Shackled by Tom Leveen Read Free Book Online Page A

it.”
    â€œDavid—”
    And then he was airborne. A wild splay of arms and legs that I thought for sure would result in multiple compound fractures. But David landed expertly on his feet like a gymnast, and threw his fists up over his head as if to complete the image.
    â€œStuck the landing!” he announced.
    I wanted to jump too. Instead I dragged my feet in the sand until I could hop off. “You could’ve been killed,” I said.
    â€œI doubt it.”
    â€œWhatever, it’s your ass on the line.”
    David grinned. “Hey, come here,” he said, and took off through the sand again.
    What was I supposed to do? I followed after him, grumbling because of all the sand slipping into my sneakers.
    David jumped onto a wooden deck plugged into the groundby a giant spring. He spread his feet and bounced back and forth on the platform, making it rock.
    â€œAwesome!” he said. He stopped bouncing and held out a hand. “Come on up.”
    â€œNo,” I said, taking a step back.
    â€œCome on,” David said. “I’m going to show you something.”
    I made a face to let him know I was suspicious, to say the least. Since I had to kill time before work anyway, I went ahead and climbed aboard.
    I didn’t take his hand, though. He didn’t seem to notice.
    â€œHands up,” David said, raising his own in a limp sort of way. It reminded me of a dog sitting back and begging, the way his hands curved at the wrist.
    I raised my arms like a zombie.
    â€œGeez, no, loosen up,” David said. “Relax your shoulders. Bend your elbows. Let your hands float a little. See?”
    â€œOkay . . .”
    â€œNow just follow me,” David said. He put his wrists against mine, and began moving his hands in slow circles. I was reminded of The Karate Kid and wax on, wax off.
    â€œIs this some kind of dance?”
    â€œNope. Martial arts.”
    â€œWhat? Come on.” Secretly I was pleased I’d sort of guessed right in my head.
    â€œIt is,” David insisted. “It’s wing chun. Or you can call it sticky hands. It’s what Bruce Lee practiced before he created Jeet Kune Do.”
    â€œCan you say that again in American?”
    â€œNope,” David said. “Now I’m going to move a hand toward you. You just stay attached to my wrist, okay? Go with it, but don’t let me in.”
    â€œUh . . . okay . . .”
    He gently eased his right hand toward my shoulder. I resisted.
    â€œNo, relax,” David said. “Blend. Blend.”
    â€œLike a milkshake?”
    â€œLike a tree. Bend with the wind instead of trying to stand against it.”
    â€œYou are making no sense.”
    â€œI know,” David said. “It’s a gift.”
    â€œAre you going to make me wax your car, paint your house, paint your fence?”
    â€œI’m not that inscrutable,” he said with a smile. “But I am working on it. Cultivating that whole mysterious inner peace and calm thing, yet maintaining the ability to whoop on a bunch of kids in skeleton tights . . .”
    We hadn’t detached our wrists through the entire conversation. He kept moving his hands, his wrists lightly touching my own. Suddenly—though not in a surprising way—he moved his right hand toward my shoulder again. I let him get close, but shifted my shoulder away and let my hand drop, taking his with it.
    â€œYeah,” David said. “There, you got it. Nice.”
    I got a weird cramp in my face, and after a second I realizedI was smiling. And that I didn’t want a cigarette. And that my heart was slower than it had been in the past six years without major pharmaceuticals. . . .
    I stopped moving. Dropped my hands. David dropped his too.
    â€œThat was awesome,” he said.
    My heart sped up. I wanted a smoke.
    I hopped off the platform and started heading for the car. Sand sucked at