My first day training with Manny was a humbling experience, not because he was harsh or mean, but because he was exact, and somehow, that was worse. You can argue with harshness, but precision is unarguably correct. We spent three hours practicing one move the guard. I held my guard while Manny tapped it lightly with a wooden stick every time it dropped, reminding me of my error.
By the end of the first hour, my shoulders were burning from the strain. Manny pointed out that I'd been relying too much on my arms, leaving my shoulders weak due to underuse. He emphasized that relying on instinct wouldn't cut it against Okon, an experienced fighter who had prepared for every possible scenario.
I retorted that my instinct had helped me defeat Tank and Silas, but Manny was quick to remind me that those men hadn't been prepared for me. Okon was a different story. He'd retired, come back, and presumably used his time away to improve and change. I couldn't afford to remain the same - talented but unpolished. I needed to refine my skills and complete my training.
After the grueling session, I walked home, taking the long route not for exercise, but for contemplation. I always thought best when I was on the move, and fighting suited me because it allowed me to focus only on what was necessary.
I was just a few blocks from home when I ran into Clara. She was leaving the local store with a bag of groceries, and we locked eyes. There was a moment where we could have looked away, but we didn't. We stopped and exchanged a few words. She noticed the healing injuries on my face, and we shared a moment filled with unspoken history.
I apologized for an incident from the previous week, but Clara shrugged it off, insisting that it was fine. As she walked away, I found myself promising to buy eggs from a store on Morris Street once I was done with my current undertaking, a promise that held more weight than just a carton of eggs.
Returning home, I found my dad sitting on the porch, soaking up the afternoon sun. We spent some time sitting together silently, before he mentioned a call from Marcus about his son Gideon's mysterious car accident. I didn't know anything about it but promised to pray for Gideon.
As I sat there with my father, I thought about the twelve children with twelve unique abilities and the man named E. Voss who had deemed their transformation complete. But I didn't share these thoughts. Instead, I enjoyed the quiet companionship with my father, being present and being a son. For now, that was enough.