Micah Jennings

2.12.2005 Saturday [the offer]

I couldn’t have asked for a better day.

We got to the city a couple of hours prior to the jam. Aaron took pictures with the camera he’d brought along, and for once I smiled easily into the lens, ignoring the whispers of the future.

The climate was perfect—a friendly breeze kept the sweat off our backs while the sun warmed the handrails. By 8:00 a diverse crowd of energetic newcomers had formed. All sizes, races, and genders were represented. Their undisciplined technique was evident, but I set that aside, simply admiring the vigor throbbing within them.

Ben climbed atop a concrete pillar and spoke to the group.

“It’s great to see so many here! If you have questions, ask me—my name’s Ben—or Aaron. Another very experienced traceur with us is Micah, there,” he motioned. At my announcement I could hear remarks of surprise.
“Yup,” Aaron said. “Same Micah.”

With that clarification, an entourage quickly formed. Gladly I showed them the correct techniques—jumping, landing, rolling, vaulting. I was careful to watch for bad habits. Some tried to roll directly along their spine, and for that they were scolded, perhaps a bit too harshly.

“Do you want scoliosis?” I asked.
He shook his head guiltily.
“Then make contact here first,” I instructed, patting the back of my shoulder. I was strict, but by the close of the jam I could see the benefits. Everyone had rolls down to a science, and some were even trying them on concrete!
For the less novice group, I focused on vault variations and the importance of linking.

“You must learn to carry yourself over,” I said firmly. “Do NOT throw yourself over. Think of the fluidity of water. Learn to listen to the movements of your body. Don’t force it in an unnatural position. If I am rotating when I take off…” I twisted my torso and began spinning over a railing, “…then I must rotate when I land.” As my feet made contact I maintained the momentum with a left-side roll and exited to a sprint. I could hear their feet slapping behind me as they kept up. I glanced back and was gratified to see some follow me over the rail.

At lunch Ben and I talked about their progress. He thanked me for my help in teaching.
“You’ve made it easy on us. They’re mostly just listening to you!”
We laughed.

In the afternoon we held run session. Our goal was to get each beginner to link a full circuit of movements, however poorly done each technique was.
“The goal of parkour is to not to clear one obstacle at a time,” Ben said. “Think of each obstacle as a small piece of the entire run. Your aim is to complete the entire run so that it feels like it was done with a single movement.”
I nodded approvingly.
“Micah will demonstrate.”
I gave him a sour stare, but he refused to back down.
“Show them how it’s done,” Aaron whispered at my side.

Shading my eyes from the fading sun, I surveyed the area meticulously. I hadn’t done a single run through it yet, and was daunted by eyes that anticipated perfection. I envisioned a path.

There were rails at various levels of the stepped and walled courtyard. No doubt I could leap from a higher level down, but it would leave me with fewer opportunities apart from more rolls, and they’d seen enough of that. I raked through my repertoire of movements…Could I possibly do…I thought about it for moment. It had been weeks since my last attempt…Did I dare to try it again without a single trial?

I did.

Realizing my path I leapt from the obstacle and eased into a roll. As the horizon rose into view I jumped to my feet and lazy vaulted the first railing, dropping nearly four feet to the next level. This rail raced up to me from the floor and sturdily I clasped it, swinging under without touching ground. The underbar threw me into a spin, and as I’d preached, I went with it, linking to a roll. Gathering speed, I darted to the next railing, arching my back high into the air and propelling myself with both hands. I now soared dangerously to an even lower level, but my rooftop training had taught me much, and I embraced the concrete easily, using my roll to decelerate.

Now, fully emersed in the flow, I approached the final rail to the largest drop yet. Planning my steps subconsciously, I dove into the sky, facing my palms to the heavens. At the plateau of my leap I sliced my arms inward, forcing myself into a spin. The grey cement blurred with the orange sun as I unfolded my limbs and prepared to land. The balls of my feet connected with the rail and instinctively my body flattened, throwing back my arms and drawing my knees to my chest. I waited, frozen, expecting my balance to falter, but I stayed.

The crowd now raced up behind me, leaning over the railing above and gasping at the sight of me perched, still, on the rail.

“Oh my GOD!” Someone yelled.
“Did I really just see that—a flip to precision??!” Said a new voice.
Then there was clapping. It came from a different direction—from a stairwell sheltered by the shadow of an awning. I was thrilled to see the face.
“No wonder!” Reginald exclaimed, approaching.
“You made it!”
“Lil late, but when I did come lookin’, it didn’t take long to find yew. Hard to miss a crowd of young’ns skateboardin’ with invisible boards.”

I laughed. He knows full well how that description gets to me. Ben and Aaron immediately made the connection with who the stranger was, eagerly introducing themselves and thanking him, inconspicuously, for his help.

Unfortunately he didn’t stay long, but before he left he told me quietly,
“I need to speak to yew for a bit,”
I told Aaron and Ben to help out the newly-inspired newbies and walked off with Reginald.
“What’s up?” I asked when we’d rounded the corner.
“I’d like yew to meet someone, Micah,” he said.
“Ok.”

The judge looked over his shoulder and motioned to a woman I hadn’t noticed waiting at a nearby table, sipping coffee. She was middle-aged, with graying blonde hair and a strict business sense about her.
“Pat Fletcher,” she said, shaking my hand firmly.
“Micah Jennings,” I returned.
The judge excused himself, wishing me the best and rushing off to an appointment across town. Pat offered to buy me a coffee, but instead I drank from my own bottle of water.
“Reg told me a lot about you, Micah.”
I couldn’t be sure what she was referencing, so I kept it general. “Yeah, we’re good friends.”
But she got right to it. “Really bailed you out, huh?”
“Uh. Yeah. He told you about that?”
“Yeah."
I wondered what she was getting at, but soon the subject changed.
“You’ve got real talent with that sport of yours.”
“Oh, thanks. I’ve been doing it for awhile.”
“Watching you, I understand why you couldn’t be caught.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” I said, “but what is it, exactly, that you want?”
“Well…you.” She sipped from her latte and let me mull over the mystery. “I’ll get to the point. You’ve been under a microscope, Micah. I am part of a team that has been studying you, seeing if you’d be of use.”
“A ‘team’? What kind of ‘team’?”
“We’re government organized.”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“Not long. Less than a week. The local police were actually the ones to find you. Linked Reginald, too. That’s how we met.”
“They found me? Then why wasn’t I arrested?”
“You can thank me for that. It served several purposes. One, it was the easiest way to get your victims compensated, and would save us further trouble when, two, we wanted to observe you. They weren’t too happy with the exchange, but that’s the nice thing about being on this side of the badge.”

She pulled a card from her lapel pocket and slid it across the table. In blocky, black print read three letters.
“You’re with the C.I.A.?”
She nodded. “Basically, we operate by the motto, ‘if you can’t beat them, get them on your side.’ You fit the motto.”
“So…you’re saying…”
“Yeah, this is a job interview.”
“You want ME?”
“Don’t be fooled by the movies. The C.I.A. isn’t all burly all-American men with guns and cigarettes. We tend to go after the lithe, quick ones, like yourself. They’re much more useful for what we do.”
“And what is it that you do?”
“Generally, a bit of everything. Specifically, nothing I can talk about here.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Good. Keep the card, and call me when you’ve decided.”
“Ok.”
“And keep this to yourself, alright?”
“Wait. What happens if I don’t join?”
“Well, I hate to make this look like blackmail, but I’m only able to hold off the police until I have your answer. If you come with us, they’ve lost all power in the matter. Otherwise…you’re free game.”
“So I don’t really have a choice…”
“Would you need one?”
I didn’t respond.
“You don’t have to say yes or no right now. Like I said, you have my number.”
I nodded. She finished her coffee and walked off.

I returned to the group, blankly watching them enjoy the dying light, but my mind was elsewhere. At home Ben and Aaron continued to marvel at the day’s success, but I quietly parted for my room and closed the door. It will be a sleepless night for a certainty…

-M.J.

Should he accept or decline?

posted by Mr. Linty @ 12:25 AM