Smirk in the back row

The briefing officer said my full name and my old life in the same breath. "Mark Hayes, swimmer-turned-boxer, medical clearance pending." I have not been called a swimmer in front of strangers in years. Voss was in the back row and I did not look at him but I felt the smirk the way you feel a draft under a door. I signed my own form without looking up because if I looked up I was going to do something that ended my September before it began.

Eight fighters in that room. I ranked them in the first ninety seconds. Habit. Voss at the top because his smirk said he already thought he had me. The rest somewhere below. None of them had to clear a panel just to sit in a chair. I did. That is the sentence I keep turning over in the shower at Apex.

Two hours on the heavy bag. Best session in weeks. The floor moved out of my way without me asking. Rob saw the twelve-piece and I think that was the first time in this whole camp someone watched me work without me wondering what they thought I was costing them. Rob just watched.

I called Lou and said the line. It sounded braver than I felt.

The Manila envelope is still on the counter. I walked past it to cook the rice. Six feet again. I think I am keeping it closed because opening it makes the next decision real and I am not ready for real. I have been not-ready for a week.