andreacue

In Shaolin class we stand in lines according to our ranking and the color of our belts — white gi wearers to the left, black gi wearers to the right. I'm to the middle left, a novice yet. Hands clasped before heart, we await the next instruction.

Today we practice falling. Standing in our lines, dropping in unison. There's a correct way to do this, we're told — letting our bodies absorb the fall, slapping arms out to the side. Don't try to catch yourself, our teacher says. You could break something that way. 

Lower-ranking folks like me start from a crouch and roll back, slapping the floor. Repeat. Gradually working up to drop from standing.

This is to prepare you for take-downs, we're told. If you're going to get thrown around, it's better to know how to fall.

***

When I'm eight or nine I take ice-skating lessons, sailing around the rink on the blades of sturdy rental skates. My ankles wobble and tilt but I love the exhilaration of gliding as fast as I possibly can. Most of the time this ends in a drift towards the wall and a slow thud-landing as I haven't yet perfected the art of stopping on the blade.

You need to learn how to fall, our teacher says. Look:

She demonstrates this from a full-on sprint across the ice: legs sliding sideways, landing gracefully on a hip.

Now you try, she says.

I get myself up to flying speed, drop to the right and hit the ice hard.

...OW.

Again, she says.

After a time, it becomes a favorite game to dash quickly on skates and land on one hip, body sliding, pants gathering wet patches on contact. Look, Mom!

Even knowing how to fall, there's the unexpected. I try a simple trick and my feet dart from under me like minnows. A silver flash of blades, then down. Pain steeps in but I shake it off, hide it from my mother. 

You kids be careful! Is what my parents say.

Okay! I promise, crossing fingers behind my back.

***

The bigger falls are, of course, more difficult to prepare for. Like catching a leg-sweep in martial arts class, some surprise and leave me breathless.

...You're fired.

...He's been dating me, too.

...She passed away in the night.

In the moment, some of these tumbles feel insurmountable. I hit the floor and am aware of how easy it would be to stay down, swimming here forever.

Eventually, though, something intervenes: an instinct to push myself off the floorboards, stagger forward, try this again.

***

The couch sits thick and blue on the street beside the U-haul. I've been lifting furniture with my friend all afternoon and this is nearly the last.

On three, he says to me, we lift. You ready?

I rub hands together. Yep!

Okay. He crouches on his side of it. One... Two... Three!

I lift, smack myself in the face with the protruding arm of the couch. Legs crumple like a baby foal and I sit back down on the pavement.

You all right? He asks, but I'm laughing too hard to answer.

Okay! I say. Yes. I can do this. Laughing and breathless, I stand. Shake it off. Brace myself for another go.