In the Course of Human Events. Mike Harvkey

      When Clyde’s shift ended around three he went in the back and wrote down his next shift—not until Thursday, and only four hours—and asked Wilson when he could expect his first paycheck. “You’ve only worked one day,” Wilson said, laughing, and explained that Clyde had just missed the pay period. “Should be around the eighteenth,” he said finally.

      “Great,” Clyde grumbled, going out. Three weeks of labor before I see a penny. Typical.

      Esther told Clyde that she’d be out cruising Main Street after work and hoped he’d be there. He couldn’t afford to waste gas; he had to get to Independence tomorrow morning. But he figured he could park and wait for Esther, maybe ride with her a while. He drove halfway down Main and pulled into the empty lot of a bunch of empty storefronts, For Rent signs in every dusty window, and parked nose to the street. With his engine ticking, Clyde ran back in his mind through his experience with the fairer sex. It didn’t take long. It had been four years since he’d had a girl, and that girl—a woman, really—had been his one and only. When it came to women, Clyde had never been much good. In school, he’d paired off with Cindy Teagarden two weeks into their sophomore year. They’d both begun and ended that three-year relationship as stone-cold virgins; that whole time Clyde had turned down offers from other girls, he’d been a baseball player, in great shape and so popular that students, when he wore his number in the halls, shouted it like a cheer. No one knew that Clyde had graduated high school with his cherry intact and had only lost it in his first year at Mr. Longarm, to one of the secretaries up on the second floor, a married mother of two in her thirties who’d fucked Clyde four times and stayed in his bed until five in the morning, making Clyde almost sick with worry. Clyde picked up The Turner Diaries to take his mind off sex. As soon as he’d read a paragraph, his thoughts jumped to Jay and training. The funny thing was, the moment he put the book down so that he could try to remember how to execute a certain technique, Jay’s name appeared on his phone. Clyde wasn’t planning on going to class tonight, so he let the call go to voicemail.

      “Osu, Clyde-san,” Jay said in his message. “Hope we didn’t scare you off yesterday, hope you’re feeling good and strong after a morning of hard training. Get your mom to work all right? If not, I’d be happy to talk to her, smooth things over,” Jay snickered. “Hope to see you at class tonight. Dale’s coming out, couple others. We’ll pick up where we left of yesterday. Six o’clock at the house. Let me know if you can make it. Osu.”

      Clyde checked the time, almost five thirty. From where he was parked he could see the start of the hill that ran to Liberty Ridge, he could be there in no time. Just when he was thinking about going, Esther’s tiny mustard-yellow car turned into the lot, tires and power steering squealing. She backed in beside Clyde, rolled down her window, and smashed her cigarette into a large black spot halfway down her door. Clyde saw that she was slowly making a smiley face. “Like my car?” She spread her arms, one across the passenger seat, one in the air outside. “I call it the Honeybee.” She pointed off. “I ran into some friends who want us to join ’em in a truck-bed party.”

      “Oh, yeah?”

      “Yeah, they’re cool, and they got like five bottles of wine. What do you think?”

      The clock on Clyde’s dash read 5:45. He could still make class. “You know what, you go ahead. I think I might just take off.”

      “What!?” Esther said, throwing her door open. She hooked her hands to Clyde’s window and hoisted herself up. “Don’t be crazy,” she said, her smoky voice choked by the effort of staying off the ground. She let herself down and flapped an arm. “Give me five minutes. I’ll go say hi and come back and me and you can cruise to our hearts’ content.” She jumped. “Okay!?”

      “Sounds good,” Clyde said, and Esther hopped in, tore out, and disappeared into the flow of traffic.

      Clyde watched the clock. 6:00 became 6:15, then 6:30, finally 6:40 before he saw Esther again. She was in the back of a truck that had been raised twice as high as Clyde’s with a lift kit, music was blasting, the back was full, Esther right in the middle, cigarette in her teeth, sunglasses on, a Big Gulp in hand that Clyde knew wasn’t full of soda. She was sandwiched between a thin guy with a beard and a girl in a tube top, dancing. Clyde cranked his engine.

      It took ten minutes just to nose out of the lot, the traffic was so heavy on Main, and fifteen more to pass under Highway 50, only a quarter of a damn mile away.

      By the time Clyde got to the house, it was twenty after seven and he was seriously questioning what the hell he was doing. Fucking Esther! There were a couple cars in the street and the front door of the house was standing open. Clyde could hear the TV on somewhere downstairs and women’s voices. He knocked and Jan came up. When she saw Clyde she shook her head and laughed.

      “I know,” Clyde said.

      “Half hour left?” Jan took him down through the TV room and opened a door in the back that led to the basement. Noise rushed up: Jay keeping count, people shouting kiai.

      Tina said, “You are not coming to class an hour and a half late.” She was sitting on the floor with a box of Amway products between her legs and a black binder in her lap.

      “He gonna be pissed?” Clyde said, and Tina nodded deliberately. Then, he thought, she winked at him.

      Jan said, “When you get to the bottom of the stairs, say ‘osu’ and just kneel down until Jay says otherwise.”

      Clyde saw J.D. first when he got down there. He was in his street clothes, sitting in a folding chair in the corner holding a spit cup. When J.D. saw Clyde he laughed.

      “Well well well,” Jay said, and Clyde saw the look of exaggerated surprise mixed with real disappointment. “Class starts at six p.m., white belt,” Jay said.

      Clyde said, “Osu,” and knelt with his fists pressed into his hips like they’d done Sunday.

      There were three men from Tina’s Amway event and J.D.’s scrawny little brother Dale. They paired up and Jay said, “Little conditioning,” which Clyde saw meant punching each other in the chest, forearms, and stomach while Jay swung a bamboo stick into their legs that made a loud whap. “Ain’t gonna know what it feels like to be hit by slapping each other like girls.” Jay finally said, “Clyde, get changed.” He hurried into his workout clothes and then stood there. “Sit in seiza again,” Jay said. Clyde knelt watching the men kick each other in the stomach, shins, and thighs.

      From his position he could see the door open at the top of the stairs and Tina sneak down a few steps. She sat with her chin on her hands. Clyde tried not to catch her eye, but he did, and she held a finger to her lips. He couldn’t help but smile. Jay yelled, “Tina!” without even looking at the stairs. “This ain’t the goddamn Dating Game!” She ran up giggling and slammed the door. “Clyde, if you’re done flirting with my daughter, you can bow in,” Jay said, then, “Git back down in seiza.” He knelt before Clyde. “Look how I do it.” He came up on his right foot and then rose to standing, knelt again, and pretended to grip a sword on his right side. “This why we do it this way,” he said, getting to one foot and pretending to draw the sword. “Always ready. We direct descendants of the samurai, Clyde, part of the warrior class.” Jay ended class right then and Jay said, “Good spirit, everbody, see you all tomorrow. Everybody but Dale and Clyde free to go.”

      It was already after eight, but Clyde followed Jay and Dale to the front yard. Dale stood in a karate outfit that was yellow, grass- and blood-stained, with his hands in fists near his hips. Clyde stood to his left. Jay said, “Little light kumite.” Dale bowed and turned to Clyde, raising his fists and yelling his kiai like he was furious. Clyde raised his fists and wondered when Jay would give instruction. All Jay said was that he didn’t believe in wearing gear or padding when they sparred, thinking that protection was a barrier to truth. He made a noise that must have meant start fighting, because Dale kicked Clyde in the stomach, hard.

      Clyde tried to get his breath as Dale came at him throwing kicks at Clyde’s thighs and punching