Our boy swims again

I read that subject line three times before I understood it was about me. "Our boy swims again." Gary Weldon still thinks I'm his. The whole 2004 list still thinks they're my people. I sat at the counter for a full minute and my hand went white on the bench because I couldn't decide if I wanted to cry or throw something. Carly knew. She always knows. I said yeah and she said lie and I said yeah and that was the most honest I've been all day.

I didn't tell her the rest. That I keep thinking about the 2004 list — the names I trained beside who never had a body quit, who are still in sports science or coaching or just normal people who stayed whole. Briggs forwarded that email to Danny with a clinic comment like I'm a demonstration. I don't care what Briggs says. The corner holds. I'm going to be faster than I've ever been on Saturday because I need him to know the AIS kid still has something.

But underneath that — underneath the knuckles going white on the bench — I keep thinking about the shoulder. Dr Reyes's follow-up is still on my phone. I'm waiting for permission. I said that last night and Carly steered the conversation like something alive was in the room. Tomorrow I sit in a chair and someone looks at the file. I'm good at sitting in chairs and waiting. I was good at swimming. I was good at a lot of things before I got good at not being fine.

The Manila envelope is still on the counter. We didn't open it again. I don't know if that's avoidance or if we've both decided some things need to stay sealed.