“How big is ‘extreme’?” Creed couldn’t help asking.
“That’s sixty-four ounces.” Now the voice sounded less bored and a little more annoyed, as though the size of the drinks were common knowledge.
“Wow, that’s probably way too much,” Creed said to himself. “Just give me two medium drinks, please,” deciding that medium, by definition, seemed like a good amount.
“What kind of drink?” the voice asked.
“What kind? Um,…” he said trying frantically to find the list of drinks on the menu in front of him.
“We have every kind of soda, including the diet and caffeine free versions. Cherry, lime, grape, strawberry, lemon, orange, coconut and mint flavoring. Smoothed, creamed, iced, blended or layered,” the voice rambled through the possibilities so fast it was dizzying.
“Can I just have water?” Creed asked holding his head.
The voice sighed deeply, “What flavor?”
“Flavor? I just want water flavored water!” Creed was starting to get a headache.
“Tap, mountain river, running stream, oxygenated, carbonated or vitamins added?” The voice sounded like it wanted to reach through the plastic menu and slap him. The feeling was mutual.
By now there was a line of cars forming behind him, waiting to place their order. One car even honked at him.
“What…uh…what’s the most popular drink you serve?” he asked desperately of the plastic menu.
“We have a lot of popular drinks here,” it said, stupidly.
“Clearly. Just give me two medium drinks of whatever the last guy ordered,” Creed yelled.
When he pulled up to the next window, as instructed, he nearly threw the pimple-faced cashier a twenty dollar bill and stared menacingly at him.
“Here are your drinks, sir,” the fast food worker said, a little more politely now that he saw how hugely muscular Creed was. “They are mint flavored creamed smoothies…that’s what the last guy ordered.” His skinny shoulders shrugged innocently.
“Fine,” Creed said and drove away without waiting for his change. He was wondering how anyone would want to live with all these choices when he pulled into the hospital parking lot and saw a crowd forming on the hospital grounds.
11 Battle at Hospital Hill
I couldn’t believe the crowd that had already gathered both at the third floor window of the hospital and right here around my brothers and me as we took a few minutes to stretch. We hadn’t even begun the exhibition yet and we had an eager audience.
“What did you two do?” I asked motioning to the twenty or so people standing around us and the dozens of little faces pressed into the glass of the third-floor windows.
“Just what you asked us to do,” Evan said. “We let the third-floor and hospital security know about our ‘demonstration’ so I guess word spread.”
“Worried too many people will be around to see your butt-whoopin?” Alik grinned over at me.
“Pft. You babies ready to play?” I asked, and stood arms tight at my sides in the ready-to-begin stance.
“Sure thing,” Alik stopped stretching and took his position between Evan and me. All three of us stood side by side facing the hospital.
“Hep,” I barked sharply as was our way of synchronizing our starting bow. Demonstrating respect for our imagined opponent, we bowed deeply while maintaining eye contact. Slowly, we righted ourselves and began.
This kata was one of mom’s most basic. It was a training exercise promoting proper footing, form and technique. Each movement was to be executed with precision and synchronicity among the three of us. And after years of training, my brothers and I were so familiar with the movements we could do this kata blindfolded. Matter of fact, we had done it blindfolded.
Each maneuver was performed twice. The first time fast enough to have missed if you blinked, then again slowly so the audience could study how we did what we did.
We flew through a blurry-fast series of defensive hand-to-hand combat movements demonstrating exact form and footing then repeated ourselves in slow motion. We presented a series of kicks—front, side, rear, roundhouse—first fast, then repeated slowly.
As I moved to the well-known kata, my body seemed to awaken with joy. I was completely unconcerned with the eyes watching me. Instead, all I thought about was how happy it made me to let myself move freely and not hold back. Whipping through these familiar motions, punching, kicking, blocking; it almost brought a giggle to my throat.
My senses came alive during these moments, as though this is exactly what I was designed to do. I loved the tug of each muscle as I moved, the wind rushing past my skin as I struck empty air. Movement is joy to me.