The Moral of the Story - A Short Story by Blu J. Meadow

The Moral of the Story

A Short Story by Blu J. Meadow

"You're limping a bit more today, Maggie. Knee bothering you again?"

"Not feelin' on top of the world for sure." I nod and stretch a smile as he hands me the key to my regular locker. "My arthritic knee tells me a change is coming in the weather, and a not-so-pleasant change at that," I add just before I shuffle off.

Despite my aching knee, I lug all one-hundred sixty pounds of myself across the room and stash my gear in the corner storage unit. After coming to the gym for as long as I have, I should be fit as a fiddle, but not so. Well past sixty, I'm in better health than most at my age, but I still can't shake the extra weight I put on after my third child. It's a constant struggle, a reminder of my physical limitations.

Turning toward my usual treadmill, I glance up, spot her, and freeze mid-step. Jogging with a grace that seemed to mock my own struggles, she was impossible to miss with her blonde hair bound in a ponytail dancing in the breeze created by the large fan blowing nearby. Even the tiniest bead of sweat was far too intimidated by her majestic appearance to pop out on her forehead.

Who would have thought I would run into Nikki in my hometown, hundreds of miles from where she lives? Considering all the other places in town, fate seems to have designated my gym as the honored spot! And, of course, it had to be today when I looked as bad as I felt.

With so many years having passed, nothing could have prepared me for this—the one person I thought I'd never see again, the one person I never wanted to see again.

Yet there she stood. Standing five-four, fit and trim, Nikki looked almost the same as in high school.

Not wanting to make eye contact, much less engage in conversation, I maneuver around the weight machines toward the back of the room. I try to ignore her, to pretend she isn't here. I glue my eyes to the floor and concentrate on each step, careful not to glance in her direction. But no matter how far the distance between us or how much exercise equipment blocked my view of her, my eyes bounced in her direction as she plodded along on the treadmill. The discomfort of the situation becomes almost unbearable.      

Although it's been over twenty years since Nikki moved away, the memory of our last meeting pops into my mind, as does the memory of the man I once loved --- the man Nikki married just months after he stopped seeing me.

No longer able to concentrate on my exercise routine, my thoughts waver between our last spoken words and the image of her standing before me in prime form, quite unlike me at this stage of my life. Once again, as it's always been when I'm in her presence, I'm feeling self-conscious and painfully unattractive, stripped of any hint of self-esteem.

Through no fault of her own, Nikki was always center stage. She was the popular, well-liked, attractive girl everyone wanted to be around. I was just the opposite, the ugly duckling, the one left out, sitting unnoticed on the sidelines, slowly dissolving into the background, watching and yearning for what I didn't have … for what I couldn't have.

As I grew older, since love didn't come to me, I made the mistake of searching for it. And I searched hard. Unfortunately, my low self-esteem led me to be less picky than I should have been. I went out with all kinds of men, none who loved me as I longed to be loved. And, if I'm being honest, in my desperation to find love, I didn't realize that none of the men I dated gave a rat's ass about me.

Timothy was no different, but my love for him and a strong hunger to be loved kept me holding on to hope. Oh, I knew he had been married before, in fact, several times, but that didn't discourage me. I never gave up hope he might love me more than any of the others, that I might be the "special" one.

Stupid me!

I only realized how unimportant I was to Timothy when I ran into Nikki a few months after he dropped out of my life. She wasted no time letting me know she was involved with Timothy. Although we spoke for only about twenty minutes that day, it became clear I had, at some point, been the topic of their conversation.

It became clear Timothy had divulged private things about our relationship, personal things about me. With every word Nikki spoke, my heart twisted tighter in my chest as the stake she plunged in sank deeper and deeper. Not only was I hurt and embarrassed having been the subject of their discussion, like an article in the morning paper, but I also felt so betrayed and, in a way, violated. It took all my strength to hold back the tears as I struggled to find an excuse to leave as quickly as possible.

Over the years, my pain turned into resentment, resentment that Timothy married Nikki, that Nikki, not me, was the special one, that she was the one he loved.

After many years, I finally convinced myself Timothy didn't love any of his wives. I believed the only one he cared about was himself and that I was foolish to think otherwise, judging by how he had danced from woman to woman over the years I knew him. Yet even though that was long ago, sometimes I wonder if he might have been the only man I ever truly loved, regardless of his lack of concern for me.

"Maggie?" a voice calls from across the room.

"Yes?" I keep my tone casual, not letting on that I know Nikki is here. Out of politeness, I lift my head, tipping it toward her. Having no choice but to acknowledge that I recognize her (after all, she hasn't changed one bit in all these years), I put a smile on my face and feign some level of enthusiasm.

Weaving between the machines, a small towel around her neck, Nikki walks across the room. I remain seated on the weight bench, not daring to stand for fear she would get a front-seat view of my weight gain (as if I could hide it) or notice the limp caused by my arthritic knee (as if it mattered anyway).

After an exchange of typical pleasantries and the expected responses, Nikki sits down on the bench next to me and carefully blots invisible sweat from her Botox-smooth, wrinkle-free face. Moments of silence pass while we sit smiling, glancing around the gym.

The more uncomfortable I become, the more I want this to be over … and over fast. A few minutes of idle chit-chat and a quick goodbye are needed for this to end, so if Nikki will not break the deafening silence or leave, I guess it's up to me to give it a push.

"So, are you here visiting your family?" (Please say yes). "Will you be here long?" (Please, say no).

Nikki stumbles over her answer. "No, not visiting, not really. My dad passed away a few weeks ago, and Timothy and I are just helping get things settled. I'm not sure exactly when or if I'll return to Jacksonville. It's kind of complicated."

So, there it is --- the elephant is now released! Just the opening needed for her to brag about her and Timothy's long and happy life together. And the opportunity for me to once again feel the pain of our last conversation. I can feel the knife already twisting in my chest.

Oh, I feel bad about her dad, but I have no interest in any other part of her life—the perfect little life with the man I once thought I loved. The life I believed should have been mine. I've never been a jealous person, but I can feel steam rising inside me. I can sense the little green monster trying to forge his path to the surface.

Nikki wipes her nose, and I notice tears pooling in her eyes, so I reach over and softly touch her arm.

"I'm so sorry about your dad, Nikki. I know it must be hard."

She nods. "Yes, it's hard, but there's a lot more than that." She pauses and wipes her tears away. "You were lucky, Maggie. You didn't get stuck with Timothy the way I did."

"What? What do you mean?" My face twists with curiosity. What could be behind such a statement?

Nikki's eyes widen, and she leans toward me. "You have no idea what it's like living with Timothy. He's cheated on every wife he's ever had, including me. Timothy told me about you before we were married. He's told me lots of stuff about his past. You and I were friends long before meeting him. I never wanted to hear about anything personal between the two of you. But Timothy is one who, well … he just never stops. One woman has never been enough for him. I thought he loved me when we first got married and even for several years after that. But now, I don't know."

Her chin falls toward her chest, and she holds the towel over her face. Her shoulders tremble with each sob. Not sure what to say, I sit, staring at a small chip on the bench, my hands folded in my lap. In a few minutes, Nikki regains her composure. Staring into my eyes and still clinging to the towel, she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry," she stammers. "This isn't your problem. The last time we talked, I thought I was the lucky one, but now … I know you were the lucky one. You ended up without Timothy in your life. You're so much better off than you could ever imagine. When I spotted you here, I just had to tell you. I'm so sorry for before."

After several more minutes of conversation, we both share our excuses to leave. I watch as Nikki gets in her car to return to her childhood home, where Timothy is waiting for her. She told me she had decided not to return to Jacksonville with him. After thirty-five years, she has finally found the courage to part ways with the man who has made her life miserable. It's strange … I always thought Nikki was stronger, that she was more daring, braver than me, but I guess I was wrong.

For me, today's encounter with Nikki has been an eye-opener. I now know, without a doubt, I was right after all. Timothy had always loved only himself. And I'd be willing to bet he talked about Nikki to others the same way he talked about me to her all those years ago. The funny thing is, even though I thought I'd missed out by not being the one chosen all those years ago, I really didn't.

I can see now that, over the years, I matured. Timothy never did.

I know the difference between actual love and infatuation. Timothy never learned it.

And I wouldn't trade my life with Victor for the past thirty-two years, the love we've shared over all that time, or the family we've raised for a million years with anyone else.

And, sadly, Timothy … well, he'll never have a clue what he's missed.