“Marcus.”
Marcus looked away.
“I'm good.”
“Go cool down.”
Marcus turned toward the ring.
But before he walked away, he looked back at Elijah.
The old man had already returned his attention to the fighters.
As if Marcus Reed meant nothing.
That was the first time Marcus realized something uncomfortable.
The old man wasn't impressed.
And Marcus had no idea why.
A Challenge Nobody Expected
Over the next week, Marcus became increasingly aware of Elijah.
The old man arrived every morning.
Seven o'clock.
Same bench.
Same dark blue sweatshirt.
Same quiet expression.
He watched everything.
Not just Marcus.
The teenagers learning their first combinations.
The women practicing footwork.
The older men working on their conditioning.
The amateur fighters sparring in the ring.
Sometimes Elijah would smile.
Sometimes he would shake his head.
Once, when a young fighter threw a wild right hand and nearly lost his balance, Elijah quietly said:
“Too much shoulder.”
The fighter looked at him.
“What?”
Elijah repeated himself.
“Your punch begins with your shoulder. That's why you fall forward.”
The fighter looked confused.
Coach Harris glanced over.
“Listen to him.”
Marcus heard it.
He looked toward Elijah.
The old man didn't notice.
Or pretended not to.
That afternoon, Marcus asked Coach Harris about him.
“Who's the old guy?”
Coach Harris kept wrapping a fighter's hands.
“Elijah.”
“Elijah what?”
“Carter.”
“He ever fight?”
Coach Harris paused.
“Yes.”
“How good?”
The coach smiled.
“Very.”
Marcus frowned.
“How very?”
“Very enough.”
Marcus hated that answer.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you should stop worrying about him.”
Marcus scoffed.
“I'm not worried.”
“Good.”
“I'm just curious.”
Coach Harris looked directly at him.
“Curiosity can be useful.”
“What?”
“Especially when it turns into humility.”
Marcus rolled his eyes.
“I don't need humility.”
Coach Harris sighed.
“That's exactly why you do.”
The following Friday, Harrison Street Boxing Club was crowded.
There were amateur matches scheduled that evening, and several professional fighters were training before the spectators arrived.
Marcus was sparring with a younger heavyweight named Andre.
Andre was twenty-two, quick, aggressive, and still inexperienced.
Marcus dominated him.
He slipped a jab.
Countered with a hook.
Stepped around him.
Then landed a clean body shot.
Andre stumbled backward.
“Again,” Marcus said.
Andre raised his gloves.
Marcus advanced.
From the bench, Elijah watched.
Marcus noticed.
And suddenly, he wanted to perform.
He started throwing harder.
Faster.
More combinations.
Andre covered up.
Marcus smiled.
Then he threw a right hand that stopped inches from Andre's face.
“Come on,” Marcus said. “Fight me.”
Andre attacked.
Marcus slipped.
Countered.
The gym reacted with impressed noises.
Marcus heard them.
He loved those sounds.
Then Elijah spoke.
“Speed isn't the same as control.”
Marcus stopped.
The gym became quiet.
He turned.
“What did you say?”
Elijah looked at him.
“You heard me.”
Marcus walked toward the ropes.
“You've got a lot to say for somebody who doesn't train.”
Elijah stood slowly.
For the first time, Marcus saw the old man from closer than a few feet away.
He was smaller than Marcus had expected.
Perhaps five-foot-ten.
Thin.
But there was something strange about the way he stood.
His back was straight.
His feet were positioned naturally.
His hands hung loosely.
He didn't look like an old man trying to imitate a fighter.
He looked like someone who had once been one.
Marcus pointed at the ring.
“Get in.”
Coach Harris immediately stepped forward.
“Marcus.”
But Marcus continued.
“Come on.”
Elijah shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't want to fight me.”
Marcus laughed.
The other fighters laughed too.
“I'm a professional.”
“Yes.”
“You think I'm afraid of you?”
“No.”
“Then get in the ring.”
Elijah looked around the gym.
Everyone was watching.
Finally, he said:
“I don't need to prove anything to you.”
Marcus removed his gloves.
He tossed them onto the floor.
“That's what old men say when they know they can't keep up.”
The words hung in the air.
Elijah's expression changed.
Only slightly.
The warmth disappeared from his eyes.
Coach Harris stepped closer.
“Marcus, enough.”
But Elijah raised one hand.
“It's all right.”
He looked at Marcus.
“You're right about one thing.”