Not today, doctor

I walked past the singlet again. The blue one. 2004. It just hangs there in the hall like it owns the place. I used to be so fast in that thing. Now it is just a piece of cloth on a hook.

Then I stood in the kitchen. The receipt is still on the fridge. Dr. Reyes. His number is right there. I looked at it. I did not pick up the phone. I opened the drawer instead. The contract is in there. Signed. My name. Real fight coming.

I closed the drawer. Went to the gym. Danny was busy with someone else. I just said heavy bag. He said heavy bag. We both knew.

Third round my shoulder clicked. Clean. Like a knuckle popping. It felt fine. That is the lie I tell myself. It felt fine.

I still have not called Dr. Reyes. The receipt and the envelope are four steps apart in my own kitchen and I cannot close that gap.

I think I am scared he will say stop.