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Inspirational

Another bad review. This is my fourth one in the last two months. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Either I get the world’s worst clients, or I am just a terrible fitness coach.

I became a coach because somebody told me there was good money here. Three years since I still haven’t found the goodness. Being the sole earning member of my family, my mother and sisters fully rely on my paycheck, which I’m certain is going to shrink significantly after Google lowers my rank. 

It’s 1 a.m. and I’m sprawled on the couch, flipping channels on the TV, still worrying about what I am going to do. That’s when I see it. An infomercial that reads: Help 210 lbs man lose 100 lbs in five months and earn 1 million dollars! Call 1-800-304-4859.

My heart jumps. One million dollars? With that much money, I can send my sisters to college… get some help for my mom… and… I can finally do something else! 

I leap from the couch and grab my phone. I forget how late it is and call the number anyway. A man picks up on the other end, and he doesn’t sound sleepy. I guess it is normal to receive calls this late in their business. I talk about my interest in the challenge and my background. All he asks me is if I am serious and if I’m willing to travel to New York for work. I say Yes, and Yes. 

The next day, I am booked on an afternoon flight. A man standing next to a very expensive car at the JFK exit tells me that it was him who spoke to me over the phone. I wonder how he knows me… I’ve certainly never seen him before. He doesn’t remove his sunglasses the entire ride and talks very little. I grow very nervous and refrain from asking all the questions I have been burning to ask – Who is the client? Why five months? And more importantly, when do I get the money? 

When we reach a hotel in Manhattan, he tells me that he will have half the money transferred to my account as an advance, and the other half transferred after I get the job done. I nearly shriek in excitement. He stops me just as I am about to go up to my room and warns me that I am not allowed to divulge any details of my client to anyone. I nod readily and prepare diet and exercise charts for the said client. I decided it would be best to go slow at first, starting with low-intensity workouts. As long as he follows the diet, the pounds will begin to shed themselves, I’m sure of it. 

That evening, the man, still in sunglasses, takes me to a different building. We rise to the highest floor, and he opens the door to a penthouse. I have never been inside a penthouse before. 

As I enter the apartment, I see my client – he is very hard to miss – seated on the couch facing the 70-inch TV. “Freddie?” The man calls, but Freddie doesn’t turn. 

Suddenly I am feeling less confident. The man nods at me. Guessing that is my cue, I walk over to Freddie and say, “Hi Freddie. I’m Emma, I’m your new fitness coach.”

The door slams. The man’s gone, but Freddie doesn’t look at me, which makes me wonder how I should proceed from here. I introduce myself to a Freddie whose eyes are still glued to the TV and assure him that losing weight is not that hard. Although he does not look like he needs it. I feel encouraged when he graces my diet charts with a glance, and proceed to put them up on his refrigerator. I tell him to take another peek at the plan before our meeting tomorrow at 8 a.m. 

“I’ll bring you breakfast,” I say and leave the apartment. My phone pings. Your account has been credited with $500,000. I suppress a yelp and rush back to my hotel room to call my mom. 

“Glory be to God. He is finally answering my prayers. I must say, I never thought you had it in you, but your sisters need any help they can get.”

My heart sinks a little. I wish my mother would learn to phrase her compliments better. One would think she would have a little more gratitude toward her daughter, who has been the sole provider of this family for three years. But I let it go. Just as I always do. 

She asks me to send her a hundred thousand dollars right away. When I ask her what she wanted it for, she says, “Now that you’re rich, you think you own us all? Don’t you dare forget that I am your mother! The one who birthed you! The one who made you who you are!”

“Okay, okay,” I say, wanting her to stop, and send the money. Sometimes, I don’t know why I even bother with my mother. If she says something, it was always better to just do it, rather than to ask questions. But I forget that every single time.  

The next morning, I wake up early, buy some healthy groceries, and cook scrambled eggs. I knock on Freddie’s door exactly at 8 a.m. No response. I knock again, then again, and then again. The door doesn’t budge. I call the man with the sunglasses earlier, and he tells me to keep at it. 

Two hours later, the door opens. I swallow my anger. I cannot lose this client, I remind myself. “I’ve made scrambled…,” I start to say when I see Freddie slide back into his bedroom. I throw my hands up in the air when I notice the refrigerator door empty. Hadn’t I put up the diet charts yesterday? My eyes automatically move to the trash can beside the refrigerator. Three large, emptied bags of chips, multiple candy wrappers, and two crumpled pieces of paper that looked very much like the charts I had prepared. I sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought. 

Freddie wakes again at four in the evening. He ignores me sitting by the kitchen counter and goes back to his favorite spot on the couch. “Why did you throw the charts away?” I ask, too annoyed for ‘Good evenings’ and pleasantries.

“I don’t need them.” This is the first full sentence spoken by him since I met him, and it is an aggravating one.

“You need them if you want to lose weight,” I say.

Freddie snorts. “Who said I want to? I am happy the way I am.”

I’m confused. “What about the ad?”

His laugh thunders across the room. “They used an ad this time? Man, they’d do anything.”

Nothing about his statement sounded reassuring. I quickly text the man I spoke to earlier and tell him about the situation. The reply comes: It’s too late to back out now. If you don’t stay for the duration of your contract, you can forget your sisters ever going to college. 

A shiver travels down my spine. That sounded like a threat. But how did they know about my family? I feel so stupid for blindly believing the late-night infomercial now.

I decide to be honest with Freddie. I tell him about the money I was promised and how desperately I needed that to support my family. But he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care. 

The week drags by without Freddie eating so much as a single piece of fruit. How on earth could someone be so obstinate? Infuriated, I ask him one day, “Why don’t you want to lose weight?”

“I’m happy the way I am,” is the response I get. 

At the end of the month, I get a shock. I have gained four pounds. I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised, owing to all the stress eating I was doing, which took me back to my school days as a ‘healthy’ child. But fitness was the only thing I had left in my life, and Freddie was taking that away from me, along with everything else. 

The deadline starts to become very real in the third month. I beg the man in the sunglasses for more time, but he responds with more threats. I become anxious thinking about what will happen when they see I have far from achieved my target. What will I do next? With no money? It pains me to think about what my mother will think of me. Without a job, I wouldn’t even be able to pay the advance back, most of which I’m sure my mother has already spent. 

I don’t talk as much in the fourth month, and I think he notices. One day he asked me if I wanted to watch TV with him. I say okay. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do anyway. My weight rises further, but it matters less to me now. At night, we discuss the shows and movies we have seen. I specifically love talking about alternate endings in a few of them. I realize he is quite easy to talk to. And that he is smarter than I had expected him to be.  

When the fifth month arrives, I get a lot of calls from the man who hates me (or Freddie), and I ignore most of them. After all, there is nothing to say. My sisters won’t be going to college, and my family would probably have to live on the streets for a few months, but I have to make my peace with that. 

One day, a loud knock distracts us from the TV. I am surprised because Freddie never receives any visitors. I open the door and find a large, bald man sharply dressed in a coat and tie, looking very angry.

“Freddie!” he yells and pushes past me. Freddie turns around. He looks very calm, as though the new visitor wasn’t new at all.

“Yes, dad?”

“How dare you?” the father bellows. “After all the money I have spent on you! How could you do this?”

“I told you. I am not doing it.”

His father appeared to want to strike him, but fisted his hand, and left the way he entered. 

I give Freddie a puzzled look, wondering if this is something I should ask.

Freddie smiles. “My dad is in the illegal export business. He sells guns to terrorists. He wanted me to lose weight so I could join him in the field. He didn’t listen when I said no. So, I decided not to drop the weight.”

My jaw drops open.

“My weight is my armor. What's yours?"

August 19, 2022 19:48

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