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Episode
004 |
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“I think if you live in a city like this, where the wind chill can
get to be fifty to seventy below zero, and you walk out without the proper
coat, and you don’t say the word ‘f*ck’ out loud, then you have anger
issues.” Lewis Black, the White Album It was a small classroom,
decorated for the third-grade class that normally inhabited it. Metal desks in uniform shapes and colors
filled the room in normal intervals all the way to the back where shallow,
wooden stalls waited. The round woman standing at the
desk at the front of the room turned to the door and smiled with rehearsed
precision. “Good afternoon,” she said
in a cheery voice, his complexion matching her knitted sweater. “You must be Morgan Brandywyne.” Standing in the doorway was a
broad-shouldered man with a cynical look and a black trench coat hanging from
his arm. His hands in his pockets, he
looked at the six other men in the room with him, all of whom were soft,
middle-aged men in cheap suits and clothes that were never in style. Morgan sniffed and looked at the
woman. “This is anger management,
right?” “Yes,” she said, approaching him
and extending her hand. “I’m Emma Suzette;
I’ll be your guide through this class.” Morgan rubbed his eyes and walked
past her, ignoring the greeting. He
made his way to the back of the room, ignoring the looks of the other
men. He approached a desk in the far
corner of the room and looked critically at it. He kicked it lightly, turning it to the
left. He sat down in the desk’s childish
seat with some trouble. “Mr. Brandywyne,” the woman said,
walking halfway back to him. “It
really will be more productive for you if you join the rest of the class in
the front of the room.” “I’m comfortable, thanks,” he said
with a tight-lipped smile. “It really is better for the class,”
she emphasized with a grin, “if all the participants are in a circle.” “Then they can come back here,” he
answered. She paused, taken back, then
laughed, making a cheery face at it.
“You’re just going to be one tough nut to crack, aren’t you?” she said
in a playful tone. “That’s what the judge said,” he
responded with a sardonic smile. He stared at the sword with a gaze
so intense; rocks would have backed up from him. The curved kung fu sword was held
over his head, the blade running down in front of him. Dressed in silk pants and a white t-shirt,
the young black man stood alone in the middle of the kung fu school. Sweeping his arm around him, he
tossed the sword up into the air. As
soon as it left his hand, he whipped around, slapping at the enemyless air as
if taking an attacker’s head cleanly off.
He shot his left leg straight back with the force of a battering ram,
the air sounding like torn paper as he sliced it apart. He landed on the kicking foot to bring his
body weight behind his left elbow as he jabbed it at the foe he had just
kicked and snapped his free foot down against the floor as if breaking the
enemy’s ankle. Up above him, the sword slowed in
its ascent. It was just beginning to
succumb to gravity’s pull. With his taut muscles flexing
powerfully with the strike, he executed a flawless upper cutt with his right
arm then reversed the motion to bring his elbow into the chin of the enemy
behind him. Holding his arm up, he
grabbed for the imaginary head and pulled it forward, visualizing the body
flying over his shoulder as he slammed him on the ground. Standing, the young man held out
his hand, letting the sword’s handle fall into his grasp. He surveyed the ground as if looking over
his defeated foes. “Well done, Ledger,” came an
impressed voice. The young man turned
to the front of the kung fu school where the middle-aged teacher stood,
dressed in a southern kung fu uniform, complete with studded arm bands. “I think you’re ready for the final
lessons.” Ledger straightened up, holding
the sword behind his arm so the blade ran up along his shoulder. “Say what?” he asked, just barely panting. “You know I teach a variety of
kung fu styles here,” the sifu said, walking into the dance studio-like space
with a Ledger’s eyes went up, mildly
surprised. “You think I’m ready?” “I do,” the sifu nodded. “’Bout time,” Ledger said
harmlessly with a grin. The man in the gray suit with
brown elbow patches stood up before the group of men. His mostly-bald head was shining from sweat
as he shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. “I’m-I’m John. I’m here because I, I need help with my
anger.” “Hello, John,” the five other men
and the teacher said in chorus. In the
back of the room, Morgan closed his eyes, fighting to keep silent. “I, uh, I recently got into a
fight with my wife about, about our up-coming vacation,” he explained. “I, uh, I wanted to go see “Very good, John, you’ve come to
the right place,” the teacher said encouragingly, guiding him back to his
seat. She looked at the opening in the
circle of men to the back of the room where Morgan sat, staring back at
her. “And Mr. Brandywyne?” she asked. “Perhaps you would like to introduce
yourself and why you’re here?” “Hi,” he said, holding up his hand
as he slouched in the elementary school desk.
“I’m Morgan. I’ve got a problem
with people. I’m here on a
court-order.” The other men looked around, all
growing more nervous by the minute.
“And…” the teacher encouraged with a roll of her hands. Morgan sighed and rolled his
eyes. “I was in the post office for
five minutes,” he began with an uninterested tone. “I know it was five minutes because I
walked into the building, waited in line behind two people, both of whom were
just buying stamps and paying in cash.
I bought my stamps, with cash as well, and came out. When I parked, about fifteen feet in front
of the post office, I put two dimes in the meter, which buys you twenty-four
minutes. And when I came out, there
was a police officer writing me a ticket because the meter had expired.” “What happened?” asked one of the
other men, dressed in a black suit that didn’t fit his bulging stomach. “I explained to the officer that
the meter had to be broken, rather than confront him on the rather obvious
lie he was telling, and that my tires hadn’t even cooled off from the drive,”
Morgan went on. “He said that he had
already started writing the ticket so there was nothing I could do about
it. Needless to say,” he said with a
smirk, “he and I didn’t see things eye-to-eye. He refused to discuss the matter further with
me, so to persuade him of my point, before he drove off, I politely smashed
the window of his patrol car, escorted him out through the window, and very
firmly explained that I had no intention of paying for a ticket citing me for
unlawful parking, belligerent behavior, interfering with an officer doing his
duty, as well as being a traffic hazard.” Silence. “You smashed a police car’s
window,” said one of the other men, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and
disbelief. “With what?” “The only thing handy: my
fist.” Morgan sighed with annoyance as
he held up his calloused knuckles, a few tiny scratches remaining on the
skin. “So, I paid a thousand dollar
fine for assaulting a police officer, had to pay for the repairs to the car,
which were astronomical, and attend this class because I clearly have a
problem with my anger and not with a ridiculous and overpriced parking ticket
I didn’t deserve.” He settled back in his uncomfortable seat
with a smile, twiddling his thumbs. |
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