“Boom baby! Check these out!” Henri kicked open the bedroom door holding
two long objects.
Bo looked at the stick-like items with curiosity, “What are those?”
“Our new practice swords!” She said proudly. “Made them myself.”
“What’s wrong with the butter knives we use?” he asked, hopping off the seat and accepting the sword Henri proffered. It looked like a “ninja” sabre, all wrapped in black electrical tape, slightly curved with a round guard separating the handle from the “blade” part. It was lighter than he expected too, but about the same length of the actual sword he used when fighting Fears.
“I realized a while ago that butter knives are ok for practice, but they were much shorter than our actual blades. I wanted to make something we could use during practice that would be more similar to our weapons.” She was positively beaming.
Bo took a couple of practice swings and was surprised at how sturdy it felt, “What are they made of?” He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth.
“I’m glad you asked!” Henri said with jubilation. Bo rolled his eyes but let her continue. He spent the next five minutes zoning in and out of a painfully detailed explanation of creating the two swords. Something about left over wood, old wire hangers, pieces of damaged foam sports equipment and a whole lot of tape. When she was evidently finished she smiled expectantly with a grin wider than the Cheshire cat’s and twice as mad.
“That… is really something. You did all that? Good job.” It was a lame attempt but she was so excited she didn’t even notice. Rolling with it he added, “All right sword Master lets test these babies out, en garde!” Bo struck a stance. “Our usual wager of one ridiculous status update for the winner to post on the loser’s Facebook?”
“Sure, I’m feeling lucky.” Henri said, striking a similar a pose.
The Defenders faced each other between the foot of Max’s bed and his dresser, swords pointing at angles toward each other. Bo attacked quickly lunging with several quick thrusts, but Henri was prepared. She parried his attacks and only giving a little ground. Bo stopped.
“You’ve been practicing,” He said impressed.
“I’ve been doing those moves you showed me, twice a day, while you sit at the computer watching cat videos,” she said with smug look that irritated the heck out of him. They went in to ‘en garde’ again. Henri attacked ferociously, quickly putting Bo on the defensive. Caught off guard by her sudden onslaught of thrusts and slashes he had to keep backing up until he fell, tripping over the dirty clothes pile. Henri stopped her press and helped him up.
“Well, I see now Youtube hasn’t really kept me limber,” Bo said pulling off a pair of dirty boxers from his head. “However, no more Mr. Nice guy. I wont go easy on you this time.”
“Oh man, you really have me shakin,” Henri mocked.
“Laugh it up fuzzball.” It was Bo’s turn to grin.
They faced each other in the center of the room; Bo waited patiently until his younger protégé couldn’t take it anymore and lunged wildly. He never moved an inch as he easily blocked her attacks and countered her thrusts. Her attacks became more desperate as she grew more frustrated.
Henri lunged wildly at Bo, but he jumped back throwing her off balance. He slashed hard across her blade, knocking it to the ground so hard it rolled to the closet.
“Give up, padawan?” Bo asked coolly.
With a determined gleam in her eye Henri snorted. “Not even close,”
Henri jumped and dove for her blade, and rolled to her feet in one fluid motion coming to a stand with her sword in hand. Bo looked at her, mildly impressed, giving a light golf clap. She sneered at him and launched into another attack. This time Bo had to give ground. Her moves were like lightning, striking in the blink of an eye and with enough force to vibrate his sword paw.
The circled each other like two boxers in a fight, exchanging blows and counters. Blocking one attack, dodging another. Bo was truly impressed now, her fighting, once focused, was deadly accurate and powerful. However she still needed to work on being aware of her surroundings. He suddenly changed his direction forcing her one step back. She slipped on one of Max’s socks momentarily losing her defense.
Seizing the opportunity Bo attacked with a bombardment of swipes, cuts and thrusts. Henri, barely able to dodge most of Bo’s attacks, kept backing up losing track of where she was. She moved backwards blindly toward the top of the stairs. As her paw stepped backward into empty space she let out a high yelp in surprise. Desperately trying to regain footing she waved her arms frantically in vigorous circles, letting her weapon go and sending it crashing down the stairs.
Bo thrust out his blade, “Grab it!” he ordered.
Henri spastic arms managed to grab a hold of the practice sword just as one foot slipped off the to edge.
“Well, that was a close one,” she said nervously. “You can pull me in now, Bo.”
“I will,” Bo said with a mischievous smile. “But first, tell me what I want to hear?”
“I am not yielding, Bo.” She scowled at him. “I would’ve kicked your butt, eventually.”
“Ah, but you didn’t. And now those two sweet, simple words that lets me once again tell everyone, especially Kanga, about your love of the Biebs.” Bo smiled wickedly.
She glared daggers at him for a moment, but then smiled pleasantly. “Bo, are you holding on tight?” She asked in sugar sweet voice.
“As tight as can be. You and I aint goin no where,” he said with a grin.
“Good,” she said and yanked the sword hard, pulling Bo off his feet and sending both of them tumbling down the stairs.
The Defenders toppled down the stairwell with paws, legs, arms and fur mingling in a single ball of fluffy chaos. The two collided into the first landing, their practice weapons clattering to the ground around them. They laid still for a moment taking in all that just happened. Bo fell straight on his nose and was starring at the floor while Henri, cushioned by his back, pushed herself off of him and into a sitting position. After he sat up they both began to laugh at their ridiculousness.
“That. Was. Awesome!” said Henri.
“Yeah it was!” Bo said pushing to his feet. “I admit those are some top-notch practice blade you’ve made for us,” He started to help Henri up when they heard the terrorizing familiar sound of a key in the dead bolt lock of the front door. Someone was home early. Immediately the two froze, Henri lying on her back while Bo fell face forward, again hitting his snout on the ground.
“I don’t understand, how does the transmission just die?” Mom’s voice rang from down the hall. “Without any warning or sign?”
“There were signs,” Dad’s voice answered. “Difficulty starting, weird noises…”
“Then why didn’t you say anything Scott?”
“I did, Ellen. Over a month ago.”
“And you just let it get worse?” Mom sounded extremely frustrated.
“No! Just… give me a second okay?” Both parents came into view walking out of the hall on the right, past the stairs where the Defenders laid immobile, and into the kitchen. Dad went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle. Mom hung up her purse, took off her work shoes and sat at the old dining room table. Both seemed to miss the Defenders lying on the stairs.
After a long drink Dad put the cool beverage to his head and sat down with Mom at the table.
“Okay. I mentioned the noises to you, and took it to Jimmy for a look. He said it was in poor shape and it would cost about $800 for a new one, but it should hold out.”
“But it didn’t!” Mom interrupted. “And now the garage said it’ll cost $1500 to replace!” She was so aggravated it frightened Bo; he rarely saw this side of her.
“No. It. Wont.” Dad said through clenched teeth. “I called Jimmy while stranded on the side of the road. If I can get a used part from the pick-n-pull lot he’ll install it for $500. We’ll just have to make it work with one car for a couple of days.” He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, looking every inch tired and worn out.
Mom was calmer but still pensive, she asked, “That be all our savings, won’t it?”
“Mmm Hmmm” Dad said without opening his eyes.
Sighing mom laid her head across her arms and slumped to the table. “Adam called today… He’s short a few hundred for rent next month. I told him we’d send some soon…” She picked up her head and looked at Dad with equally weary glistening eyes.
“When does he need it by?” he asked.
“Before the third, so… two weeks? Two and a half?” her head sank back down.
“Okay, we’ll send him the money. I’ll take more weekend and late night shifts, people are eager enough to give those up. And I’ll check out the bus schedule.” Dad said with a finality that was both stable and crushing.
“What about your class at the community college?” Mom asked into the table.
“I’ll email my professor and tell them what’s up. I should be able to do most of the assignments online or by email anyway.” He reached out across the table and squeezed his wife’s hand gently. “Hey… Honey?... We’ll be all right. We’ll make it work.”
Mom lifted her head, the spot where her skin normally wrinkled when she smiled was streaked with tears. “It’s too much for you. It’s too much for us. The kids miss you. I miss you. Maybe we can trade off having the car?”
“No, Honey. We can’t. If you took the bus the kids would be home by themselves until almost 7 o’clock. We can’t expect Max to look after Lee for that long. It’s ok, it’ll only last for a month or so.” His smile was weary, but it held a promise.
Mom wiped her eyes and smiled back. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long on the side of the road. Was it hot today?”
“95 degrees in the shade, but you got to me quicker than I thought. I was only out there for a couple of hours,” Dad finished his bottle and got up to rinse it in the sink.
“Say, I don’t remember the last time we were both home so early… What did we used to do with our free-time?” Mom said with a sad little chuckle.
“Free-time? What’s that? Oh yeah that’s when we used to read or get extra sleep or...” Suddenly both parents looked up like they were struck with the same idea.
“I’ll lock the front door!” Mom said excitedly and sprang from the table. Dad finished rinsing his bottle and headed towards their room.
“Max and Lee left their toys out again. Isn’t he getting a little old to still be playing with Bo?”
“He’s only twelve,” Mom said. “Adam played with Bo till he was 14. Come on!” She pulled him into the room and shut the door behind them.