I miss that feeling. The feeling of being whole. Of sweat trailing down my cheeks. Of cradling death in my fingertips. Of every bone thrusting in unified exhilaration as metal glides through air, my arm a steel spear. I miss the feeling of my limbs being more than they are, the transcendence of being something more than myself. Being with her transformed me into exactly that. I was no longer just some adolescent academic with forlorn hopes of being a writer; I was something greater, something I felt I was meant to be. When she held my fingers, I felt a purpose fulfilled, as though my life asserted meaning into itself. I was sure that I’d rather be this than everything I was supposed to be, and that I’d rather do this than everything I was supposed to do. I was ready to don the white garb and bind myself to her with little reservation.

I adored her entirely. I loved how her frozen fingers cooled the fire in my palms, loved the way we danced together on the rubber mats. She moved with majesty, gliding through air in prancing parries and pirouettes. Twirling in my hands, steel sang when she swung her arms. Meanwhile, I swam in her adrenaline, losing myself in the miasma of sweat and metal filtering in through my mask. Together we whipped and whirled in a maelstrom of metal until the buzzers screeched their applause, and we bowed triumphant from our tango. Cold and sleek, she rested upon me after every bout as we breathed in tandem, reveling in our performance (or loathing it). Regardless of our results, though, our bond grew stronger after each bout.

She understood me. Our bodies worked as one. Pain surged through her body as much as I felt the cut, even through the armor. When I was down, she coiled her guard around my hand. When I was angry, she’d channel my fury into a ferocious charge, and little could stop our relentless advance, but that wasn’t our usual tempo. Brute strength built our peers, but speed was our domain, and feints were our forte. As others lumbered through their tangos with heavy soles, our feet flitted from fight to flight and back again in an instant. I’d spin her out and pull her back in a flourish of twirls that sliced our opponent’s helm or hand. And when our opponents struck a patada, she tried her best to catch their blow. Sometimes, though, even she couldn’t protect me.

During a practice in our last year together, we met our opponents in full swing, but we succumbed to their much greater force. They forced her back, into the whole of my thumb, and pain never coursed my body in a more excruciating way. I released her in desperation to clutch my thumb, agony searing through me as we both fell. She could only stare in horror as I writhed helplessly on the gym floor. I could feel the bone shift in my finger, the new prominent bulge running down the length my thumb. When our teammates tore off my mask, she saw the tears pool in my eyes, and all I could do was grit my teeth as they dragged me away to recover. It took awhile for the pain to subside, but once it did, I immediately took hold of her and reentered the mat, only for the events to happen again. She stood back with her face contorted in agony as I knelt there clutching my hand, refusing to submit. I rose once more, grasped her hand, and lunged. The buzzer played our melody that night, and I clasped her cold hands tight against the sprain.

Few remember that incident or that we’d fought with the injury through the rest of the season, but after 4 years, our bond built a reputation for itself. Our deftness together secured a place amongst our peers. To the rank of captain we rose, but better was what they called us, “Young Master.”

She handed me the title, emblazoned across the back of a black hoodie. Honor never swelled my heart greater than the moment I saw those words written in white, but I hadn’t earned the title. At least, not yet. After my last year of high school, I vowed to continue our tango wherever I went, but she was ripped from my hand as a diploma was slipped into it. Before I left, I bid my bittersweet farewell, knowing full well I would never again feel the way she made me feel. I would never again dance with her. I would never again be her knight.

I miss her deeply. My saber. My friend. My Old Reliable.