Weightier Concerns.

Weightier Concerns.

There was a swooshing that she could feel more than hear. She had just escaped her new-off-the-lot Ford focus when she returned home from work. She looked left, right, and finally down to her feet where her black satin half-slip underneath her favorite skirt had slid to her ankles. One more step and it probably would’ve wrapped around her ankles, caught on her high heels, and laid her flat on her face. She immediately looked around to see if there were any spectators on the premises to see it. She sighed in relief - there was no-one in sight. Luckily at the apartment complex, Tuesday was the quietest day as far as foot traffic. She took one step out of the fallen slip, brought it up to her hand with the remaining ankle and stuffed it unceremoniously into her work bag. She blushed regardless of an obvious audience and made a break for her apartment on the second floor of Building E.

She entered her apartment with a sigh of relief that she was no longer winded at the top of the stairs and that the shedding of her undergarments had not happened in front of the entire office. She dropped the satin slip into the ever-growing box labeled Salvation Army.

She would like to bury the embarrassment in a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, but she grabbed a honey crisp apple instead and headed into the bedroom to get out of her dress clothes. Her closet was now separated into three sections: too big but wonderfully comfortable, the three clearance outfits that fit haphazardly around her ill-fitting bra and underwear and the south side of the closet was all the dream clothing that was still too snug around the bumpy places. One day. One day she would fit entirely into the final category.

She jotted the apple in her journal, picked up her favorite book off of the end table and took it out into the glorious sunshine where she hoped to finish a chapter before dropping the book off the edge of her deck chair when she fell into a stunning pre-work out nap.

She heard her text chime go off in her earbuds because it hiccupped the song she was listening to. She wasn’t even going to look until she finished her fifth mile on the dreadmill (her name for the dreaded treadmill). She had eleven minutes to go. She took a drag on her water bottle and imagined the end. It was then that She walked up… Work Out Barbie got on the dreadmill just in front of her. WOB’s ombre ponytail curled effortlessly down the small of her muscled back to the top of her Elisabetta Rogiani High Waist Jogger Shorts with Pockets. Her Silvia One Strap sports bra barely held in her enhanced cleavage as she started up the treadmill to Mach speed – it was creating a breeze. All the men who were feet from her had ceased lifting, squeezing, and posing and were now watching open mouthed as she popped onto the speeding belt with precision. She ran for 4.5 minutes and popped onto the side boards with barely a bead of sweat on her face as the running deck still pulsed beneath her. She was not even winded by the effort. By the time WOB completed three rounds of breaking the sound barrier, it felt like the entire gym was watching as she grabbed her mixer water bottle, dumped in two scoops of protein powder, and danced off shaking the bottle like a maraca.

The short drama in front of her at least got her through the last eleven minutes of her sixty-one-minute workout covering nearly the same mileage WOB had done in a quarter of the time. Sigh. She wiped the massive amounts of sweat off her forehead, finished her last drag on her water bottle and headed to the dressing room for her bag. The men in the workout room were back to their regularly scheduled activities now the WOB had stopped to talk to a man who could only be described as the better-looking Hemsworth.

She checked her phone as she got back in her Focus for home. It was Needy Friend. Although that is not what her tag read in her phone. The devastatingly stunning one who ate carbs for breakfast.

8:05p: Where are you? I HAVE to tell you what has happened! I heard from What’s His Name today. Not the really good looking one but his friend. He totally wants to go out on Friday. Not dinner, just drinks. What do you think? Should I go? Did you think he was easy to talk to? You talked to him more than I did that night. Do you think his friend gave him my number? Does that mean the good looking one won’t call me?

8:07p: Are you at the gym again? I saw your IG post that you’re down another size. You look amazing. Bitch. What if I need ice cream – are you abandoning me?

8:08p: What do you think? Where are you? How long should I wait to respond to him? Tell me something funny to say…you’re so much better at that than I am. 😉

8:13p: I couldn’t wait. I totally told him I would meet him at Joes. Did I do the right thing? Where are you?!

She looked at her dash clock. 8:27p. She tossed her phone to the passenger seat and started the engine. She left the parking structure for home. She couldn’t do it. She pulled over to the side of the road, turned on her hazard lights and started typing:

Yes. At the gym. Boo. I can’t believe you heard from his friend! Clearly Good Lookin doesn’t know what he is missing. Go out with his friend and make him jealous. He was easy to talk to. He’s into comic books so be sure to ask him about Marvel vs DC. Tell him you’re into Dark Horse. I promise you he will take the convo from there.

I won’t abandon you for ice cream, I swear.

When is this date? Can’t wait to hear all about it!

She pulled back out into traffic and headed for home. She wanted to jump in the shower. She didn’t like to do it at the gym. She wasn’t going to stop on her way home but somehow she ended up there. She was going against her own cardinal rule about being one of those girls who goes everywhere in workout clothes. There wouldn’t be many people where she was going.

She pulled up to the headstone. The sun was nearly set and the chill of the night was coming on. She knelt by the stone and brushed the cut grass off the lip of the marble edge. She reached out her arm and rested her hand on the stone face. The two numbers listed below her name were only forty-seven years apart. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for either of them. So, she would fight. She would try her best not to go the same way. She didn’t know that her Mom wouldn’t even make it to the hospital or she would’ve talked about something real. Said the best last words. The doctor said this probably wasn’t her first heart attack. The damage was already done. Of course, Mom didn’t tell anyone. That wasn’t her style. She was glad that Mom went fast. On to the next damn thing on her obnoxiously long to-do list. Myocardial infarction – check. Afterlife – check. Haunt my daughter – check.

I hate that you are here Mom. I wish I could talk to you about things.

I’m keeping my promise. Every day. For you.

Save a place for me k?

She starts to laugh out loud.

Did I tell you that my slip came off right in the middle of the sidewalk?! Oh, haha that’s right, you probably saw that didn’t you?