Gemotions

The humid air of the gym hung heavy as Michael walked in. He wasn't even sure why he bothered showing up anymore. Another practice, another round of drills, another day feeling like a ghost. He slumped onto the bench, the worn wood cool against his skin. The squeak of sneakers and the sharp commands of Coach Miller were muted, distant sounds. He stared at his feet, the laces of his high-tops tied in an intricate knot, something to occupy his hands. He'd been practicing this knot for weeks. It still felt like the only thing he could control.

Coach Miller clapped his hands, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. “Alright, everyone, line up.” Michael dragged himself to his feet, shuffling alongside the other players. He was almost the last one there. He felt a dull ache behind his eyes, a familiar weight. The knot was still holding.

“Michael,” Coach Miller said, his voice softer than usual. Michael’s stomach clenched. The coach gestured for him to step aside. The knot was starting to come undone now.