Fit for You

by Cynthia Tennent

  “My grandma eats that stuff and she is doing fine.”

  I didn’t comment on the “fine” part, but I did point out, “In Ivy’s day, organic food WAS food. It was unprocessed and straight from the farm.”

  He stuck his tongue out when I added broccoli to the cart.

  “Can you reach that zucchini, there? The one that doesn’t have spots on it,” I said.

  “Grocery shopping with you could be a fitness challenge all its own.” Edge stretched his long arm to the far corner of the bin.

  “Poor, weak Edgar. This morning I should have asked the guy with all the muscles to help me instead.”

  He handed me the zucchini and narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

  “I can’t remember his name. He was in the walking group. He looked like the guy who played Captain America.” Actually, he was almost seventy years old. Edge didn’t need to know that.

  Edge opened his coat. “My shirt is practically ripping from these muscles. See?”

  I didn’t have to look. I had already felt those muscles just fine. I knew the contour and the firmness. It made my heart skip in circles just thinking about it. It almost made me wish for the teddy bear truck so he could help me in and out again.

  I pursed my lips and clucked. “Are you sure your winter weight didn’t creep up on you recently?”

  He grabbed my hand and placed it inside his coat on his bicep. I ran my hand up and down his arm, pretending I felt nothing. “Hmmm, I’m trying to find the bicep.”

  He stepped closer. I tore my eyes away from his impressive muscles and tilted my head to look up at him. I studied his face, looking for signs of a weak chin or bad lips that might be the reason for his facial hair. There had to be a flaw.

  “Feel them yet?” he asked. He held up his other arm for me to touch. His nostrils flared when I ran my hands up along his shoulders.

  Just then, Marva O’Shea came around the corner. She spotted us and shoved a box of cereal in front of her face. “Oops. Sorry, you two. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No. No. It’s nothing.”

  “Lily was just checking out my size.”

  Marva lowered the Cheerios slowly.

  “I was comparing Edge to the big guy in the walking group this morning . . .”

  Marva stared at my hands. “Oh my.”

  I glanced down and realized I still held the zucchini in my fist.

  “His muscles. On his arms!” I said, dropping the zucchini in the cart like a hot potato.

  Marva cupped a hand around her mouth and whispered, “Just remember, this is the Family Fare, you two. Family Fare. Not Adult Fare. Get it?”

  Edge’s shoulders were shaking. “I take it back, I’m having a great time. I definitely owe you. I’ll clean up any leftover balloons myself.”

  When Marva had completely disappeared, Edge picked up the zucchini and examined the size. “Not even close.”

  For the rest of our shopping trip, Edge made corny jokes about his size. I kept a straight face and told him he had the mind of an adolescent boy. Which of course made him try harder.

  By the time we checked out, Edge had moved on to reading the tabloids next to the cashier. He held up the magazine. “Hey, Lily, did you hear this story about a man who woke up with a large—”

  I was just about to tell him what to do with the magazine when I was saved by his phone ringing. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

  He placed the tabloid on the conveyer belt and I shoved it back on the rack. I did the same with the candy bar and the bubblegum he put in front of me, as well.

  By the time we left the store he was finished with the call. “Mom has to stay late and needs me to pick up Grandma at the day care.”

  * * *

  I was still thinking of ways to block his attractiveness from my temporarily wigged-out psycho-sexual drive, when we pulled into the parking lot of a sweet-looking one-story building with a wraparound porch. A sign with a picture of a giant daisy read LAKEVIEW ADULT DAY CARE.

  Edge unhooked my seat belt without asking. “Come on, let’s go in.”

  I pressed back against the seat. “Maybe I should stay here.”

  “Why?” He stared at me as if I had just told him that I didn’t want to visit Santa Claus.

  I shrugged and said, “I can sit here and work on my notes while you get Ivy.”

  I had always had an aversion to nursing homes. Even when I did my mandatory volunteering in college. So many people sitting around with nothing to do but sleep and watch television was depressing.

  Edge jumped out and circled around to my door. “Come on.”

  “Nooo. I really—”

  “Are you afraid of a bunch of old people?”

  “No. Of course not.” I let him help me out of the truck and added, “I think old people are great.”

  “You do, huh?’ he asked as I followed him up the front sidewalk to the porch.

  He opened the door and waved me in ahead of him. “Yes. I mean, they are really sweet and nice and—”

  “Get the hell out of here and never come back!” A tiny, ancient woman wearing a purple hat with paper flowers on the brim stood just inside the doorway. She pointed her finger at me and continued screaming at the top of her lungs. “Go on!”

  “Polly! Come back and finish decorating our bonnets,” called a woman from a room that read ARTS AND CRAFTS over the doorway.

  Desperately, I looked to Edge for assistance. He stepped around me and smiled. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fleetwood. Are you making a spring bonnet?”

  In a millisecond, her face changed from fierce watchdog to puppy dog. Her dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners and she smiled.

  “Do you like my hat?” She put her palms together under her chin and posed.

  “I love it! But you missed a spot. See?” He pointed to a bare spot on the hat. She frowned. Putting his arm around her shoulder and guiding her into the other room, he said, “Go on and take the hat over to Bridget and she’ll help you finish it.”

  “Well, okay. If you think I should.” Unbelievable. If doctors could bottle Edge’s formula for charm it would sell better than Xanax.

  I stood against the wall and tried not to move or attract any unwanted attention. Several people stood at a large desk. A man sat in a chair by the doorway and stared at me. Hopefully Ivy was ready to go.

  Edge walked past the desk and waved at a woman in pink scrubs who was talking on the phone. “Hey, Kataya. What’s up?”

  She waved back and continued talking. He signaled me to follow him into a larger room around the corner. With lead in my feet and crutch, I shuffled across the hallway and paused at the doorway. The living room contained a large television on the wall, several couches and chairs, and plenty of room in between for walkers and wheelchairs to navigate.

  “Come on,” Edge said, beckoning me farther into the room. He kept his voice low. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, so a few campers are still napping.”

  I followed at a snail’s pace, hoping Ivy would appear quickly. I tried not to crinkle my nose. Several air fresheners were strategically placed around the room. Two men slept on the couches, their mouths hanging open, glasses askew. One even snored. Two ladies were politely watching what appeared to be an old movie on VHS. Humphrey Bogart was explaining to a small man with dark hair why he was wrong for the girl.

  One of the ladies saw Edge and clapped her hands.

  He bent down and gave her a hug. “Hello, Mrs. Overton. How’s my favorite first grade teacher doing?” Then he stepped back and tilted his head. “What a pretty sweater you have on today.”

  She ran her hands up and down the nubby cardigan and preened under Edge’s attention.

  Two other ladies who had been in the arts and crafts room heard the commotion of our arrival and came in. They showed off their finished bonnets and clamored for Edge’s praise.

  Edge pointed my way. “This is Lily, everyone.”

  I leaned against a wall and waved.

  �
�Anything happening in the world, Mr. Green?” he asked a man in a chair.

  “Nothing today,” came the reply from the man, a folded newspaper in his lap. He lifted the paper back to his face but kept an eye on Edge over the top.

  Instead of assessing the people in the room for fitness, I was overwhelmed with a sense of futility at their inevitable decline. It was amazing that Edge remained so positive.

  The sleepers woke, and instead of being angry about the noise, their faces lit up when they saw Edge. I stepped away from the archway, intrigued by the transformation of energy in the room.

  I didn’t notice Ivy sitting by the front window until I heard a familiar voice. “Mine.”

  She had been watching Edge, but after her single-word statement she wheeled her chair around and turned back to the window. Her hands rested on a crocheted throw blanket in her lap and she studied the county road outside.

  A car passed and Ivy waved her finger in the air. “Not.”

  She did it again. “Not.”

  I couldn’t figure out what she was focused on. The road? The cars? Another life?

  Edge made his way to Ivy. “Hi, Grandma. How was your day?”

  She pointed to a silver sedan passing outside the window and said, “Mine.”

  “No, Grandma. That’s not your car. Sarah is driving it to school these days. Remember?”

  She slouched down in her chair, the only person Edge couldn’t seem to perk up today.

  Edge pointed at me. “Look, Grandma. I brought Lily with me to pick you up today. What do you think of that?”

  Slowly she turned her head toward me. “Now?”

  “Yup. We’re going to take you home now.”

  She cast him a glance that told him he wasn’t getting it. Edge lost his smile for a brief moment. I wondered what Ivy was like before her stroke. And her husband? If they had lived across the street, Edge must have been close to his grandparents.

  Louise entered and handed Ivy’s coat to Edge. “Hi, honey. Thanks for taking Grandma home. I have two tours scheduled for later and I’m going to be late tonight. We can switch cars to make it easier for you.”

  “No problem.”

  “Tracy says she has dinner covered.” She returned to the hallway.

  “Ready, Grandma?”

  Ivy backed her wheelchair up and let Edge help with her coat. He was gentle as he navigated her arms through each sleeve. Then he adjusted the blanket in her lap.

  “Ready?”

  Edge said his goodbyes. Smiles faded. The room deflated almost as quickly as the balloons I had popped this morning. I was struck with the strange desire to get more balloons and let them loose in the day care.

  I followed, waving awkwardly. Just as we reached the door, the ancient man who had been sitting in the front hallway grabbed my arm, knocking me off balance.

  Edge steadied me, keeping his other hand on Ivy’s wheelchair. “Hi, Mr. Frasier. I didn’t see you earlier. Don’t you want to join everyone in the other room?”

  Instead of responding, the man squeezed my arm with frail strength, keeping me in place. He smelled faintly sour. His clothes had stains from the last few meals he had eaten. And his hair had the flakiness that came from not being washed.

  “We’re out the door for the day, Mr. Frasier. Ivy is going home,” Edge said in a cheerful voice, trying to remove his hand without looking rude.

  The man ignored Edge and stared at me with wide, unblinking blue eyes. “Don’t forget.”

  “I’m sorry?” I looked to Edge for some explanation. But he shook his head and helped shift Mr. Frasier out of the way so he could hit the handicap button I hadn’t seen. The door opened automatically.

  “Don’t forget about me.”

  His fearful plea terrified me. Should we go find an aide to help him?

  “See you later, Mr. Frasier,” said Edge as if nothing unusual had happened. We moved to the porch and down the ramp toward the parking lot. I looked back. The older man stood in the window by the door. I waved. He scowled and did nothing.

  While Edge loaded Ivy’s wheelchair into the automatic lift on the minivan, I climbed in the passenger seat. I kept thinking about Mr. Frasier’s words as Edge secured Ivy and the wheelchair.

  Edge climbed into the driver’s seat. “You okay?” he asked, studying my face.

  “Did Mr. Frasier confuse me with someone else?”

  He turned the radio on low and shifted out of the parking lot. “Don’t worry about him. He says that almost every day. He sits by the doorway and hardly ever moves.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Used to be in the VA home downstate in Ypsilanti. But his younger brother is here and wanted to keep him close.”

  I considered that. “So no one actually forgot about him or anything.”

  “No. But his brother is getting up there. Says he isn’t sure how much longer he can keep him.”

  “But he can go back to the VA home if needed, right?”

  “Have you been to a VA home, Lily?”

  I shook my head.

  He searched for his favorite station on the radio. “Neither has anyone else. Forgotten. Every last one of them.”

  LESSON SEVEN

  Address Real World Issues

  On Tuesday, Marva O’Shea arrived at the first fitness class wearing leg warmers and a headband.

  “You look like you’ve been sweating to the oldies,” laughed a young redhead.

  Marva adjusted her spandex shirt, which kept riding up her stomach. “I’ll have you know I used to do the Jane Fonda workout every single week. I was skinny in the old days.”

  “You and Santa over there,” a lady said, pointing to the fireplace. Several young women laughed and Marva turned red.

  “And what’s wrong with Richard Simmons, June?” asked Corinne, blocking Marva’s embarrassed face.

  A man with a sleeveless shirt that exposed more hair than was on his head groaned. “Is this a girls’ class? If so, I’m outta here.”

  Before anyone broke into a fight, I interjected myself. “The one thing about working out is that there is something for everyone of every age. A lot of people love music classes. Zumba is really popular. Others like the practice of yoga. And men often prefer weight lifting and strength training.”

  “Yeah. I wanna get a six-pack,” said a man in an oversize Detroit Red Wings jersey.

  “Me too,” said the man in the sleeveless shirt. “We can swing by the Family Fare for some Budweisers after this.”

  I gave them a moment to laugh at their joke, then started the portable speaker I borrowed from Regina. Fortunately, Elizabeth Lively had some experience with yoga, and she caught on quickly with the other moves. She stood up front while I shouted instructions. The music shifted from light to energetic, and eventually to slow and soft for a cooldown. The floor was hard, and the abilities in the room varied. I wouldn’t let everyone do a plank pose or a down dog until I was confident they wouldn’t hurt themselves. Unfortunately, anytime someone spread their arms or lost their balance, which was often, the person beside them was smacked or kicked. I changed tactics and called out as many static exercises as possible so no one would be black-and-blue the next day.

  After we ended with some cooldown stretches, I announced, “Next time you come, I have a list of items I want you to bring.”

  “How about boxing gloves?” said Corinne, rubbing the side of her head. She had been hit by Marva at least a dozen times.

  I read the list. “Any old soccer- or volleyballs you might have at home and aren’t going to use. An old blanket, towel, or even a rubber bath mat—”

  I had been having trouble figuring out how to improvise exercise bands. But when I saw Addie Adler adjusting her garters after knee lifts, a lightbulb went off above my head. “Panty hose or tights. Umm . . . wash them first.”

  A man balked. “I am not going to let my buddies see me wearing no panty hose.”

  “I promise I won’t make you wear them. If you feel be
tter with another option, you can bring the rubber inner tube from an old tire or a rubber appliance belt instead.”

  When I finished my last item, Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Two fifteen-ounce cans of tomatoes? Lily, are you sure you aren’t confusing us with the nutrition class?”

  “We can always turn it into one if we bring some beans and onions, too,” added Corinne.

  I set them straight. “The cans of tomatoes are going to become your hand weights.”

  “I’m hungry!” one of the men in back announced.

  Marva pointed to the corkboard by the front door, where free advertisements were posted. “When the Dairy Cow opens, there’s a free miniature golf deal with the purchase of a Truhart Temptation Sundae.”

  A half dozen people wandered over to the board.

  “Just remember, your goal is a healthier you. You just did something good for your body. Don’t let the craving for sugar ruin your motivation. Even one scoop of ice cream will set you back.”

  When the last person left, I marched on my three legs over to the board and yanked off the flyer for the Dairy Cow. I couldn’t believe Edge would post this in the gym. He knew what we were trying to do and yet he purposely placed the flyer right in the middle of the board for all to see. My gaze wandered to the other advertisements. A neon orange flyer for the fish fry on Friday was pinned next to a flyer for the pancake breakfast at St. Francis church.

  I pulled all the flyers off the corkboard and tore them up. My mission that was becoming more crucial every day.

  * * *

  On Thursday, I held the first nutrition seminar. I showed everyone the modified food pyramid that was really a plate now. The guide that was completely different from the one I had grown up with. It took some convincing to make the class understand how experts had changed their minds about what we eat. I pulled from the grocery bag the food Edge and I had bought and set the items on the coffin, the only table I had at my disposal. Then I described the healthy substitutions that could be made for potato chips and white bread.

  “What the heck is that stuff again?” a short man with a long white beard asked, pointing to the box at the end.

  “Quinoa.” I said.

  “Is it Hawaiian or something?”