Swimmer back, mate

The 2004 photo is a stranger. I know it's me by the chin and the shoulders, but that kid never had a turnbuckle in his back. That kid was still going to matter.

Brayden walked in and shoved me into the ropes with words. Swimmer back, mate. I held his eye and he left on his own. I keep wanting to pretend the restraint was a choice. There was a half-second where my hand loaded and I thought about where it would land and I let the thought pass. That's not strength. That's fear wearing better shoes.

The back took the brunt, not the shoulder. I felt it on the drive home — sun low, the cab quiet, the day's weight right where I sat. Everywhere a boxer needs to be solid. Right where the new sport puts its pressure.

I pulled the counter twice before lunch, faster than I've ever run it. Danny with mitts, mouth shut the whole round. Jules had the angle. My body did something true on a day that was trying to be a lie.

The envelope is still on the counter. I cooked around it. Zoe on the couch later, my hand on her knee, the envelope three feet behind her.