Secret Hollows by Terri Reid Page A

Police Department,” Mary replied. “They have this silly little thing called due process they would really prefer we follow.”
    “Well, there’s no use talking to you,” he said. “So we might as well start training. Stand over there by the punching bag.”
    “Great!” Mary said, jogging over next to the bag. “This guy and me, we’ve got some history and I’m going to take him down.”
    “Oh, yeah, trash-talking a punching bag,” he said, shaking his head. “What did I get myself into?”
    Mary grinned. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
    “Yeah, okay, champ, let’s get you geared up,” Ernie said, rolling his eyes and chuckling.
    A grey metal cabinet near the punching bag area opened up and a roll of cotton elastic athletic wrap floated over to Mary. She grabbed it and started to wrap it around her wrist.
    “Hey, don’t forget to wrap your knuckles,” Ernie said. “They get pretty beat up if they’re not protected.”
    After wrapping both hands and wrists, Ernie led Mary over to another cabinet that held an assortment of boxing gloves. He carefully perused the brown leather gloves.
    “We don’t want too much weight to start with,” he said, as he carefully lifted up a set of gloves and put them back down in favor of another pair. “Yeah, these ought to do the trick.”
    Mary slipped her hands into the gloves and Ernie tied them on. “Now, let’s see your stance,” Ernie said.
    Mary placed herself in a position she was sure she had seen in a boxing movie; body slightly crouched, gloves in front of her face, elbows wide, knees bent and feet close together. She bounced a little in place, moving her gloves forward and backward, just like the professionals.
    Ernie’s laughter was loud and, quite frankly, irritating.
    “Sister, you look like a goose trying to take off for the winter,” he wheezed, as he laughed harder. “I ain’t seen nothing like it in all my days of training.”
    Mary lowered her gloves and glared at him. “Keep it up, Ernie,” she grumbled. “ and this goose will really fly the coop.”
    He wiped a translucent hand across translucent tears and took a deep breath. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. But you were damn funny-looking.”
    “That’s two,” Mary warned.
    Ernie lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. Now first what you got to know is your elbows are in, close to your body and your hands are up.”
    Mary followed his instructions.
    “Good. Good,” he said. “Now your fighting stance has got to do two things, sister. It’s got to give you the chance to land a punch, without leaving you too exposed.”
    He stood next to her. “Look at me, look how I’m standing.”
    He stood with one foot in front of the other, his body angled and his weight on his back foot. “Now, my stance ain’t going to exactly work for you, cause, sister, we ain’t built the same,” he explained. “What you want is balance, stability and speed. You want to be angled, so your opponent can’t hit you square on. But you want to be able to move quickly and land a punch. Got it?”
    Mary nodded and looked down at the ground, trying to copy Ernie’s foot placement. She set her stance and looked up. Ernie pushed against her and she fell over.
    “Too straight,” Ernie said. “You got to think about a line, see, between your front foot and your back foot. You want the toe of your front foot and the heel of your back foot to be on the same line. Got it?”
    Mary tried it again and this time when Ernie pushed, she kept her balance.
    “Good job,” he said with a satisfied smile. “You’re getting it, sister. Now, I want to see a little footwork.”
    They worked on footwork for thirty minutes, until Mary’s clothes were covered with sweat and her face was dripping. Ernie threw her a towel. “ Ya done good , sister,” he said. “Real good. Tomorrow I’ll let you take a couple swipes at the bag.”
    Mary collapsed onto the bench and mopped her face. She