“I am not fat!” he proclaimed, sitting up ramrod straight in his chair with a look of righteous outrage on his face.
“I never said you were fat. I simply said you were a little soft. You’ve lost your trim, taut definition.”
“I don’t like you anymore,” he said as he started back toward the house.
Following him, I said, “Like me or hate me, it’s still true. Before we moved here you were hauling fifty-pound bags of feed at the farm supply store, you were running, you were active. But once we got out here you’ve been much more sedentary. When you stopped working at the studio, you lost your number-one source of exercise. Face it, dude, you’ve become a slug. No, you’re not fat, but you’re not sleek and trim anymore either.”
He glared at me, pulled off his shirt, and walked to the mirror in the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror from several different angles before walking back to me with a horror-stricken look on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” he demanded.
“I just did!” I protested. “And look how well that’s going over!”
“My body has always been the same. It was always something I could be proud of because it was sleek, powerful, toned. But now I’m almost flabby. Damn!”
“You’re not flabby,” I tried, knowing that it was no use. “You just need to get back on your feet and get back to a daily exercise regimen. That’s all. We can take care of that with no problem. Remember, while you were gone I started running again. Earlier, we took a walk. That’s the first step to getting you exercising again.”
“Get your shorts on! We’re going running!”
“Bill! You’re still recovering. Don’t push yourself too far too fast.” But I might as well have been trying to push the ocean back with a broom for all that I accomplished.
When he said, “Okay, but at least let’s go run a mile,” I knew that he had at least heard me or realized on his own that what I was saying was true. However he got there, I would support where he was.
So I abandoned the idea of sex and a nap and went into the bedroom to change clothes and put on a pair of running shorts and running shoes. Since it was a lovely day and I was in relatively good shape, I skipped the shirt and ran shirtless so that I could get some sun—and perhaps, maybe, possibly, just a little, show off my body to anyone who wanted to look my way while I worked up a sweat. Damn, but it felt nice to be able to think thoughts like that!
I followed Bill out the door, locking it behind us, and we started walking down the driveway. We stretched a little bit and then started walking down the sidewalk along the street, slowly picking up speed, very gradually picking up the pace until we were somewhere between walking quickly and slowly running.
As I suspected, it didn’t take long for Bill to be panting. He hadn’t done anything so physical in months. I knew—and he did too, if he would just admit the truth—that he was going to need to work back to where he was. He wasn’t going to go out of the house, decide he wanted to run ten miles again, and then simply run ten miles. No. He would have to start slowly and gradually build up to ten miles. It might take him a few weeks to a month to get there, depending on how he felt and how his forgotten muscles behaved.
We hadn’t gone very far when he was panting strenuously, but he refused to stop. One thing I knew is that my boyfriend was stubborn. Look in the dictionary for the word “stubborn,” and I was convinced that you would find his picture. The man personified stubborn. When he got an idea into his mind, it nearly took an act of Congress to get it back out. And since we all know how dysfunctional Congress was and how remote the possibility was of them ever getting it together to pass an action of any sort, you see how unlikely it was at the moment that he was going to stop so soon just because he was panting.
I at least got him to slow down to a walk while he tried to get his breathing under control. I thought that perhaps motion, forward momentum, would lull him into a calmer place. I was therefore surprised when he stopped, put his head down, and said, “I think I’m gonna pass out.”
Well, I certainly didn’t want him to fall and hurt himself, so I grabbed hold of his waist and supported him while he stayed leaning forward. He was silent for several minutes, slowly but surely getting himself under control.
“Damn!” he said as he stood back up. “I can’t even fast walk a mile, and already I’m panting like an old lady.”
“Again, you almost died. And before that you were not able to move or do much of anything but escape mosquitoes for over a month. And before that you were dealing with classes, papers, homework, exams, and things of that sort.”
“Damn!” he said again.
I was at least pleased to see that when he started moving it was back in the direction of home. We walked slowly back toward the house. And clearly, by the time we got there he was exhausted. Inside the house he flopped down on the sofa. I handed him a glass of iced tea, which he practically inhaled.
“It’s hopeless,” he said.
“My God!” I complained. “You are such an on-or-off, black-or-white kind of guy. Well, let me tell you that there are a whole bunch of shades of gray between black and white. You cannot simply jump from one to the other, so don’t be beating yourself up about this. Don’t make me smack some sense into you.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said.
“I would,” I answered. “I can outrun you.”
He stuck his tongue out at me.
“So here’s the way I see it. You can agree or disagree as you like. While you were gone I was running. I like running, and it felt really good. I had to stop while you were in the hospital, but I’m going to get back to running. Now, that will be easier for me than it will be for you since it’s been a lot longer since you went running.
“We’re going to ease you back into it, slowly and methodically. How about if I run in the mornings, and then in the evening we go for a walk, slowly increasing the length and duration of those walks. When you build up your stamina and get your muscles on speaking terms with you once again, we can try running together for a little bit. Day by day we can gradually increase the time and distance as your body remembers how it works.
“Also, I was thinking that we should go to a sporting goods store and buy some weights. Nothing elaborate. Maybe just some fifteen- or twenty-five-pound weights—two of each—so that we can use them here when we’re sitting doing nothing else. Sound like a good plan?”
He nodded.
“Good. Now I’m going to shower, and then I might take you up on that offer of sex you mentioned earlier.” I tried to give him my best lascivious look, which apparently wasn’t very good because it didn’t even make him smile.
When I came back out of the shower, I found Bill curled up on the sofa, sound asleep. So much for sex, I thought. Grabbing a soft blanket from the back of the sofa, I gently draped it over his body so that he wouldn’t get cold while he napped.
My thoughts of an afternoon of passion and napping were out the window, because my boyfriend slept for several hours on the sofa. Since I hadn’t had enough of a run, I put my running clothes back on, left Bill sleeping, and went back out to do my usual ten miles. When I got back I quietly showered and changed clothes before I settled in at the table to do some homework and work on my programming some more.
After several hours, I wasn’t sure if I should wake Bill or let him sleep. In the end, unable to decide, I opted for a little of both. I decided to move into the kitchen and do something about dinner, and if, in the process, I made enough noise to wake him up, then so be it. The only problem was that the noise didn’t seem to wake him. He did move around, rolling over so that his back was to me, maybe his subconscious way of getting away from the noise.
I thought that perhaps the smell of the food might rouse him, but again, no go. Since I wasn’t sure if he was going to wake up and join me or not, I had prepared enough food for two. After I had eaten, I cleaned up the leftovers, washed my dishes, and then returned to the table to do some more p
rogramming.
Since I had not had a nap in the afternoon—unlike some others who shall remain nameless—and I had jogged a full ten miles and worked all evening, I was tired and ready for bed. I quite honestly didn’t know what to do about Bill. I decided to go lie in bed reading for a while to see if he stirred. After all, at some point he was going to have to get up to at least pee!
With a small light left on in the living room to allow him to get around should he wake up—no, when he woke up—I moved into the bedroom, got out of my clothes, and crawled into bed. After reading for half an hour I was falling asleep. My fear was that Bill was going to wake up all rested and refreshed and ready to roll just when I was powering down for the night.
Setting my alarm for early the next morning so that I could get up and go to work, I turned off my light and called it a day—a sexually frustrated day once again, but a day.
Chapter 37
Been Up Long?
WHEN my alarm went off at six the next morning I reluctantly turned it off and got out of bed. Pulling on some clothes, I stumbled to the bathroom and then into the kitchen. Bill was once again among the living, sitting at the table looking wide awake.
“Been up long?” I mumbled.
“About five hours. Why’d you let me sleep?”
“You seemed to need it. When I started making noise you just rolled over and turned your back to me, so I left you alone to sleep. I knew you’d feel better, more rested. I gave up sex so you could sleep.”
“You want to go now?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if he was joking around or if he meant it. I didn’t like it in either case.
“I have to go to work. And you have to stop offering me something only when you know I can’t do anything about it!” I told him.
“Jeesh. I guess you are a little frustrated. You don’t have to bite my head off.”
“That would be the closest to a little head anyone has been in this house in a very, very long time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go shower and get dressed so I can go earn some money.”
Without waiting for a reply I turned and left the room. I had intended to get breakfast in the kitchen, but I was now too pissed off to eat. Breakfast would wait until I got to work, where I would grab a bagel or something.
When I got out of the shower, I found Bill in the bathroom waiting for me. “I’m sorry,” he said, and I believed him.
“I know. Me, too. It just seems like we are perpetually off-cycle anymore. When I’m up, you’re down, and when I’m down, you’re up. I’ll be so glad when our lives get back to some semblance of normal and we’re on somewhat the same schedules. This is getting real old, real fast.” I moved past him to go into the bedroom and get dressed.
“You have time for a quickie?” he asked.
“No, I do not have time for a quickie or anything else! I told you I have to go to work!” After I had pulled on my pants and shirt I looked at my watch. “And I have to be there in twenty-one minutes, so technically I don’t even have time for this conversation.”
“Mark, you’re working too hard.”
“No! Really? I figured that one out all by myself.”
“What is your schedule like today?” he asked.
Working very hard to remain pleasant, or somewhat pleasant, or at least vaguely pleasant, I told him, “I work from seven to two, and then I go over to campus for two classes and my evening study group.”
“So what time do you get done?”
“Study group is usually done by nine.”
“So you won’t be here until bedtime.”
“Your bedtime, maybe, but that’s when I have to start my homework for the next day. Finals are coming up faster than seems possible, and I cannot fall behind. There is just no time to catch up if I do fall behind.”
“What do you do for dinner on these study group nights?”
“We meet in the Student Union, so usually we all just grab a piece of pizza or something like that.”
“Can I drive you to work and then have the car back over waiting for you when you get finished at two?”
“Sure. No problem. What do you have planned for today?” I asked.
“Not sure yet. Maybe go to the beach and contemplate how screwed up my life is at the moment.”
Sighing, I felt for him, but I didn’t have time for him to get all down and depressed at the moment.
“Bill, I love you, but today I don’t have time to be of any help to you. I’m sorry. You understand that I’m busy today, right?”
“Sure,” he said, somewhat morosely.
“Hold that depression thing to weekends, and I’ll see if I can carve out some time for you.” I grabbed my cell phone and flipped to my calendar. “Oh, hell!” I said. “I’m working Saturday. Same offer holds true, but after 2:00 p.m.”
“You’re working opening shift again?”
“Looks like that’s what they’ve got me scheduled to do.”
“Mark. Let’s go away for a weekend, at least overnight.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way—I honestly love the sound of that idea—but there are two problems. One, we have no money, and two, I don’t have any time to even jerk off anymore, let alone go away.”
“I heard you took a trip to Palm Springs while I was away,” he said. I wasn’t sure where he was going with that, so I simply answered his statement with one of my own.
“Yes, I did. And please don’t remind me. My head still throbs involuntarily every time I think back to that night. All I remember is the pain. I was too drunk to remember much about the good part of the trip.” I shuddered a little at the memory. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since that night and had no intention of ever doing so again. I was never much of a drinker, which may be why I got so stinking drunk that night in Palm Springs.
But I didn’t have time to consider such things at the moment. Grabbing my backpack, I checked to be sure I had the correct books and then headed toward the door. When I got to the car and saw that Bill wasn’t with me, I turned, went back to the house, and said, somewhat impatiently, “Come on! I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for work!”
He jumped up and followed me out to the car to drive me to work. We were silent on the drive to the shop. Before I got out of the car I turned to him and said, “I’m sorry, Bill. This is no more fun for me than it is for you. I wish we had all the time and money in the world. Unfortunately, at the moment I don’t have either. When this quarter ends I’m looking forward to sleeping for about a week and doing absolutely nothing. After I wake up from my weeklong nap, then I’ll be ready to go away somewhere, anywhere, for an overnight.” I leaned over, kissed him good-bye, and said, “And get a job today if at all possible, please.”
Why I ever said that I will never know. I guess I was just monumentally pissed that he had all the time in the world and nothing to do, and I was perpetually running, going to school, earning an income, being the responsible adult, while he was the kid who lounged around all day long. I should have gone back and apologized, but by the time I stopped and looked back, he was already backing up and then driving away. I sighed. Why was my life such a mess at the moment? I was tired of having Bill’s debacle continue to haunt us, and it appeared to still be doing exactly that.
Chapter 38
Where the Hell Is Bill?
THE workday was fortunately a very busy one for us so I didn’t have a lot of time to reflect or feel bad about the way I had behaved that morning. The only thing I had time to do was to decide that when Bill appeared to give me the car I would apologize then for being such a prick earlier in the day.
As my shift came to a close, I wondered where Bill was and hoped that he wasn’t going to be late. A coworker saw me looking out into the parking lot and said, “Oh, your friend dropped this off for you earlier.” He handed me my car keys, which surprised me.
“Did he say anything?” I asked.
“No. Only to give the keys to you.”
“Where was I?”
&nbs
p; “I don’t know,” the guy answered. I knew that I wasn’t going to get any more insight by talking to him, so I grabbed the keys and headed out to the car. If I hadn’t been pressed for time (what else was new lately?) I would have called home to check on Bill, but I didn’t have the time. Traffic was a bear getting to the university, which made me late as it was. And since I was the child of my mother—the woman who regarded an hour ahead of an appointment as close to late—I was mortified at having to go into the room a few minutes after class had started. But I did it; I didn’t have any choice. As it turned out, I knew the stuff we were covering that day already so I could have missed the class with no harm done, but who knew. It wasn’t in my nature to play hooky.
The class that came after that one was all new and interesting. Having a good teacher made a tremendous difference, and the teacher I had for this one was phenomenal. I don’t know how he did it, but he made the subject exciting, interesting, and full of real-world implications. I loved that class and learned something every session. If I ever taught, I wanted to do it like this guy. I guess that that required having a certain enthusiasm for your subject and a love of teaching. Too bad Bill’s long-dead ancestor, Isabella, hadn’t written about how to teach effectively. Who knew? Maybe she had but we just hadn’t gotten to that portion of her journals yet. I couldn’t speak for Bill, but on my part I knew I hadn’t touched them in months. I should have thought to do some work on them over the Christmas break, but I was pretty mad at my boyfriend then for abandoning me. Working on his ancestor’s journals about then would probably not have sat very well with me, so it’s probably just as well that I didn’t try to transcribe them.
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