Slim Chance

by Jeff Erno

  “Take off a few pounds?”

  “Take off a lot of pounds, actually.”

  “Well, good!” Brad patted him on the shoulder. “Then you’ve come to the right place.” Keeping his hand against Oliver’s back, he steered him forward, urging him onto the scale.

  Frightened, Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “You’re okay,” Brad said in the most soothing, sultry voice Oliver had ever heard. “You’re in a judgment-free zone here.”

  In spite of how corny the doctor’s words were, they placated Oliver just enough to boost his confidence. He opened his eyes and stepped onto the mat. Nervously he bit his bottom lip as he stared at the digital readout that flashed a couple of times and then suddenly displayed what he initially thought must be an erroneous weight.

  “Two ninety-seven.”

  “What? Wait, that’s not right.”

  “Sorry,” Brad said, “but I’m pretty sure our scale is accurate. It’s calibrated regularly.”

  “But that’s nine pounds lighter than I was ten days ago. And my scale at home is brand-new.”

  Brad smiled. “Then I guess whatever you’re doing must be working, right?”

  “Wow! Doctor… or I mean, Brad, this means I’ve lost thirty-five pounds so far!”

  “Congratulations!” He patted Oliver on the shoulder again. “Want to stand over here, back flat against the wall, and I’ll record your height?”

  Afterward Brad led Oliver into the exam room and motioned for him to have a seat in the chair, which came as a relief. He didn’t like the idea of trying to wiggle his fat ass up onto the exam table in front of the sexy doctor. “Let’s just have a little chat, shall we, while I take your vitals?” Brad slid smoothly onto the stool and scooted toward Oliver, blood-pressure cuff in hand. “Right or left arm? Do you have a preference?”

  Oliver held out his left arm, it being closest to the doctor. “Either is fine.”

  As Brad slid the cuff over Oliver’s hand and up his arm, goose bumps arose on Oliver’s bare skin. The doctor’s fingers pressing against his arm sent a shiver down his spine while at the same time igniting a warmth within his chest. He gazed into the blue eyes, momentarily losing track of all space and time.

  “Have you had your blood pressure checked recently?”

  “I haven’t been to a doctor since high school. Well, wait. In college I went to urgent care once with an earache. That was probably the last time I had it checked, and I don’t remember what it was. Normal range, probably.”

  “Good to hear.” The doctor tightened the Velcro on the cuff and inserted the stethoscope’s ear tips in his ears, then held the chest piece against Oliver’s inner arm just below the cuff. He pumped the bulb of the blood-pressure cuff and listened as he watched the dial. “One twenty-seven over eighty-four. Pretty good pressure. Do you smoke?”

  Oliver made a face. “No.”

  The doctor smiled. “That’s also good to hear. Drinking?”

  “Not much. I did some in college, but other than my best friend’s wedding three weeks ago, I don’t even remember the last time I drank.”

  “Any other issues, besides your weight? Have you had your blood sugar checked?”

  He shook his head. “My employer announced they’re going to start requiring an annual health screening. It’s to comply with the Affordable Care law, I think.”

  “I’m familiar.” Brad nodded. “We’re probably going to want to schedule you for a complete physical anyway, and that should satisfy your insurance company’s requirement. The good news is that it’s usually covered at 100 percent under the new law.”

  “Oh, okay.” That was going to mean he’d have to get naked in front of the drop-dead gorgeous doctor. Good thing he’d already taken the blood pressure, because Oliver could feel it spike just thinking about the physical.

  “Oliver, let’s talk about your obesity.”

  The word sliced like a knife into Oliver’s heart. It sounded so insulting, especially coming from the young doctor’s mouth.

  “Does the word bother you?” Apparently Oliver had been obvious with his facial expressions.

  He lied, shaking his head. “No.”

  “Well, it’s a clinical word, not an insult. It simply means that according to our height and weight chart, you ideally should weigh within the range of a hundred forty to a hundred eighty. So you’re roughly a hundred twenty pounds overweight right now, which is considered obese from a medical standpoint. When a patient is extremely obese to the point that their weight affects their overall health and could potentially contribute to their untimely death, we call that morbidly obese.”

  “Which is what I am?”

  “Possibly. We’ll find out a lot more when we do the physical, check your heart, test for diabetes. But I can tell you as a general rule that obesity is a major contributor to a lot of other health problems.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? Have you always had issues with your weight?”

  Oliver didn’t want to get too personal. He didn’t want to offer his whole life story. “My parents are overweight, but not as much as me. I started getting chubby in middle school. Before that, I was more or less normal. Then by the time I started high school, I began getting heavier. I weighed about two eighty when I graduated.”

  “So right now you’re about the same weight you were then.”

  “But I’d gained some. Like I said, I’ve lost thirty-five pounds in the last few weeks. I started dieting a couple months ago.”

  The doctor made notes on his clipboard, then placed it on the counter beside him. He turned to direct his full attention to Oliver. “What kind of diet?”

  Oliver took a deep breath. Was he on trial here? The doctor had so many questions, but Oliver supposed it was good he was so thorough. “I did some research online, and I have some experience with this. I mean, I’ve been trying to diet on and off for the past ten years or so. Basically I keep track of calories and fat grams.”

  Brad nodded, a serious expression on his face. “Good. Low-calorie, low-fat. That’s exactly what I’d have prescribed, along with exercise.”

  Oliver felt his cheeks warming as he looked down at the carpeting. “That’s kind of the other reason I’m here. I want to maybe get a personal trainer or join a gym or something. I’ve been doing my own workouts in my garage, but….”

  “You’re not sure what is effective? You need some guidance.”

  “And I don’t want to kill myself. When I first started, I’d get so out of breath and my chest would hurt—actually, my entire body, every part of me, seemed to hurt. I thought I was dying.”

  “What kind of exercises do you do?”

  “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  Brad reached over to place his palm on Oliver’s oversized thigh. “Don’t be embarrassed. I want to tell you something. There’s a reason I specialize in weight-loss therapy. I was obese once myself.”

  Oliver looked up into his face. “No way.”

  Brad smiled. “Bigger than you were when you started your diet. I understand everything you’re going through.”

  “But….” Oliver couldn’t believe it. “How did you do it?”

  “Diet, exercise, lifestyle change.” He ticked off the components on his fingers. “And eventual skin surgery. People say I look young, but I’m thirty-six.”

  He had to be lying. “No way,” Oliver repeated.

  The doctor smiled. “Swear to God. Anyway, if I had to guess, I’d say you started simply with walking, just moving your body around.”

  “Yeah. I cleared out my garage, which was a workout itself. Then I got out my boom box and turned on the music and just started walking in a big circle. I just walked and walked until I was so out of breath I couldn’t continue. I took breaks, drank water, and started all over.”

  “And now, you probably have advanced at least to jogging?”

  Oliver grinned.
“If you can call it that. I wouldn’t want to do it in front of anyone.”

  “Well, it won’t be long before you get comfortable enough to work out in front of people. I’m going to give you a business card.” He turned and opened one of the cabinet drawers, then removed an embossed card. “This is a friend of mine, Adam. He’s a trainer down at the Fitness Warehouse. He’ll be sensitive to your initial feelings of self-consciousness. He can probably work with you one-on-one privately. You might have to schedule your appointments early morning or late evening, but he’s very accommodating.”

  Oliver took the card, wondering how expensive he was. It didn’t matter. He’d max out his credit card if he had to. He’d even sell his extra computers and game systems on eBay if it meant actually succeeding this time.

  “Adam was my trainer. He got into this kind of work because he’s passionate about helping people.”

  Oliver looked at the card again, examining it more closely. He liked the rainbow colors and wondered if they bore any significance. In Dr. Evans’s internet ad, he had listed, among other things, that he was LGBT-friendly. It would make sense he’d associate with like-minded professionals.

  “I’m going to set you up with all the nutritional information, our complete diet plan. I’ll have Shirleen schedule you with a nutritionist who can work with you on your long-term plan. People start diets, and when they’re as heavy as you were—or as I was—they do lose a lot of weight quickly in the beginning. But at some point, probably soon, you’re going to plateau. You’ll start losing more slowly, and when that happens, it’ll be easy to feel discouraged. You might be tempted to throw in the towel and just go back to eating whatever you want.”

  “I get that. In fact, it’s happened already. Sometimes I ask myself, ‘What’s the point?’ I doubt I can go on the rest of my life eating salads and clear soups.”

  “Exactly. You can’t, and you won’t. The dietician will teach you ways to incorporate many of the foods you like into your diet. Some of the best-tasting desserts and typical comfort foods can be prepared in ways that are lower fat and lower calorie.”

  “I completely gave up fast food.”

  “Good. Avoid those places like the plague.”

  “Pizza, fried chicken, donuts….” His mouth was practically watering as he visualized the taboo foods. “I’ve had nothing like that for over six weeks.”

  “Let’s prioritize your appointment with the dietician. Her name is Jan, and I might be able to get you in to see her this afternoon.”

  Oliver was planning to go in to work after his appointment. He’d be late, but he’d already requested permission to use half a sick day. “Um, okay. I can call work….”

  “Hold on.” The doctor held up his hand as he picked up the handset of the wall phone. “Shirleen, can you call Jan and see if she has time to zip over here for a conference?”

  “Sure, one sec.”

  Brad turned back to Oliver, holding his hand over the mouthpiece. “Her office is next door.”

  “She’s on her way, Brad.”

  “Awesome! Thanks, hon.”

  Hon? Oliver resisted the urge to smile.

  “Oops.” Brad laughed. “Well, I tried to warn you, we’re informal here. Shirleen and I have been friends since grade school.”

  “I have a friend like that. Her name’s Amanda.” Okay, that settled it. Brad had to be gay.

  “Well, while we’re waiting on Jan, let’s get the rest of your vitals. I want to listen to your heart, check your eyes, ears, and throat… all that good stuff. And we’ll run an EKG. Don’t worry. It’s quick and painless. So if you’ll hop up on the table….” He patted the cushioned, paper-lined tabletop.

  For some reason, Oliver no longer felt anxious. He rose and stepped onto the small stool, then pivoted his body before plopping down on the edge of the exam table. As the doctor leaned in close and held the stethoscope’s chest piece against Oliver’s back, the warm, fuzzy glow that had ignited in his chest a few minutes ago returned. He turned his head slightly and stared into the doctor’s eyes. Brad smiled but didn’t say a word, simply listened as Oliver’s heart beat like a bongo.

  Chapter Four

  OLIVER HATED mirrors, avoided them at all cost. When he approached his car every morning and reached out to open the door, he averted his eyes so he wouldn’t see his reflection in the window. When he walked up to a glass entrance door at the supermarket, he looked down at the ground rather than straight ahead, lest he accidentally catch a glimpse of his reflection. Even when he shaved and brushed his teeth, he looked at only his mirror image from the neck up.

  But a few people had started to notice the subtle change in his appearance—people other than Benjy and Amanda. One of his coworkers, a middle-aged woman from the claims department, commented that he looked different. His boss asked if he’d gotten his hair cut.

  He’d had to dig into the recesses of his closet and find some of his old clothes, items he hadn’t worn in years. They were still huge. The forty-one pounds had made a difference, but he had a long way to go until he got to a point where he’d be considered a normal size. It felt good, though. It felt damn good.

  He now used a chart Jan had provided, which he’d posted right on the refrigerator door. He used it as his meal plan and followed it religiously. Continuing with his exercise routine in the garage, he spent at least two hours every evening walking and performing improvised calisthenics. He still had the business card Brad had given him, the one for the fitness instructor. He just hadn’t built up the courage yet to make the call.

  At two hundred ninety-one pounds, he was nowhere near ready to expose himself to potential ridicule at a gym, regardless the assurances that it was a “judgment-free zone.” He did, however, purchase a stationary bike that he set up in the garage.

  “We should ride bikes together!” Benjy spotted the new exercise equipment as he followed Oliver into the house.

  Oliver stopped in his tracks and turned to him. “I don’t wanna ride bikes. If I did, I’d buy myself a real bike. I got this stationary one so I could use it in my garage where no one can see me.”

  “But riding a real bike is so much more fun, and we could do it together.”

  “No! Are you deaf or what? I said I don’t want a real bike.”

  “Sorry.”

  Why did Benjy always have to be that way? He seemed to get under Oliver’s skin unlike anyone else, even worse than Oliver’s mother.

  Once inside the house, Benjy removed an object from his pocket and held it out to Oliver. “I got you something.”

  “You what?” Oliver looked at him, scowling. Still irritated by Benjy’s remarks in the garage, he wasn’t yet ready to be congenial. “What is it?”

  “It’s an odometer you can wear on your wrist or ankle. It keeps track of how many miles you’ve walked or run. When I saw it, I thought you might be able to use it with your workouts.”

  “Really?” Benjy had a way of making him feel like a heel. Why’d he always have to go and be so goddamn nice when Oliver felt so grumpy? “That’s cool. But why? I mean… um, why’d you buy it for me?”

  “We’re friends, aren’t we? Isn’t that what friends do? Think about each other and do nice things for each other. It’s just a cheap little wristband.”

  It didn’t look cheap to Oliver. He’d have to look up the price on Amazon and pay his friend back somehow. But it really was cool, and he’d definitely use it. This way he could set specific goals based on actual distance, not just pushing himself until he was drop-dead tired. “You wanna help me make a pizza? Then we can play Overwatch.”

  “Sure.” Benjy smiled, beaming ear to ear. “But I didn’t think you could have—”

  “Well, it’s a low-fat, low-calorie pizza. You might not like it, but we could order you your own pizza if you want.”

  Benjy laughed. “Don’t be a moron. I’m not ordering my own pizza. I’m sure I’ll like the one we make together much better. Homemade shit is always best.”
>
  Oliver grinned. There was something charming about Benjy’s air. He seemed almost boyish at times, so naïve and innocent. Well, at least he projected that kind of vibe. It was too bad the guy was so fucked-up emotionally. With his anxiety disorder, his social development had stalled. At times he seemed more like a teenager. On the other hand, he was scary smart. He knew tons about science and literature and mathematics.

  Benjy never talked about girls, though. He seemed to have zero interest in dating, and since the topic never came up, Oliver never mentioned anything about his own nonexistent dating life. It really didn’t matter. There’d have been no point talking about that sort of thing with Benjy. Even if he were gay, he would have no interest in a fat guy like Oliver. And for Oliver to come out to him would be awkward and could jeopardize their friendship. Chances were that Benjy was asexual. He didn’t seem to express interest in anything sexual. Period.

  Since he’d started dieting, Oliver had substantially decreased the size of his meal portions. This had been particularly challenging in the beginning, because contrary to the rationalizations he’d made to himself about how he didn’t eat any more than an average guy his age, he actually did. His prediet eating habits would have included consuming an entire large pizza by himself. He might eat two or three pieces at a sitting, but then a few minutes later, he’d go back and eat a couple more, then a couple more. He wouldn’t stop until the pizza was gone.

  But after three months of controlled eating, he now ate smaller portions and allowed himself to feel full. As long as he ate slowly, thoroughly chewing every bite, he found that one plate of food filled him up, as opposed to the second, third, and fourth helpings he’d consumed prior to his weight-loss effort.

  He and Benjy created a vegetarian pizza masterpiece on focaccia bread, using fat-free mozzarella. They didn’t skimp when it came to the toppings because all were extremely low-calorie and all fat-free. “We’ve probably burned off more calories making this pizza than we’ll consume when we eat it.” Benjy laughed as he slid the pizza tray into the oven.