Tatami

The gym smelled of mats, sweat, and disinfectant.

The tatami gave slightly under bare feet. Ethan stood across from his sparring partner, shifting his weight from heel to toe.

“Don’t rush,” the coach said.

Ethan wasn’t going to.

His opponent stepped in feint, grab attempt.

Ethan slipped aside, caught the arm, redirected the weight one second later the guy was on his back, exhaling through clenched teeth.

“Clean,” the coach nodded.

Ethan offered a hand and helped him up.

“You’re too easy to read,” Ethan said.

“You’re too cold,” the other guy shot back.

Ethan didn’t smile.

The next round was harder.

Closer. Faster.

An elbow into the shoulder.

A knee to the thigh.

A grip.

At one point Ethan felt something strange like his body moved faster than his thoughts.

Not instinct.

Not habit.

Like he already knew what came next.

His opponent went for a throw.

Ethan was already somewhere else.

“Stop,” the coach said.

The gym went quiet.

“You’re not here today,” the coach added.

“I’m here,” Ethan said.

It didn’t sound convincing.

He stepped back to the wall and sat, his shoulders against the cool surface. His heartbeat was steady.

Too steady.

He watched the others.

Movements. Repetitions.

The same combinations.

The same rhythm.

He realized he wasn’t hearing separate sounds anymore he was hearing a pattern.

Step.

Strike.

Pause.

Step.

Too predictable.

Or maybe he was just seeing too much.

The coach came closer.

“You already in the military in your head?” he asked.

Ethan shrugged. “Just focused.”

The coach gave a dry huff.

“Focused means you’re here. You look like you’re counting something.”

Ethan didn’t answer.

When he stepped outside, the sun hit his eyes.

The city hummed.

Platforms moved on schedule.

Traffic lights shifted perfectly.

He slowed down.

For the first time in a long while, it felt like everything around him moved too synchronized.

Like it was following instructions.

He stopped.

A platform slid past.

Second for second.