We sat with our right arms perched on the table top, deadlocked in an arm wrestle. I was vaguely aware of the faces of Master H’s martial arts students that swarmed around us as I stared into Tyler’s eyes. He narrowed them slightly, and I took my cue to grind his elbow into the table, slam his arm backward to the table top, and claim my victory. Only then did the sound of the crowd rush into my ears again. The win, although plotted, enhanced my Tequila buzz and the dizzying effect of physical contact with Tyler.

I was a new student in Master H’s tae kwon do class. His studio had caught my eye on a beautiful day when I was walking down 23rd Street and Sixth Avenue in Manhattan. I walked a couple of blocks, glanced up for a second for some strange reason, and noticed a martial arts studio. It looked interesting to me. I had been training in tae kwon do for a while in Hoboken, New Jersey, and the school had just closed down. I kept walking until I hit 28th Street. Something inside me made me turn around; I headed back to the school without thinking. I hesitantly walked up the stairs to where I heard a class being held. Once I entered the studio, its beautiful hardwood floors and serene atmosphere calmed my anxiety. A few of the students turned around and looked at me. The master—a tall, muscular, Asian man with obvious grace and strength—welcomed me, introduced himself as Master H, and gave me videos of tae kwon do masters to watch and study. Within weeks, I was a regular student at Master H’s studio.

I watched the videos repeatedly. When my boyfriend, Mouse, asked about them, I said I was studying style and technique. But I was intrigued with one particular master. He looked to be quite a bit taller than I was, and his white gee accentuated his dark skin and crisp movements. He had obviously trained for many years, but there was something more than his martial arts skill that drew me to him. He seemed in control and at ease at every moment. His chiseled facial features and deep-set brown eyes seemed more real than a recorded image on a VHS tape. From the TV screen, his body called out to mine.

Friday’s test was my first in Master H’s studio. Although I had practiced martial arts for years, tae kwon do was a specific discipline, and I’d had to start at a white belt again. When I stood in my starched gee with the other students to perform the forms in front of the judges, I could think of nothing but the chafing fabric at the back of my neck. I tried to focus when Master H called us to attention, and I locked eyes with the judge directly in front of me. He was the master from the video.