Exercise 1
This was the only time when she could hiss without feeling foolish. In fact, hissing here made her feel all the more powerful. With every startling yell she let out and every heavy breath she took in time to her steps, she became surer that she was that she would advance. Her muscles shook not from exhaustion, but with the energy she would use to make her uniform snap at the end of the punch. The power gave her confidence, even outside the studio.
Nothing went through her mind. She'd done the routine so many times since learning it; it was automatic. She hadn't needed to stop and check her foot stance since she was a yellow belt, and that was ages ago. Her feet landed were they ought to. Her punches were aimed at the center of the would-be attacker's belt, stomach, face, all as they should be. She felt ferocious, she felt calm, she felt sure of herself.
Fluidity, snap, fluidity, snap. She could feel red belt flop about and her uniform twist on her torso, becoming askew. Step, kick, turn, land. Load. Inside block. Load. Outside block, punch. Cupped hands start out together, one on top of the other, at the right hip. Snap. Cupped hands stop a staff or broom on the left.
Hold the last stance. Be stiff. Until…
“Kunyé.”
Exercise 6
Tom sits cross-legged on a beanbag. It would be an uncomfortable position for anyone else with the beanbag teetering to the left as it is; Tom seems relaxed. Lily Pulitzer bags line the wall behind him, curling iron cords and phone chargers sticking out the tops. Surrounded by things, Tom is alone.
His Jew fro is trimmed down for show choir season, his long, thin nose points directly into his iPhone screen, held in his lap and surrounded by khaki. He's dressed up. His competition day tie, the one with the blue and lime green stripes, stands out boldly against his dull shirt and dark sports jacket.
Tom's thumbs move in their familiar way across the phone screen. His dark, thick brows furrow over long, curled eyelashes. Creighton must be in a tough spot. People move around the room, but Tom is unperturbed. Not noticing, not caring, he shouts, “NO!” as Creighton misses what should have been an easy free throw. The people glance at him, then go back to what they were doing before.