FIGHT MY HUSBAND by Shane Kowalski

Cheryl and Mark and Cheryl’s friend from kickboxing class, Sheena, had dinner one night over Sheena’s apartment. 

For weeks, all Mark would hear from Cheryl after she came home, still sweaty from the class, was how interesting her new friend Sheena was. Hearing about Sheena became boring to him; irked him, even. As Cheryl talked, Mark often had the thought: I am so much more interesting than this person she is talking about. This thought was the father of all opinions and reactions he had towards the woman known as Sheena.

No matter what Cheryl had to say about Sheena, Mark would only offer an expression of meek amusement. Inside of himself, he imagined Sheena as someone small and easily able to fit inside a room within his head he very rarely visited.  

I am so glad we are doing this finally, said Sheena. 

Absolutely, said Cheryl. I love that we’re doing this.  

Mark smiled but was thinking: That’s just a little too enthusiastic of an agreement. Cheryl’s agreement did not have to be so enthusiastic.  

Your place is so soothing, Cheryl said. 

Mark nodded, as if agreeing, but secretly he thought: This is such a very small place. The furniture? And this neighborhood? 

Sheena looked at Mark and said: It’s so nice to meet you finally, Mark. 

Mark noticed Sheena had her hand on Cheryl’s shoulder for some reason. Both of them were staring at him. Yes, he said, I’ve heard a lot about you, Sheena. Nice to finally put a face to the name. See what all the fuss is about.

Mark could sense that nobody was laughing or smiling. He was acutely aware, however, of Sheena’s hand on Cheryl’s shoulder. 

Sheena said: I hope you both like Italian? 

I love it, Cheryl said.

Mark nodded again, but inside he thought: Did she say I love you? 

Do you kickbox, Mark? asked Sheena in the middle of dinner. 

Mark wiped red sauce from his lips with his napkin and said: No, there’s only one kickboxer in the family. 

I’ve tried to get him to come, but he doesn’t, said Cheryl, glassy-eyed from the wine. I ask him every time but it’s always I’m too tired or I just want to relax and watch some TV. I’m gonna have to drag him one of these days…

Sheena smiled at Cheryl. 

Mark thought about Cheryl’s statement. Yes, it was true that Cheryl did in fact ask him on occasion to come sit in on the class with her, but she never begged him, she never tried to frustrate him until he’d break and say Yes yes yes I’ll go already yes. It was like she didn’t really want him to go. One time she’d asked him, he’d sighed and cocked his head as if to think about it; but Cheryl quickly said, All right then, be back soon, the door closing swiftly behind her. 

Sheena was still smiling. Well, she said, I mean, a man like Mark doesn’t need a kickboxing class. You’re a pretty solid build, Mark.

Mark acted bashful, but inside he thought something like: Eeeep!  

I mean, you’re a big strong guy, Sheena said. You’d probably think what we do is silly. 

Mark was quiet. He thought he could feel a kind of heat on him. He didn’t like when people tried to imagine what he thought. He wasn’t sure what to say. He could feel the two of them staring at him, then at each other, then back at him, as if something was being decided between the two of them. 

It’s just not something you need, said Sheena. I totally get it. That’s my point. 

Cheryl grabbed Sheena’s wrist. Don’t tell him that, she said. You’re giving him more excuses not to come. 

No, it’s the truth, Sheena said. A guy like your husband can fend for himself. Plus, he probably has other outlets. For his frustrations.  

Cheryl made a strange, loose squirting noise with her mouth—a noise Mark had never heard before. He just sits in front of the TV, Cheryl said. He’s gonna die there. Cheryl smiled at Mark, who did not return the smile; Cheryl smiled at Sheena instead. 

Sheena said: I’ve been kickboxing for three and a half years now. Before that I took basic karate. Plus I do yoga every week. But I’m still willing to bet Mark could get me to the ground. 

Cheryl laughed a wettish kind of laugh. You want to fight my husband? she said. That is fantastic! She turned to Mark. Do it, babe, she said. Do it. See how good Sheena is. 

Mark thought: My wife is drunk. Or is she? He thought about how ridiculous this all felt. He said: This is ridiculous. I’m not going to fight Sheena. Plus I just ate. We all just ate. And the wine. We drank that. I think we need to. Uh. What is it—a half hour after you eat? Is that it? And our heads, too. 

That’s swimming, Mark, said Sheena. I bet you can knock me down in ten seconds. I can get your wife to the ground in under ten seconds. 

That’s just because I’ve only just started, said Cheryl tipsily. I’ve only just started with kickboxing, she said again. 

Mark looked at the red spot in his white napkin where he had recently wiped his mouth. 

In his mind he said: I can get your wife to the ground in under ten seconds. 

What do you say, Mark? said Sheena. 

Mark thought one thing, but he said another.  

Cheryl dropped into Sheena’s green couch, took her shoes off, put fingers through her hair. She watched Mark and Sheena, who were also shoeless, circle around the small square of Sheena’s living room. 

Ten seconds, Sheena said. Ten seconds and I bet you have me on the ground, Mark.

Mark did not say anything. He thought: This is happening. Who is this woman? He watched the rhythm of her legs, where she kept her hands, where her eyes were focused. 

Sheena asked Mark if he was ready and Mark said he was ready. 

Cheryl, darling, said Sheena, please give us a countdown please. 

Cheryl sat up a little. My pleasure, she said in a voice that sounded to Mark like the voice of an old movie star. He thought: I’ve never heard my wife speak in that voice. 

In the same voice again, Cheryl said: Ready? Three. Two. One. Go! 

Mark was thinking something when he felt the first sharp kick to the right side of his head. The second kick to the left side of his head did not feel like a separate kick but a reverberation of the first kick.

When Mark opened his eyes, he could only see the shape of Sheena—her shadow, really. At first he thought she was Cheryl. At first he thought he was waking up from a long sleep that had held him captive. He felt this immense weight on his chest and he thought it was love. But it was Sheena. She’d pinned Mark to the ground. Her knees were on his shoulders. She hovered over him.  

Wow, Sheena said. I’m surprised, Mark. 

Cheryl, lying on the couch, said: I’m not. All the TV he watches, I’m not surprised.  

You know what, Mark? said Sheena. I think you were right. You probably should’ve rested. We did just eat. We should do this again a different time. Maybe I’ll teach you some moves. 

Yesss, said Cheryl. Would you, Sheena, please? 

Mark listened to the two of them speak to each other. He wasn’t thinking anything. 

Cheryl came over on her hands and knees and put her face above Mark’s, real close, and said: Baby, let her teach you. Sheena knows a lot of moves. 

Shane Kowalski lives in Pennsylvania. He is the author of Small Moods (Future Tense Books).