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I was twenty-two. I had no real understanding of that emotion, but I want to go slowly enough for the reader to know that I honor her and remember her with more and more affection as the tale unrolls. I thought I would never forget her, and indeed, fifty years later, I haven't. Her blouse was fully open now, though still around her shoulders. "Tom, can you take this thing off? It's sweltering out here. " We opened the car doors, and the light streamed in, her blouse was tucked into her jeans somehow, and then it wasn't, and I was looking at her in her white, white bra, her tanned summer skin in the moonlight and tree shadows, and now I can see Katie's face too. She was breathing a little fast, not too fast. Enough, so I remember it, and I remember her body moving with her breathing. Still, most clearly I hold the picture of Katie laying back on the car seat, opening her arms, pulling me into her and then onto her, and then with no hesitation, pushing my head down to the center of her. As long as I kept my glands in check, I could gage how hard I was pulling, pushing, or hitting. If I got excited, or pissed-off, the gloves were off and anything could happen.Some of the more mystical or spiritual aspects of the Kung Fu lessons seemed much more relevant to me. I wondered if perhaps some of the more spectacular things I had heard of martial artists doing were possible because they had somehow tapped into the same power that I had. It felt good to think that, because it meant I wasn't unique. In other words: I wasn't alone; I was just a gifted amateur who had discovered how to tap a power that had been around for centuries. It made me feel warm and fuzzy to think that I was a member of a special group who had this gift.In the comics, superheroes who normally worked alone always seemed to be teaming up or even forming societies, or leagues, or clubs. I knew I shouldn't be trying to use fiction as a guideline, but I understood how even the most solitary of them would.
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