For A and A,
Lately I've been wanting to write a more serious post about the tragic, shattering, difficult things that happen every day, things that we endure because we have to, things that offer questions that can never be answered, but when I sit down to write, the only thing I have in my head is this naked fat lady I see almost every day in the gym locker room. That's how my mind works. Every day I see this lady, and not only is she completely nude and fully, flappingly fat, she hangs out like this. She loves being nude. Loves it so much. She loves sitting (let me point out once more) utterly bare ass naked on the bench that is in full view when the door swings open. Oh!... Legs apart, shoulders rounded, head down, flaps hanging; just like a worn out football player after a hard game.
Let me back up a minute: I love going to the gym. I can't explain it; I'm not a jock, I don't really care about sports, but I love going to the gym by myself and exercising until I'm sweaty and in pain. It's something I have to do. When I first walk in and say hello to the guy at the desk and swipe my card that gives the green light, I actually get light headed. Dizzy! Maybe it's the smell, the chlorine from the pool, the cleaning liquids, the freshly showered people who pass by on their way out and cause a wind of old spice and lotion. I feel like Pepe Le Peu. I walk past the weight room, past the old Grans in the senior yoga class, past the belly dancing, and the teen lounge and I push open the door to the lock...er-room.
Hello. (I can tell right away by the way she says hello that she is Russian)
What's.. happening (?)
What's happening yourself.
You have problem with this?
No. Not at all-
You have problem.
No I really--
You do. (she shrugs)
Well it's not a problem really. I just don't--
What my darling
-know how to deal with it. It startles me a little.
She chuckles at first just a little and then it boils into a full bodied Russian laugh that ends with a cough. But I am at gymnasium. I am exercising. I am showering. I am supposed to be naked here. This is where you get naked.
You're right. It doesn't make sense, but you're so-- I mean there's so much to---
This is not about me my sweetie. (she stands up, each boob is as big as a bowling ball)
In life it is never about the thing you think it is. In life it is never about what you are looking at, what you think you are questioning. Never.
Oh well, I--
It is about how you handle it.
(She reaches her arms out to me and pulls me to her huge, pillowy, damp chest) It is about you.