When I finished, she stared toward the street.
“You hurt him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“He hurt you?”
“My pride.”
She looked at me.
“Your pride has survived worse.”
“True.”
Then she touched my knee.
“You know what bothers me?”
“What?”
“You could’ve fallen.”
That quieted me.
She was right.
One bad landing.
One slip.
One wrong step.
At twenty-five, you call it a bruise.
At seventy-two, you call your orthopedic surgeon.
“I know.”
Margaret looked at the cane.
“I gave you that because you promised to use it.”
“I use it.”
“Not as tournament equipment.”
I laughed.
She did not.
“Sorry.”
“You should be.”
Then her mouth twitched.
“Did you really put him down?”
I looked at her.
She smiled.
“I’m old, Henry. I’m not dead.”
I laughed so hard my hip hurt.
The story should have ended there.
It didn’t.
Jake came to the community center three days later.
I was replacing a broken door closer.
He stood in the hallway for almost a minute before speaking.
“Mr. Carter.”
I looked down from the ladder.
“Jake.”
He wore ordinary clothes.
No wrist wraps.
No chain.
No friends.
That mattered.
“What do you need?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“To talk.”
I climbed down.
He helped steady the ladder without being asked.
We sat on two folding chairs near the empty basketball court.
Jake stared at his hands.
“Master Kim suspended me.”
“I heard.”
“He said I can come back when I understand why.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
That honesty surprised me.
Jake continued.
“I mean, I know what I did.”
“But I don’t know why I did it.”
I leaned back.
“That is a better question.”
He looked at me.
“I saw you and thought it’d be funny.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
Jake was quiet.
Then:
“You looked…”
He stopped.
“Old?”
“Yeah.”
“Weak?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yeah.”
“So?”
“I thought everybody would laugh.”
“They did.”
Jake looked down.
“For a minute.”
“Was it worth it?”
“No.”
I nodded.
He stared across the gym.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Were you actually trying?”
I smiled.
“Enough.”
“No, seriously.”
“So am I.”
