The Man with the Black Belt

By Sandy Appleyard

Aside from God, Sam never believed one man could inspire so many.

5 Stars from Readers’ Favorite

A person can be loved by many for one reason, yet hated by many for another. Born into a Native-Indian family, Sam Corrolla grows up in a community of racists. When their neighbour, Mr. Seamington, finds unfounded fault in Sam, the boy learns the shocking truth about what lengths people will go to out of prejudice.

With a keen interest in karate, Sam joins a dojo with his older brothers, and the discipline soon becomes a love of his. Some of his peers can’t accept Sam’s unmistakable prowess, and the boy finds himself in a life-altering situation.

Becky, among many females, finds Sam exotic with his caramel skin and long, ebony hair, unbeknownst to him. After winning Sam over in a deplorable manner, the young man is suddenly inserted into a new life; one that he wouldn’t have dreamed he would be living.

When tragic loss sweeps over Sam’s life, he is forced to go against the one he loves, in order to save the only thing he has ever loved.

Years later, as Sam drives to the dojo one afternoon, he grips the steering wheel as he witnesses a horrific scene. Sam has two choices: he can help those who have hated him all his life...or he can watch them die. Inspired by a true story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Appleyard
• Release date: Aug 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9780995070592

Sandy Appleyard

Some have said that if you see me on the street (usually with a book in hand or a laptop fired up), I appear a cold, hard-fisted person. However, once we’ve spoken for five minutes or less, you’ll have laughed at least once. That is, provided you appreciate sarcastic, self-deprecating wit.My first short story was penned in middle school and I was hooked ever since.I graduated with honours from Humber College and began working as an Administrative Coordinator for a large, multinational corporation shortly afterward. Quickly learning that the corporate world, despite the love I had for my job, is a slow killer of creativity, I chose to quit during maternity leave in 2006.Difficulty thinking outside the box soon evaporated when I received something that didn’t come in one: my first child. While at home with the baby my imaginative energy got the better of me and my first memoir was written. It had been a dream of mine to write about my late father, who passed away from alcoholism in 1992, and it took me two years to compose a fifty-page manuscript, but I did it.After my second daughter was born in 2008 I had more fuel to write, and felt it necessary to voice the challenges and inherent gifts I acquired during my struggles with Scoliosis. Hence, my second memoir was born. The words flowed out of me with such ease I shocked myself.My love for words grew with each book I read and every word I wrote. I soon realized I had no more material to write non-fiction, which led me to take a stab at fiction. The next two books were such a revelation: it became more and more clear what my true calling was. The rest, as they say, is history!

Book preview

THE MAN WITH THE BLACK BELT

Sandy Appleyard

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ISBN 9780995070592

Copyright © 2018 Sandy Appleyard. All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Blessed and Betrayed

Keep In Touch

Blessed and Betrayed – Sample

Also by Sandy

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Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Sam cringed as he listened to the Peterson girls fighting in the back room. He only knew one voice: his inside voice, and he couldn’t compete with the noise; for this reason, he didn’t intervene. Instead, he opened the VHS library under the television, and selected the girliest movie he could find. As he pushed the tape into the player and watched the screen come to life, he waited until the theme song came on, and turned the volume up as high as he could. Seconds later, both girls joined Sam on the couch, as they watched Cinderella for the hundredth time.

Lillian and Stephanie, the Peterson twins, were five years Sam’s junior. Sam was the only twelve-year-old living on the block. For this reason, and only this reason, Sam was asked to sit for Mr. and Mrs. Peterson when they went to their weekly church meetings. Their Grampa, Mr. Seamington, made periodic visits on church nights. The man never smiled at Sam or talked to him directly. It bothered the young boy, but he babysat all the same, to respect his parents’ wishes.

Stephanie Peterson had a small crush on Sam. He knew this because she would sit closest to him, and when the quiet boy spoke, she would stare at him, as though in awe. It had happened ever since the day Sam’s long raven braid came out. The leather twine had given way, causing a wave of jet black, satiny hair to escape down his back. Sam’s tribal name was ‘Springwater’. His parents decided on Sam as a shorter version, to lessen the stigma when he began school.

Being the youngest of three boys, Sam enjoyed spending time with the twin girls, despite their insistence on quarreling. He never fought with his siblings, so he was at a loss when the yelling started. His older brothers sparred a lot, but they did it mostly to practice their kata, and they would often demonstrate their karate moves to their little brother. The twelve-year-old was finally allowed to join his older brothers in the dojo when he turned eleven, but that was in exchange for babysitting.

During the movie, Sam was careful to keep his distance from little Stephanie. A plush pillow separated the boy from the twin, yet despite the space, she still leaned as far over on the pillow as possible, so her hand could touch his arm. The girl warmed Sam’s heart. She was cute as a button; with soft, long blonde hair. Mrs. Peterson made a point of keeping their hair different on the days that Sam babysat, so she could be sure he could tell them apart. But Sam could anyway. Lillian was the problem child, and anybody with eyes could see that.

As the movie finished, Lillian stuck her foot out, nearly touching Stephanie’s face, and kicked her, unprovoked. Stephanie cried out, grasping her chubby cheek, as her twin sister denied having done anything. But Sam had caught the move from the corner of his eye; the twin had a habit of causing trouble, and Sam made the discovery many times, before the girl could hide her attempts in vain. Lillian, please go to your room. Sam said.

Sticking her tongue out, the little girl refused. I didn’t do anything.

I saw you kick your sister. Now go to your room. He said firmly.

Sam was beginning to think that Lillian was sensing Sam’s favour towards her sister, despite trying his best to treat them equally. It was very difficult when Lillian pulled stunts like this, however. Do you want me to tell your mommy when she gets home?

Lifting off the couch, Lillian crossed her arms defiantly across her chest, and walked towards her room. Say you’re sorry first, please. Sam added.

No.

If you don’t, I’ll tell you mother. Sam said, as Stephanie finally let go of her cheek. She threw her pillow on to the floor, and scooted closer to Sam. Pulling her arms around him as she sobbed into his belly.

Hey, that’s my pillow! Don’t put it on the floor! Lillian screeched.

It was an accident! Stephanie bellowed, not bothering to lift her head from Sam’s body.

Pick it up! Pick it up! Lillian demanded. Her voice was shrill.

Sam lay his hands around Stephanie, and he was about to ask her gently to pick up the pillow, when the front door slammed.

Just what in the hell is going on here? Mr. Seamington shouted; his voice was gruff. He was tall and wide, and looked like he could crush Sam in two; the expression on his face said he wanted to do just that. Grampa looked at Sam, who had his arms around his granddaughter, ignoring the fact that little Stephanie was sobbing. What are you doing with my grandchild? he asked; his voice was nearly a whisper, but dripping with ire.

Sam said I kicked Stephanie, but I didn’t! Lillian blamed, pointing at Sam. He told me to go to my room.

I’ll bet he did. Grampa growled, leering at the boy. Sam withdrew from Stephanie a little too fast. Grampa’s expression slipped a notch: he looked pleased, as if the movement proved guilt. You get away from my granddaughter.

Yes, sir. Sam said obediently. He stood and laced his fingers behind his back, pulling his chin to his chest. As his head dropped, Mr. Seamington’s eyes narrowed.

You leave this house. Grampa snarled.

Without lifting his head, Sam left. His heart beat so fast inside his chest, he thought it would burst. As the door slammed behind him, Sam didn’t dare look back.

Little Stephanie stood in the window sobbing, holding a hand up to the glass, right before her grampa pulled her away.

***

I still don’t understand what happened. Gwen Peterson stated. You know Lillian likes to cause trouble.

You weren’t there, dear. Russell Peterson countered.

And you’re going to take the word of a five-year-old?

Grampa intervened. Better the five-year-old than that boy. He argued, pursing his lips. I never trusted that kid. Him and his long hair…all of them; why can’t they get a haircut like normal people, eh? Them and their twisted ways. They’ve never seen the inside of a church I’ll bet.

Father hadn’t seen the inside of a church since Gwen and Russell married. Gwen rolled her eyes. They’re native Indian, dad. They’re not escaped convicts.

Bah, the old man waved. I’ll go sit with the girls.

They watched Gwen’s father leave the room. Your father’s got a point, Gwen. Those people…they don’t respect the Christian lifestyle. They don’t even marry properly. How do we know he hasn’t been brought up to take advantage of little girls like ours? They marry so damn young, Gwen.

Her mouth opened wide. Are you saying that that innocent, young boy would try to...touch our daughter? she gasped. I think this whole thing has been blown way out of proportion, Russell. You know my father, he’s a terrible racist; he always has been. And you…you’re so over-protective of these girls. Sam didn’t mean any harm. Lillian probably did kick Stephanie. You’ve seen how she behaves. I’ll bet you she’s on her worst behaviour when we’re not around.

And he probably brings it out. Russell shot back. Those Indians, they’re violent. And I know that Sam’s brothers are the fighting type; I’ve seen them at that…dojo. He waved his hand, as if the word was an ugly insect that attached itself to him. Admit it; our girls never fought so much since Sam started sitting for us.

You know Stephanie has a crush on him. Gwen placed her hands on her hips. That’s what kids do. It’s a competition. Tell me you didn’t fight over your babysitter when you and your brothers were little.

My babysitter was a huge, old German lady. Russell’s eyebrows lifted. Now I don’t want that boy babysitting anymore, Gwen. That’s the end of it.

Fine. Then you can tell Lillian and Stephanie. Gwen dictated. And you can find another babysitter. You can also go across the street and tell the boy and his family.

Russell had his hands in his pockets, staring out the window over the kitchen sink. The view overlooked the street in front of the house.

Are you listening to me, Russell Peterson?

Rolling on the balls of his feet, Russell tipped forward and adjusted one side of the small, bistro-style curtains. Looks like I won’t have to.

***

Sam walked down the block, past the three houses that looked like his own. The two-storey, cottage-style homes lay side by side on the boulevard. There was a cool breeze coming in from the Niagara River. The boy could picture his father sitting on the deck of their family boat, which was moored in Port Colbourne, not far from their Chippawa home. Reginald, Sam’s father, was a fisherman at heart, but he worked for the General Motors plant in Hamilton. Desiree, his mother, was a school teacher in Niagara Falls. As he approached his house, he saw both his parent’s cars in the driveway. It was near suppertime, and Reginald would be getting ready for the afternoon shift. Thinking about what he would say to his mom and dad, Sam reluctantly opened the front door, hoping that his footsteps wouldn’t alert them to his arrival.

Sam? Home so early? his mother called. He could smell his mother’s delicious homemade pizza. Desiree would have compiled the dough from scratch; kneading and rolling it out on their butcher’s block counter top. Sticking her head out, Desiree saw the forlorn look on her son’s face. Her long, graying hair was swept upward into a ponytail. A white, stained apron was tied around her middle, hiding the black dress pants underneath. Desiree had perfectly straight white teeth, and a warm smile. She was slim and tall, just like her sons.

Your brothers beat you up again?

Shaking his head, Sam removed his shoes and was about to trot up the stairs, when his mother called him.

What happened? she asked, tilting her head sideways.

Mr. Seamington asked me to leave.

Were the girls fighting again? Desiree switched the light on inside the stove and peered in.

Yes. Sam explained to his mother how one twin kicked the other and then their grampa walked in. It looked bad, mom. He thinks I was doing something bad.

The truth will set you free, as your father always says. Desiree sighed as she opened the refrigerator and handed her son a Coke. Did you apologize?

He sat down and opened the can, wiping his hands on his thighs. For what?

It doesn’t matter, Sam. If they think you’re in the wrong, the only way out is to apologize. We both know you’re innocent, and that’s all that matters. Her tone was firm but contrite.

But if I apologize, won’t I be admitting guilt? he sipped his Coke.

It’s a stumbling block. Desiree explained. "Once people get past the hurt or wrongdoing, it makes them think harder about what actually happened. One of the girls will come out and tell the truth, Sam. But it’s important to keep the peace."

But how would I apologize without lying? Sam knew it was harder to tell a lie when the truth was all you knew.

You just say you’re sorry. Don’t be specific.

They both heard Reginald’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He was tall and well-built, a handsome man with a warmth that matched his wife’s. Love, he said, kissing Desiree on the cheek. Winking at Sam, he sucker-punched him good-naturedly on the shoulder. When Sam didn’t fight back as he always did, Reginald took his son’s chin in his hand. What’s up, Sam? Did your brothers beat you again?

Desiree gave him a ‘watch-it’ look. He had a run-in with the Petersons. Nothing that can’t be handled with an apology.

Sam’s face soured. Mom. Desiree ignored her son’s expression.

The girls were fighting again, and Mr. Seamington came in. she explained. Sam says it looked bad; like he was behaving inappropriately.

Reginald looked at his watch. That the truth, Sam?

Yes, sir.

Come. We’ll take care of this right now. Reginald said.

Desiree smiled as the oven timer chimed. Reginald and Sam walked out the side door leading to the sidewalk, from the kitchen. It’s always best to deal with things right away, Sam. Otherwise people misconstrue and misinterpret, and with every moment that passes things get worse. Reginald said, tousling his son’s hair playfully. Not to worry; you’ve got your kata down pat, eh? Max told me you kicked butt in class last night. Max, Reginald’s middle son, had boasted to Reginald about Sam’s performance in karate, after the boy had gone to bed. Sam didn’t care to brag, so the older boys only spoke of how well their little brother was doing in karate when he wasn’t present.

Shrugging, Sam followed his father up the walkway leading to the Peterson’s house. Russell opened the door with a tight smile. Come on in. he welcomed. We were just about to have dinner, but under the circumstances, we can spare a few moments. His tone was warm but clipped.

Thank you, Mr. Peterson. Reginald said, shaking the man’s proffered hand. Sam has something he’d like to say.

Please, call me Russell.

Thank you, Reginald said, and then he gestured to his son. Gwen was standing by the oven silently. She offered both Reginald and Sam a solemn smile.

Sam kept his head down, as all eyes were on him. I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, for what happened today. It won’t happen again. He tipped his head downward, as though bowing, and then looked up at his father.

Reginald tipped his head in return.

Thank you, Sam. Russell said. Well, that is true, that it won’t happen again. Unfortunately, he cleared his throat and looked at Gwen, who excused herself under her breath, and left the room. We won’t be needing Sam’s babysitting services any longer. We’ve decided to have their grandfather, Gwen…errr…my wife’s father, Mr. Seamington, watch the girls instead.

Looking at his father, Sam’s face turned blank. He half expected this to happen, but all the same, he half didn’t expect it.

Okay, we respect your choice, Russell. Reginald looked at Sam. I know the boy is disappointed, as am I, but if that’s your decision, then that’s fine.

Suddenly, Stephanie burst into the kitchen. Sam! Sam! she squealed. Are you staying for supper?

Her grandfather chased her from behind. When he saw his granddaughter wrap her arms around Sam, he stopped dead in his tracks. You could cut glass with the icy stare he gave the boy and his father. What’s he doing here? I thought I told you to leave.

Reginald, Sam, Russell intervened. I’m sure you remember Gwen’s father, Jeffrey.

Mr. Seamington. Jeffrey corrected, not offering a hand to shake as his son-in-law had.

Mr. Seamington. Reginald replied. We were just leaving. Sam just wanted to come over to apologize.

Jeffrey looked down at his granddaughter and peeled her away from Sam. Stephanie, he addressed her, not taking his eyes off Sam. Why don’t you go play with your colouring books? Grampa will be there in a minute.

The little girl shrugged and trotted out of the room. Jeffrey waited until his granddaughter was out of earshot. Apology not accepted. He seethed.

Reginald pursed his lips and dipped his head as Sam stared at the floor. Good day, Mr. Peterson, he looked at Russell, Mr. Seamington. He looked at Jeffrey.

You best stay away from my grandkids, and away from this house. Jeffrey said as their backs turned. They kept walking, as though deaf to the bitter man’s insinuation.

This is more about them than us. Reginald said, putting his arm around Sam’s neck.

Even though Sam knew this was true, he couldn’t help but feel from the pit of his stomach, that some time in the future, this day would come back to haunt him.

Chapter 2

Ayi! Sam shouted his Kyi as he stood in horse stance behind his brother, Tim, who was the only senior black belt in the class. Twenty other students surrounded him in various poses and katas. Sam had worked his way up to a purple belt, and was giving it all he had to get his fourth stripe, so he could perform in the grading the following week. Legs burning, lungs heaving, the fifteen-year-old lifted his leg and shot his foot out in a round-house kick. It wasn’t perfect, and he silently chided himself. It was a distraction that put him off; a young girl in the waiting room. Normally Sensei kept the sliding doors closed, cutting off the view from outsiders. But today they had a new student. Sam assumed the girl that was stealing his attention was the new girl’s younger sister.

The older girl, Brenda, who was introduced at the beginning of class, was already a brown belt. They had moved to Niagara Falls from Mississauga, a much larger city approximately an hour’s drive away. Brenda was short but very agile, and on the cusp of getting her black belt, it seemed. Her kicks and kyis were surprisingly strong given her girth. In contrast, her younger sister looked tall but portly. They both had long brown hair, but Brenda appeared more delicate than her younger sister.

And Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

She didn’t seem to notice him. The louder he shouted, the higher his kicks, she still paid more attention to her sister. Finally, Sensei asked all the green belts and under to sit, leaving only Sam, his middle brother Max, his older brother Tim, and six purple belts. They were instructed to perform a brown-belt level kata. Sam couldn’t wait. He’d been practicing with Tim for weeks. This was his moment to show off. As he moved in unison with the rest, he kept his focus on his body and mind, kyiing as loud as he could, and keeping his kicks tight, but ensuring his movement flowed with the rest. When the kata was complete, he took his bow and looked over to the young girl. She was smiling at him. His heart melted.

His friend Peter, another purple belt, elbowed him in the ribs. Sam felt his face heat.

Sit, class. Sensei ordered. Students watched him walk over to the desk by the back of the class. Picking up a roll of black hockey tape, the large man then trotted back over to where his pupils sat on their heels, with hands on thighs, Sir, he addressed Sam.

Sam rose in one fell swoop in a practiced motion, bowed, and stepped quickly to his Sensei. Bowing again in front of the large man, Sensei bent at the waist as well, and proceeded to pull a piece of the hockey tape off the roll. Winding it once around the bottom of Sam’s belt, Sensei carefully pressed it together. Once done, he patted Sam’s belt and looked to see Sam studying him. Thank you, Sensei Campbell.

You’re welcome, Sam.

Sam and Sensei Campbell bowed to each other. With swift but careful movement, Sam walked backward, returning to his spot, knowing one should never turn their back on a black belt. When he sat back down in Seiza, sitting on his heels with his hands on his thighs, he looked back at the girl. She was smiling at him.

Sam didn’t know what made him happier.

***

The gymnasium was freezing cold, and the overhead lights were so bright, Sam had to squint to see the students sitting across from him. Peeking his head out from the stage curtains he could see hundreds of uniformed kids, sitting cross-legged, in the audience. The boy was nervous; he’d only performed in front of his own school before, never for another school. St. David’s was larger, plus it was a catholic school.

Sensei Campbell did an annual campaign against bullying, and this karate demonstration kicked it off. Campbell sent his higher belts to campaign for the high schools in the area, along with Shihan Groves, a fifth-degree black belt. Secretly Sam wished he’d received his purple belt sooner, then he could be with the older kids, and in the back of the lineup.

As the principal finished his opening speech, the curtains parted. Sam’s class was assembled behind him, single file, in a three by three pattern, with Sam and two other purple belts front and centre. He could feel his knees shaking and wondered how he would pull off his kicks without falling on his face. The catholic students clapped, welcoming Sensei Campbell and his class. They stood in their specified spots, dressed in their white Gis, as Sensei spoke about his experiences with bullying as a child.

Standing with his hands at his sides as instructed, Sam scanned the audience. As he got to the middle of the gymnasium, at the corner of his eye, he saw a hand reach up and wave at him. It was Stephanie, the girl he once babysat. Her smile was big and bright, as it always had been, and although he’d seen her on the street from time to time, he never noticed just how much she’d grown. Now nearly ten years old, the young girl was still as beautiful as ever. Waving emphatically, Stephanie waited for him to return the gesture, he guessed, but he was trained not to