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Episode
057
“Remember, practice doesn't make perfect.
The steps on the railroad track were methodical and slow.
Pronounced like the words of an opera, the steps echoed along the metal
skeleton that formed over the rocky fields beyond the university’s
world. Up above, the mid-morning sun already baked down, turning the
horizon into a risky myth, rather than an ancient hope.
The shadow spun constantly, with rehearsed precision, each motion
identical to the last. With each step, the shadow spun again, turning in
beautiful symmetry.
Sydney took slow, careful steps, her feet staying in a perfect line
as she walked down the very middle of the metal lane of the railroad
tracks. In each of her hands, she spun her elaborate and ornate short
swords, the near-twin blades turning melodiously. Her entire body stayed
constant and still, even as she walked with a consistence cadence. Only
her hands and her legs moved. All the time, her eyes stayed ahead, locked
on the smoky horizon with a burning focus.
“One hundred.” She said, whispering to herself. Without missing
a beat, Sydney continued on, spinning her swords forwards and backwards in
constant circles. This time, though, with every step, she lifted her leg
up so that her thigh became parallel to the ground. Then she stepped
forward, and lifted up the other leg. In her mind, she absently counted.
“One hundred.” She said again. Now, she kept walking, but she
began to spin her swords in opposition to each other. Her right sword
swung under her arm, while her left sword swung over. “One hundred.”
She reversed. “One hundred.” Now, she changed her hands so that the
swords spun parallel to the ground, the left sword spinning over hand, the
right spinning under hand. “One hundred.” She reversed them.
“One hundred.” Now Sydney began to walk with a usual step, but
this time, she held her arms out away from her, as if she were spreading
her wings. The swords spun. She repeated each type of spin, over and over
again, counting off one hundred each time. She held her arms up in the
air, straight over her head. She repeated each spin. Then, she started it
all over again, this time, squatting down low with each step.
She continued walking along the metal rail. Marilyn
held her hands forward, focusing on the absent wooden doll, as opposed to
the expansive, wind-swept field behind the football field at the
university. She tried to think about exactly how the doll was positioned,
what it felt like to hit the wooden arms, what the sound of the impact
felt was like.
She threw her rear hand, the right hand, forward, as if blocking a
non-existent strike. Before that hand was able to recoil and rechamber
completely, she threw out her left hand, blocking a seemingly identical
strike, and again, her right hand moved over her left hand, blocking a
third strike.
This time, she grabbed onto her opponent’s hand with her right
hand, while sliding her left hand over it, punching at the dolls face.
There was no impact.
There was no doll.
Marilyn took up the position again, her eyes half-open as she
focused. She held her hand steady, ignoring the wind as it swept through
her hair. She thought back to her most recent class, trying to remember
the routine.
With opened eyes, she moved forward again, swinging her right elbow
at the doll’s head, moving to take its head off.
Again, there was no impact. Brian
Davies hooked his massive hand around in the air, swinging it in a wide,
but controlled arc. Out on the football field, he momentarily was ignoring
the presence of the other members of the World Alliance. Spaced out over
the entire, empty athletic field, they all worked hard, each focusing on
their own skills and arts.
Brian moved to the side, swinging his left leg out to kick his
aerial opponent in the stomach as he pushed the man down. He dropped his
leg, then pivoted around, kicking at the man’s supporting foot with his
other foot.
Brian stayed in that position, his hands held up in their exact
position in the form. Turning suddenly, Brian leapt into the next leg of
the martial dance, moving like a leopard over the field. Everett
held the metal sword in his hands, it’s unfamiliar grip bothering him.
In front of him, in the field out front of his apartment building, the two
squared off, their towels and water bottles left over to the side. Already,
Everett’s face was bleeding along the cheek, but he barely even noticed
it now. He simply focused on the blade that was in front of him, as well
as the blade that Ledger held. The
swords were old-style broadswords. Simple, non-descript, and designed for
sparring instead of combat, they weighed in Everett’s hand, making the
fight that much harder. But Ledger didn’t seem to be showing any signs
of wear.
The blade before him suddenly lunged forward.
Everett swung his sword economically to his left, blocking
Ledger’s tight lunge. Everett let his body spin with the momentum he had
put into his block, swinging around, letting his left hand come free of
the double-handed sword to swing around and aim his elbow right for
Ledger’s head.
Ledger blocked the elbow with the palm of his hand, then swung his
leg up under Everett’s arm, kicking Everett in the face with his foot.
The blow tripped Everett and he fell over, onto the grass.
“Time.” Ledger said, dropping his sword where he stood. He
looked down at Everett as the knight sat up, staying on the grass. “Man,
what’s with you? I usually only win two or three. I’ve won all BUT two
or three. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Everett said, standing. He looked at the simple
broadsword that he held, then shook his head. “I guess I’m just not
used to the new swords.”
“I’ve had ‘em for a month.” Ledger said. “I told you I
could use a sword as well as a gun. But this ain’t about the swords.”
He said knowingly. “It’s about Marilyn.” Everett looked up at
Ledger. “Yeah, man. Sydney told me.”
“Look, it’s nothing.” Everett said, dropping his sword and
walking the short distance to his water bottle. “She just said some
things last night that got me thinking.”
“Yeah. I know.” Everett said, gulping the water down. “But
still.”
“But still what?” Ledger asked. “But still, she got you
thinking, didn’t she?” Everett didn’t answer. “Look man.” Ledger
said clearly. “You’re the HNIC and all that. You say jump and we say
how high and all that. But, if we do end up doing something, like I hope
we’re not going to, please make sure it’s for what the Oath believes
in and not what your Johnson says.” “I
ran a five minute mile.” Victor said, as he sat on Marilyn’s bed,
watching her type. In the warmth of her dorm room, he leaned back,
practically lying on the bed. “I think I can get down below
four-forty-five in a week or two.”
“Wow.” Marilyn said, turning from her computer to look at
Victor. “I still can’t get down below eight minutes.”
“You just need to train harder.” Victor said, shrugging.
“It’s about getting it all together, up here.” He said, pointing to
his head. “Once you’ve got it all together, you can do anything.”
“I bet you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Victor said,
sitting up.
“I kind of do.” Marilyn said. “Sifu, my kung fu teacher,
he’s talked about that kind of stuff before.”
“Yeah, but your teacher won’t teach it to you, not for awhile,
anyway.” Victor stood up. “Here.” He said, standing in the middle of
her clean room. “Stand up. I’ll show you.”
“Okay.” Marilyn said, standing up in front of her boyfriend.
“Alright, now listen up.” He said, standing directly in front
of her. “Take up your stance.” Marilyn looked at him, then stepped
back, letting herself take up the familiar Shaolin Kung Fu stance.
“Okay.” Victor said, taking a similar stance. “I want you to throw a
punch at me, okay?” He said. Marilyn nodded hesitantly. “Okay.
Anytime.”
Marilyn threw a fast jab at Victor’s chest, aiming to hit him
right in the meat of the muscle. With a rabbit’s speed, Victor dodged
out of the way, while glancing his hand off Marilyn’s arm, pushing the
punch just barely out of the way.
“See?” He said, standing up. “You couldn’t hit me. Because
I decided that you wouldn’t. As long as I decide you won’t hit me, you
won’t. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”
“But what if I kept throwing punch after punch after punch at
you?” Marilyn said, back in her stance.
“You still wouldn’t hit with any of them.” Victor said,
stepping back from Marilyn, staying out of arm’s reach. “As long as I
decide I won’t get hit, I won’t.” He shrugged.
“Okay.” Marilyn said. “How can I learn to focus like that?”
“Well, that’s a bit harder.” Victor said, shaking his head.
“I think it might go against what your kung fu teacher is teaching
you.”
“Okay.” Victor said, holding up his hands as he sat back down
on Marilyn’s bed. “But if you want to keep crawling along, learning
only a little bit and a little bit at a time, fine.”
“He’ll teach me.” Marilyn said, sitting down. “When I’m
ready.”
“If you trust him, fine.” Victor said. “But your mine and I
worry about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I thought you said you’ll always be there to protect me?”
Marilyn asked, cooing a bit.
“And I will be.” Victor said, leaning forward at Marilyn.
“But still. I just want you to be able to protect yourself as well.”
With a fast lunge, Victor grabbed Marilyn’s hands, yanking her to
the bed. She stepped back out of her chair, though, playfully resisting
the pull. Suddenly, as she stepped back again, it was her pulling Victor
off the bed.
“See?” Victor said, letting go of her, a touch of a smile on
his face.
“See what?” Marilyn said, looking around worried.
“That.” Victor said, standing up off the bed. “I was trying
to teach you how to focus. You can focus so good already, that you could
even resist my pull. Even I couldn’t pull on you when you were
focusing.”
“I didn’t think you were pulling that hard.” Marilyn said
uncertainly with a touch of nervousness in her voice.
“I wasn’t.” Victor admitted. “If I had, you wouldn’t have
been able to stay standing. But as hard as I was pulling, that was pretty
strong and you held back.”
“Okay.” Marilyn started to say, smiling. “I think I get
it.” She stepped back from Victor, thinking. But as she moved to speak,
a sound filled the room.
The phone rang impatiently. |