15 Pounds From Pretty

I had overslept that Monday morning, waking a mere thirty minutes before I was expected at work, stumbling to the bathroom while pulling on grey sweats and an old baggy sweater retrieved from a pile of clothes of dubious cleanliness. I peered at my face as I splashed cold water on it from my cupped hands. I was puffy and pale, no doubt the result of excessive alcohol consumption. There was no time to shower. I brushed my hair quickly and pulled it into a ponytail, no time for makeup, the clock had ticked away the luxury of my vanity.

I walked quickly down the sidewalk, my two year old but hardly worn Reeboks meowing protest on the concrete, my hand working quickly to raise the cigarette to my mouth for long deep inhalations, my need for nicotine already so powerful at the age of not yet eighteen.

He approached me at the cash register I stood before day after day, banging the keys, bagging the fruit. I had worked with him for over a month, uncertain if he even spoke English, giving a nod and a hello each day and nothing more. His almond shaped eyes were a deep brown, his lashes long and thick, a waste on a man, really. I noticed the deep outline of his muscles through his too tight t-shirt for the first time. He held his hands out to me and I extended mine, uncertain, silent. “You look so cute today” were the first words he spoke to me, his accent from his native tongue still fresh. I was embarrassed as I explained that I had overslept, having no time for my usual hair and makeup routine. He shook his head No emphatically as I pulled my hands away, him squeezing them tightly in a silent protest of something unspoken, his eyes staring intensely into mine.

I felt his eyes on me throughout the day, eyes that left me fumbling, warm and nervous. At lunch I read the paper at a table in the deli, sipping tea, bemoaning the hangover still clinging to my brain. He slipped into the booth next to me, his thigh touching mine for a second, and I startled and slid closer to the wall. He carefully tore the corner from a section of the comics, Dagwood was making a big sandwich again, and wrote his name and phone number in the corner. “You should go running with me in the morning before work sometime.”  I laughed too loudly but his face was serious as he lifted himself up from the table slowly. I had never noticed his arms before then, so large and powerful looking.

When I got home from work that night Alex was already there, bong loaded and ready on the coffee table, forgettable TV on the screen before us. We sat in silence as we passed the bong back and forth, inhaling deeply and holding it as long as possible before exhaling, and then repeating the steps over and over again.
I was feeling restless as I rose from the couch, my hand sliding into my pocket as I climbed the stairs to our bedroom, pulling out the shred of newspaper and reaching for the phone. He answered as if he had expected my call at that very moment, calmly telling me where to meet him the following morning.

The next day the horrible sound of our alarm went off extra early and as I got up to turn it off Alex asked me what I was doing. “I have decided to start jogging before work.” He laughed at this, knowing full well that the only time I jogged anywhere was in a desperate rush to the store before they locked up the beer case at 2 a.m. “Seriously?” he asked as I pulled sweats on again and I nodded, not wanting to look at him. “Whatever” was his response, and he flopped back down, soon to snore again.

I met Muscles at the grocery store we worked at. He nodded his hello and we started walking east. I reached into my pocket for my cigarettes and lighter. As I slipped the Camel between my lips he shot a glance at me, his eyes unbelieving. “You’re going to smoke?”  His eyes were wide, incredulous. “Yep” My lighter flicked as he crossed the street quickly. “If you’re going to smoke I am going to walk on this side of the street!”  Smoking is frowned upon whilst exercising, I discovered. When I had finished the smoke he crossed back over, walking beside me for a block or two before his face looked like it might forgive. “Are you ready?” he asked me, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to be ready for. Without waiting for an answer he suddenly started to run, weaving out into the street. I stumbled out, trying to follow him, my stomach shaking, and my entire body awkward with protest.

He was much faster than I of course, and he keep turning back and smiling at me as we ran through those streets. My breasts were not ready for the flight, having neither wings nor a decent parachute, and I tried to fold my arms in such a way as to tuck them under my breasts to keep them from flying in all directions. This horrifying morning took place in the 80s, in a time before everyone walked around with a bottle of water, with a constant need for hydration. I was breathing heavily through my dry mouth; my throat was burning. It seemed to go on forever, this running, and I continued for no reason that remains in my mind this day.

When he had finally decided we were finished he stood beside me as I panted. Reaching out for my hands once again he tried for the intense eye contact , Andrew McCarthy looks at Molly Ringwald as he opens his eyes as wide as he can in that scene in Pretty In Pink. “You would be so pretty if you lost about 15 lbs.” His words hung in the air between us and the only defense I have for taking that as a compliment is naiveté. As we continued walking down the hills toward my home he began to explain how he was going to get me over to his house to lift weights so I could work on my legs.

When I got back home it was time to get ready for work. All I really wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for hours.  That night when I returned home from work the muscles in my legs were already starting to scream in protest. Alex was on the couch watching TV and I sat down beside him, feeling guilty, as if I had cheated on him somehow. We sat in silence, smoking pot and lifting cold bottles of beer to our lips for nice long pulls. After we had both gone upstairs to bed and we were beginning to lift the covers up and over us Alex asked me if I was going to be getting up early again, to go jogging. “No, I don’t think so.” He laughed a short bleating sound and flipped onto his side, facing the wall instead of me. “I didn’t think so” he said and sleep came to him quickly as I lay there on my back, eyes wide open in the darkness.