billy,” Tommy told him. “She was sick back in middle school; had to be moved to a special hospital for it. Don’t wanna catch something from her.”

“She had cancer, you idiot,” Peter, one of their teammates corrected him. “You can’t catch cancer.”

“Still,” Tommy continued. “She’s not normal. She’s a crazy one.”

Billy smirked. “Well, good thing I like ‘em crazy.”

“Fat chance.”

“How much you wanna bet I can get in her pants before the end of this month?” Billy egged on.

“I bet fifty bucks you won’t,” Peter told him.

“Same,” Tommy said.

“You’re on,” Billy told them with a ghoulish grin. “Get ready to lose your allowances, boys.”

Steve’s hand clenched up into a fist. Jackie didn’t deserve this type of ridicule, or to already be preyed on by Hargrove. But before he could act on his emotions, coach blew his whistle.

“Stop gossiping boys. You can do that at your sleepover when you all are painting eachother’s nails and watching pretty in pink. Thomas, off my court.”

Peter came over and gave Steve a light slap on the back. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied and join the rest of the team to do drills.

Jackie sat on the couch staring at the clock. She thought she wanted to be alone. She really didn’t like the silence though, leaving her to get tangled in a web of her own thoughts. She sighed, getting up to look for a spare coat around the house. When she didn’t find one in her own closet, she went to Dustin’s, where she found an oversize wool sweater. This should do the trick, she thought as she pulled it over her head. She grabbed a scarf and hat as well, knowing very well Dustin never wore it if he was willing to leave it behind.

Jackie locked the front door behind her, placing the spare key back where it belonged. She needed to find a way to blow off steam. She knew the exact activity to help her do just that too and hopped on a bus into town. Plugging herself into her walkman, she avoided any possible human interaction with anyone else riding the bus. Thankfully, the trip wasn’t long and she was off within fifteen minutes, heading to the towns training center.

When she entered the gym, Jackie walked straight up to the counter, pretending not to notice that she was the only female there and all the men were staring at her. She rang the bell and a man peaked his head from behind his newspaper. He was big, rugged and intimidating, but Jackie didn’t even flinch at him.

“Are you lost?” He asked her in his deep voice.

“I want to sign up for your kick boxing classes,” she told the man, who raised a brow at her. A few of the men let out a few chuckles her way that she brushed off with ease.

“Sorry, but no.”

“Why not?” she insisted.

“I don’t have someone who could train you.”

“Then you train me,” she retaliated with.

He folded up his paper, setting it to the side. “What makes you think I want to train you.”

“Because,” she began, glancing around the room. Apparently she was the center of entertainment. They were really gonna love this one then. “Because I’m better than any guy you have here.”

There were a few whoops from the men in the gym.

“Little girl, this is a professional gym,” he explained to her, as if she was blind and didn’t know where she was.

“And I’m a professional,” she replied back

“Why don’t you sign up for the cheer squad?” he asked her, patronizingly.

“Because I don’t break nails, I break bones.”

He smiled at her and let out a slight chuckle underneath his breath. “You really want to train that bad? Fine, glove up. Lets see what you’re made of, big shot.”

She smiled and quickly headed over to get sized up for gloves. The young man behind the second counter, who didn’t look too much younger than her smiled. “What size?” he asked.

“twelve ounce.”

He seemed impressed by that alone that she knew her own sizing. He shrugged and handed them to her. “Knock ‘em dead.”

She giggled, braiding her curls. He was the first person not from her past that was actually pleasant towards her. “Thanks.”

Jackie made her way to the ring, where the man from the counter was waiting. He looked at her and let out a big exhale.

“Ready?” she asked him.

He rolled his eyes and put up his guards. “Okay, give me a left, then a right straight.”

Boom! Pow! She knocked her gloves into the padded guards.

“Good,” he praised her. “Now give me a right hook and a left uppercut.”

Pow! Pow! Again, she punched into the guards, making gun-pop like sounds. The man looked at her with amazement. She was disappointed that he found this impressive.

“Come on,” she egged him. “You’ve got anything more challenging? Give me some combos!”

He laughed. “Alright, kid. Throw a 1-2-1-1, then a 1-6-3-2 combo.”

She did them with ease. This went on for the next fifteen minutes. Him throwing combos at her left and right, more difficult as they went on, and her doing them with no hesitation. She could feel herself disappearing, forgetting all about the day and letting her frustration out on the activity at hand.

“Okay, lets stop,” he told her. Jackie frowned. “no,” she said breathless. “Why?”

He laughed. “Because my hands are beaten up and tired,” he said honestly. He threw her a towel. “Come on, kid. Lets go get you a water. You deserve it.”

She smiled, following close behind him with the whole gym in awe of her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, tossing her a water bottle.

“Jackie,” she told him.

“Nice to meet you, Jack. Brodie,” he told her, extending out a hand that she took graciously. “Where’d you learn all that, Jack?”

“Someone told me that it was good for a girl to know a form of self defense,” she began. “I thought it would be better to know how to throw a good punch.”

Brodie chuckled. “Well, you definitely know how to do that.” Jackie smiled, taking a swig from her water. “You’re right. I don’t think any of these pansies here can hold a candle to your lightning.”

She giggled, dabbing her forehead with the towel. “Classes are $30 a pop,” He began but before he could get in another word, her smile disappeared. “I’m sorry Brodie, but I can’t afford that. I have to take care of my kid brother and pay bills. That’s just too expensive for me at the moment,” she apologized, handing back the towel. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

He shook his head at her. “Wait, before you get hot and bothered by the price, I can negotiate with you. I’m not that much of an unreasonable man,” he said with a smile. “how to does $30 a month sound? instead of a class?”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said in awe.

“I’m not asking, I’m offering. I want you to train at my gym. You’re good kid, and you know it. Which means you’re not afraid to give it all you got. You just need someone to do the fine tweakin’.”

She smiled, “Thanks, Brodie.”

He ruffled her hair like he did with his boys after a good training sesh. “Be here nine am, saturday, in appropriate attire this time. Not like you’re going to chop wood.”

She giggled. She did look ridiculous in her outfit from school in a hot gym. Brodie disappeared into the back room, and Jackie went to return the gloves she had borrowed. The young man who helped her before gave her a small applause. “You didn’t just knock ‘em dead. You murdered them.”

She laughed, “I guess I took your advice a little too seriously.”

He extended his hand out, “Corey.”

“Jackie,” she introduced herself. “Do you train here too?”

He laughed. “As if. I just work here. I think my dad thinks it’ll make me less gay,” he told her.

“He sounds like a prick,” she mumbled.

He laughed again. “Well, he seemed to take quite the liking to you.”

Her eyes widened as she cursed herself.

“Don’t worry. I don’t think he heard you from back there.”

“Brodie’s your dad?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “He’s a bit of a hard ass, but the man really does have a heart of gold.”

She thought it was kinda sweet how Corey described Brodie, and wished she could say the same for her old man.

“Well, anyway,” he began. “I better get back to work before one of these meatheads tell on me.”

She laughed. “Thanks Corey.”

“Later Gator,” he told her as she exited the gym.

Hey you! Thanks for reading. I’m trying to move things along so that I can possibly start posting more frequently. Just hitting little roadblocks, but we’re still moving! Feel free to like, leave a comment, or message me :)

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