Mocktails

Mandy surveyed the empty laneway, which awaited the arrival of the famous guests and their adoring fans. She told her son exactly where to place the collapsible tables, before calmly dismissing him. She then returned to her house four times to retrieve the four containers which held all of the equipment and ingredients she required.

The muddling tool and knife were placed beside the chopping board. A clock was set on the table. It was imperative her refreshing mocktails be served at the precise temperature, so that her important guests could perform their equally-important role on this grand occasion.

Mandy was approaching this task with the same composed assuredness with which she had greeted the news that her rear lane would host its first major event. For years she had driven the beautification of this space, and was neither surprised nor excited at the lane’s rise in prominence.

After a glance at the clock, Mandy removed her home-grown lemons from the esky and began extracting the juice and apportioning it into the paper cups, up to the level which had been marked on the cups by her daughter. Zoe had been instructed to incorporate the mark into the existing artwork on each cup. Mandy expected that a long time would pass before Zoe once again complained of boredom.

Sticky hands were routinely wiped on her apron, smearing yet more culinary pigment over the image of the boxing kangaroo. Mandy detested all and any celebration of patriotic icons, and had thus been gifted the apron by her best friend Rachel, with the customary irony reserved for fortieth birthday presents.

Sparkling water and liquid stevia were poured into each cup, again precisely measured. Meanwhile, excited fans who had started filling the lane gazed confoundedly at Mandy’s stall, and exchanged puzzled glances with each other. Mandy had expected this, and was not distracted. The neighbouring stalls simply offered plain white cups and plain water. Mandy had also expected this.

Excitement grew as the audience sensed the approach of their idols. Lenses focussed and a gentle murmur of applause and appreciation grew louder every second. As the star attractions came into view, the mere mortals lining their path marvelled at their svelte figures and their remarkable comportment.

“How can they look so good and so fresh?” they gasped.

“Their skin is so smooth and healthy,” they commented.

“Gosh, they’re so slim”

Soon, the first slender hand reached eagerly for one of Mandy’s creations, grasping it betwixt forefinger and thumb. The gorgeously-decorated cup was raised to the star’s lips, before…

Splash!

Mandy’s cocktail was spattered across the young woman’s face, down her body and onto the pavement.

Splash!

Another mocktail went crashing to the ground.

Soon a stampede of sweating, panting, heaving humans pounded Mandy’s diced fruit into the pavement, and the multicoloured mush and discarded cups formed a moat around Mandy’s stall.

Exactly 23 minutes and 47 seconds later, Edith Kipyego breasted the ribbon to record her first major marathon victory.

Image: Pradeep Javedar