scorecards. The fat guy was going to be the newest black belt, and I knew one day soon I would be one, too.
Sunday afternoon Dad drove Mr. Lopez, Rubin, and me to see Sid. His bringing Mr. Lopez and Rubin with us showed me Dad had a new level of trust for them. Dad seemed excited about showing Sid off to Mr. Lopez, just like the kid with the biggest and most expensive bike on the block flaunting it in front of the less fortunate ones.
While Dad demonstrated a new-found trust in Mr. Lopez and Rubin, the fact that he picked up the steaks the day after my test showed that Dad hadn’t had much faith in me and my ability to earn the yellow belt on the first try.
Dad walked behind the meat counter and motioned for Mr. Lopez to follow. Sid whispered in Dad’s ear.
“Hell no!” Dad said. “He’s all right.” Dad clapped Sid on the back. “You worry too much.” With that, Sid smiled, revealing the space where his canine should be, and motioned for Mr. Lopez to enter the freezer.
Once in the freezer, Dad made the introductions, all the time making sure to keep his body between Mr. Lopez and Sid. The table was set up in the center of the freezer just as before, with four boxes of meat in a row on top. Dad stepped to the table to begin his examination and Mr. Lopez followed suit, but he could only look over Dad’s shoulder. I didn’t think Dad really cared to have Mr. Lopez’s opinion on steaks. Rubin and I hung back by the freezer door; Rubin watched the adults and I watched him as well as the adults.
Dad inspected each box, and Mr. Lopez, tired of looking over Dad’s shoulder, waited until Dad moved on to the next box before he looked in a box. The freezer was quiet and while no one looked at me, I puffed clouds of breath.
Sid was still quiet, as well as Mr. Lopez, and Dad muttered to himself.
Mr. Lopez said: “I like these T-bones.”
“T-bone’s a poor man’s steak,” Dad said. “And neither one of us is poor. It’s not every day a boy’s son receives his yellow belt,” Dad said, clouds of thick vapor appearing and disappearing quickly in front of his face. “So let’s have six New York Strips.”
Sid picked up one of the middle boxes.
“This one,” Dad pointed to the end box. “That other’s got too many fat streaks.”
Sid, still smiling, did as Dad said.
Back at the meat counter, Mr. Lopez pulled out a gold money-clip in the shape of an anchor.
“What are you doing?” Dad asked.
“I’m going to pay for the steaks.”
“When we use your butcher, you pay for the steaks.”
“Come now, Señor Royal, let me buy them as a gift for Wesley.” Mr. Lopez laid a hundred dollar bill on top of the meat counter.
“Your money’s no good here,” Dad said, “not when the steaks are for my son. When Rubin passes his next black belt test, then you can buy the steaks.” Dad folded the bill in half lengthwise and shoved it into Mr. Lopez’s shirt pocket.
Mr. Lopez was about to speak, when Dad snatched the bill out of his shirt pocket. “Or you can use this to buy the wine.” Dad smiled.
Mr. Lopez smiled back. “Good idea.”
While the steaks cooked and red wine was consumed, Rubin showed me the yellow belt form. We were in his backyard, which was shielded by banana trees on three sides, which made me feel as if we were hidden away. It was dusk on a sticky summer evening, and the new form was basically the white belt form with a few new wrinkles. We went through the form a dozen or so times, and when we stopped we were soaked in sweat. I learned this form faster than I did the white belt form, so I was right on schedule; or, since Rubin was showing me the form before Mr. Bollars would at the dojo next week, I was ahead of schedule. Come Monday at the dojo, I’d be the only yellow belt who had a clue as to what Mr. Bollars was going to teach us.
On our first visit to the Lopez house, I thought they only had one bathroom, but there was a second one in his parents’ room, which Rubin used, while I showered in the one at the end of the hall. While I dried off, Rubin popped his head in the door, and I drew the towel around me.
“When you finish, come to my room.”
All of Rubin’s sketches were imitations of comic book art, and there seemed to be some new ones hanging on his walls since my last visit, and I figured he was going to show me some new painting or model. Instead, he showed me full-page color photograph of a nude woman sitting with her back erect and legs folded together. Until then I’d only seen photos in National Geographic of meditating monks sitting so.
As fast as Rubin showed me the photograph, he took it away, saying we had to get into the closet to look at it. He climbed in and sat in the back, veiled by his hanging clothes.
I stood at the closet’s doorway listening to the adults talk and laugh. Their voices remained in the kitchen and on the back porch, but it would be easy for one of them to walk in and find us in the closet.
“Get in here, Wesley.”
“What if someone walks in?”
“No one’s gonna walk in. And they can’t see us anyway.” He scooted his body back against the wall and disappeared behind clothes. “Come on.” His voice, while not raised, was demanding. Rubin stuck his head out and held up the picture. She had dark-brown hair and a curvy body. “Come on.” His voice was soft. Dad told me to listen to Rubin, and while I thought that meant only tae kwon do, I wasn’t sure. But I did want to see that photo again.
I crawled into the closet and found a seat on some lumpy old sneakers. It was dark but Rubin had a flashlight, and shined it on the lady. “I ripped this out of one of my pop’s mags,” he said.
Rubin began breathing heavy, sounding like he did when we worked out. He moved the light off the photo and I saw his hard dick. “Touch it.”
I didn’t say or do anything. Mustering up a No to Rubin, my tae kwon do mentor and friend, was next to impossible. His approval was as important as Dad’s. Rubin stroked what I then believed was the biggest dick in the world.
“You want to suck it?”
I wouldn’t touch it with my hand, what made him think I was going to place my mouth on it? But was this what teenagers did? Was I glimpsing a sneak peek of future days? These and other questions remain unanswered when I heard Rubin’s bedroom door squeak open.
“Rubin?” It was his mom; she rolled the ‘r’ heavily.
Rubin killed the flashlight, and I hoped his mom stayed at the door. But no, she turned on the bedroom’s blue light and walked in.
“Don’t move. Don’t move,” he whispered.
Before entering the closet, I feared Dad finding us, but now I realized that with Rubin’s dick out and the photo of the nude woman, it didn’t matter who found us because a whipping out of this world from Dad awaited me.
His mom stood in the center of the room for a minute. Her feet never faced us, so she most likely only glanced in our direction, and with the closet door half shut, she couldn’t see us.
As soon as she turned out the light and left the room, I climbed out and Rubin followed.
“I’m gonna go see what she wants,” he said.
He came back and told me dinner was ready—that was all his mom had came to tell us.
As loud as she spoke all the time, she couldn’t have yelled: Dinner’s ready?
“Where were y’all?” Dad asked.
“I was showing Wesley how to do a standing sidekick out back.”