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First Fight - Ch 1 of 7

The first situation in life, where there is only one door way out. For this matter, a door way in.

Kung Fu Night

Saturday night. The screaming kicks and the punches that keep missing against the head of an old master made the kids wants to join his school. Our leg’s skins against the cold surface of the shiny cemented floors kept us in tune. The delayed English words coming out of their mouth in between fights, swears how bad ass these fighters are. The Cantonese dialogs translated to Mandarin characters down below the television screen didn’t matter. It was all about the fight.

“Wooh… that was cool.”

It’s humid. It’s probably the middle of Spring time, my legs making sure I get enough cool from the floor. The breeze from the door brings in the jasmine mixed with an odor of a dog. It has to be the one that walks on the dirt road. I turned around to see, and she lays down by the doorway. The sweat on my head then to my chest, I could feel it also rolling down to my skinny gut, and down to sink in my short. Lizards on the walls and bugs around the patio’s light aren't even there anymore. The sounds of crickets outside the window hiding in the dirt weeds are def to the ears. Even a cat walks in rubbing his side to the dog, and there is no single snarl.

What is that smell?

I turned around, and the grandpa of the house is rubbing medicated green oils on his knees as he sits. His stares on the kid’s back as they sit watching the television can only tell then, that I can only understand today. The leg pains. I wish too I was young again ignorant to the pain. When life is more of a bliss, anything comes to it, we gather in a group and poke it with a stick. Like the first suspected mounds of the gnome people. But the pain of the joints?

Never in a million years. It’s impossible. Not to me.

Then the old man’s eyes turn to me, with the same expression of a mixed feeling of getting used to the pain that evolves as his signature look of knowing the old man since we can remember to remember. His eyes back to the television, as he rubs some more oil from the small green bottle.

My eyes back to the television as well, with my upper lip against my nostrils.

The lights from the reception made the shadows of my knees flickers. As my upper lips give up, the smell of the green medicated oil made me look down.

It's impossible I’ll be rubbing green oils on these too?  

What is the secret of the old master? I can tell he is ancient old by looking at the snow white hairs on him. At eight years old, Saturday Kung-Fu nights was a boost to our heroic egos that are worth waiting for during the weekdays. We can split away after the show this evening, and to the dark paths that lead to our houses. There is no monster sitting on a branch, way up in the tree smoking a cigar tonight. And even if his there, he’ll be afraid.

He better be…

So far we know that China is just across the near by ocean. And the old black and white television with built-in wooden screen cover shares their excellent program.
“Aaaah,” the kids said. “This time he got him. The secret is to hit his gut!” with our bright teeth standing out from the dark room, we looked at each other. “That was funny,” we laugh. And back again to the television.

The Kung-Fu shows, always come down to different patterns with the same color. The student(s) always find the master’s secrets that he didn’t want to teach to anyone under him.

To be continued…





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