Sumo

I couldn’t refrain from biting my nails. My other hand was constantly fiddling with a button on my shirt. “Alright son, go get em’ tiger,” my dad cheered. I gave a half nod, pretending that he had raised my confidence. My sweaty palms reached for the handle, and with one big leap I was out of the car. Walking briskly, I made my way to the imposing structure where I was met with an enormous staircase. One foot after another I conquered each step. My bones were shaking, and I was on the verge of crying. The tears blurred my vision from finding the entrance to my school’s annual sumo tournament. About to curl into a ball, I spotted the private entrance. My little legs have never run faster as the people around me stared in confusion. From there, two large Japanese men escorted me to a room. 

The room’s paint was chipping, the vending machine was broken, and a chair with a missing leg sat in the corner. In the back of my head the thought of going to back to America and leaving my life in Japan behind seemed irresistible. Why can’t my dad work in the U.S? I thought. On the other side of the room, other boys in the room chatted in Japanese, and I could have sworn they were talking about me. I stared at the ground until I was given further instructions. After what felt like hours, two gigantic men entered the room with loin cloths hanging from their shoulders. One of them stumbled towards me. While blabbering on about how great this fight was going to be, he reached for the loin cloth on his shoulder and wrapped it around my waist. The result was a diaper that constricted most of  my blood from going into my legs. “Thanks,” I mumbled. He nodded and went over to the next boy. 

After chugging three juice boxes, I was about to piss myself. I wanted to take a quick trip to the bathroom, but my anxiety left me chained to the ground. I could feel my throat tightening as the Japanese boys started leaving for their opponent in groups. Suddenly, the large man from before waved his hand in the air. I leaped up from my seat and sheepishly headed toward the red curtain. “Where’s my partner?” I asked in desperation. His facial expression remained the same as he motioned his hand towards the curtain once more. I pushed past the curtain and found the heart of the stadium. In the center stood a beast.

He must have been at least five hundred pounds. My mind couldn’t comprehend the idea of a man that size. The crowd cheered. The rough sand between my toes was completely unfamiliar. My opponent was born on this sand. With his left hand he reached down to a salt container near him. Softly, he tossed the sand into the ring, as it is known to have purifying powers that eliminate evil spirits. Meanwhile, I gave him a face similar to a bull dog, hoping to intimidate him with my frail ten-year-old body. Of course, my opponent was far from frightened. He had battled others that were larger and more terrifying than himself. His oily face looked down at me and chuckled at my weak taunt. Suddenly, he began to fulfill the last sumo pre-fight ritual: the stomping and slapping of the ground. Without hesitation he smashed his legs on the ground, the shock waves almost knocking me off my feet. At that moment I was overtaken by a force, and I began to copy the wrestler’s every move. He slapped his left leg, so did I. A few seconds later he was laughing too hard to complete the rest of the ritual. I decided it was time to initiate the match, and without equivocation I struck my fists on the ground. He let out a deep chuckle. 

A man in a kimono blew his whistle, and I bolted at the beast. A grin formed on his face when I was unable to move him back by even a centimeter. He immediately lifted me by my armpits. Having heard that slapping was a legal move, I began to flail my hands at his pudgy tummy as hard as I could. The giant eventually let me down, but he had had enough and was no longer going “easy” on me. I began to sprint towards the edge of the ring. But with my back exposed, he grabbed my diaper and snatched me off the ground. With ease, he smiled and then threw me into the coarse sand. My scratched knees were dripping with blood, but I forced myself onto my feet. Slowly I leaned over in a bow, paying respects to my opponent. Just like that, the fight was over.