Get on Up Page #4

A FAT, SWEATING ANNOUNCER, walks into the ring, grasps adangling mic.

ANNOUNCER:

Aaannd now folks, before the main

event, the Augusta Country club is

proud to present to y’all it’s

Annual Charity ex-travagaaanza..!

(Drum-roll)

Ladies and gentlemen..The Battle...

Royale!

Music. HALF A DOZEN BLACK BOYS enter the ring. Hyped. A gloveis pulled onto one hand. The other tied behind their backs.

They are blind-folded.

A WHITE MAN with a BUCKET OF WHITE PAINT daubs a number onto

each boy’s chest.

DING! DING! The boys stagger out, blindly swinging. The crowd

roars, bangs the tables as they stumble, lurch, in the bayingdin.

The smallest of the boys stands stiff. He struggles to throwmuch less land a punch. The number “One” is painted on hischest.

A much bigger boy, “Number Six” punches “One” in the gut.

“One” goes down but then slowly rises.

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The dixieland band watches the exploitation with both horrorand intrigue as they can’t help but wonder who will be leftstanding.

The band’s sound begins to change. It becomes as energizedas the match before them. They sink into the rhythm, and theeffect is one of heightened energy.

The drummer begins to pull the beat and the bass playerinstantly follows suit finding the new pocket. The drummerand bass player share a glance.

This inspired pocket soars across the lawn and into the earsof boy “Number One”.

We are now transported into the mind of “Number One”.

Complete silence except for the sound of the band. Then oneby one all other instruments fade away leaving only the drumand bass.

James turns to the band and lowers his blindfold from over

one eye. He catches eyes with the drummer and bass player.

The drummer nods at James and smiles.

James nods back and closes his eye. The sound morphs again as“Number One” begins to arrange the music in his head to hisown liking.

James opens his one eye and sees only the drummer and bassplayer on the stage. They are now playing what we and Jamesare hearing in his head.

James covers his eye again with the blindfold and forms aslight smile. His stance becomes more relaxed. His bodybegins to swing and morph like rubber.

He throws a punch. IT LANDS.

ALL AT ONCE “Number One” dances forward, dips, swings andsweetly CONNECTS to “Number Four”. As the vanquished headhits the canvas, the victor, “Number One”, bloodied, pantingin the waves of laughter and summer heat, stands alone.

As the boys hit the deck and are deemed “out” they are pulledoff the mat and carried to the bed of a parked truck.

“Three” goes down. Then “Two” and “Five”. A ringside punterTHUMPS the canvas with a fistful of dollars, berating him.

People screaming with laughter. Only “One” and “Six” remain.

Panicky, jerky, they stalk one another. Listening.

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