Treading Lightly. Elise Lanier

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СКАЧАТЬ the hell do you think you are, Martin? I know you like to think of yourself as the male version of Mother Teresa. But you know what, bud? You’re just a passive-aggressive bastard who uses this new age mumbo jumbo to try to sound as if he’s got things under control. But let’s not forget, little man, I’ve lived with you and know you’re just a sniveling little wuss who wishes he were otherwise! You are not taking my son river rafting, and it is because I don’t trust you to care for him properly. So go have your midlife crisis without involving Craig. And for the record, I’m not stopping you from seeing him. Go right ahead, see him till your eyes bug out, but you are not, Martin, NOT taking him rafting.”

      She was reliving the conversation as the man beside her kept making his disgusting sounds. In a way, Martin was right. She did have trust issues. So what? She felt she’d always had them. But to her, it was understandable. Look at her parents, her life, her past. She lived with her past. Always. Maybe it was baggage, but as far as she knew, everyone had their share of baggage. If you were human, and you had lived a few years, you had baggage.

      She looked at the panting man beside her. He probably had baggage, too. Sweat was dripping into his eyes, his face was red with exertion, and there were lines of agony on his face. He smiled at her. Or grimaced. She couldn’t tell which, but she thought he might have meant it to be a smile.

      She only had the gym pass for a week, while her treadmill was being repaired, and once the damned machine was fixed, she’d be back home in her safe environment where no one could reach her or hurt her. Listen to me! I do have trust issues. Oh hell.

      She looked at the man again and saw that he looked harmless. At least he looked harmless to her now. The poor guy was so exhausted he couldn’t swat a flea at this moment. So what could it hurt? He was a complete stranger. Why not tell him? In a week’s time, she’d never see him again.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, hoping he’d realize she was apologizing for her rudeness but was a bit breathless at the moment, so she needed to keep things pretty concise. She took a deep inhalation to compensate for the breath she’d used to apologize.

      Normally, at home, she’d be in her panties and sports bra, watching her taped programs of Family Feud. It was much harder doing this while fully dressed with no distraction of Richard Karn and the two five-person families from around the country saying completely stupid things. At home, she didn’t have to have a conversation, she just had to occasionally shout at the contestants when she felt like it. Like the other day, she was yelling “No cheese!” repeatedly before muttering to herself that the contestant was a moron. The question had been, “Why wouldn’t a mouse want to live in your house?”

      Who the hell, in their right mind, answers “Because it’s a brick house and there are no holes to get in.” What was that lady implying? A wooden house has holes in it for mice to get in? Where was the logic? Janine could possibly understand “I own a cat,” or something else that made some sense as to why a mouse wouldn’t want to live in your house, but “It’s a brick house and there are no holes to get in?” What the hell kind of stupid answer was that? Did the woman live with the three little pigs?

      Or how about the guy on the show a few days ago, whose question was “Why would an airplane not take off on time?” She screamed, “the weather, the weather, THE WEATHER” to him. But did he listen? No. He said, “Because it was delayed.” That wasn’t an answer. It was the question! Repeated! She’d been totally disgusted, concluding that that’s the problem with the world today…nobody listens.

      She looked over to the sweating, panting man and wondered if he really cared to hear what she had to say, or if he was like everyone else in this world today and didn’t listen. He was still looking at her and was still smiling. Or grimacing. She still couldn’t tell which.

      Oh well, what the hell. It wasn’t like she could hear the TV or anything, and she had to do her walking, even if it was in public, or Harvey would call Martin or her mother. Plus, she had to pass the time somehow. “I’ve had a bad couple of weeks,” she blurted out.

      At first she didn’t know if he had heard her, because he didn’t answer, but when she stole a sideways glance at him, he smile-grimaced again.

      “What happened?” he said between huffs. Apparently he too had trouble breathing while doing this torturous contraption. The only difference was that he was running while she was walking.

      Looking at him, measuring whether she should she tell him or not, she let the question war within her head for a while. Should she tell him? Shouldn’t she? On the one hand, why should she? On the other hand, she’d only be there one week, tops, so what difference did it make? Once her treadmill was fixed, she’d be back home again. Alone. At least that’s what Ben Franklin had promised. She’d thought a week to fix the thing seemed an exorbitantly long amount of time, but he’d said something about getting a special part, which might take a while, so what could she do? That’s when she’d called the manager at the closest gym and arranged to do her walking there for a week.

      The manger had tried to sell her a full membership, but when she remained adamant that she only wanted to use the treadmill, and that was all she wanted to do at the gym, he gave her a quote for a price that she felt was reasonable, and asked him to put it in writing, saying she’d be there early the next morning to sign it and pay him in advance for the week’s treadmill use.

      The manager had laughed when she arrived that morning. “I thought you said you’d be in here early,” he’d said with a teasing gleam in his eye. He was a young man, built like a brick house (no mice getting in there!) with arms like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s.

      “This is early!” she’d said as she yawned for emphasis.

      “We’re open at four in the morning for the early birds,” he’d said before laughing at her horrified expression. “But this is a better time. It’s much less crowded now. Most people are off to work by now, so it’ll be easier for you to get a treadmill.”

      He was right. It was easy. Besides Grunting Red-faced Man, she was the only one interested in the treadmills.

      “So, what’s happened these last two weeks,” the heaving, crimson-cheeked man puffed out, drawing her attention back to the present.

      She looked at him again, noting his flaccid cheeks bouncing with each step, his thinning wet hair plastered against his scalp, and the sweat pouring from him like Niagara Falls. Oh, what the hell! What could it hurt? “My son’s getting attitude,” she blurted then inhaled. “My agent is ignoring me—” another breath “—my treadmill broke—” another gasp “—I’ve got osteoporosis—” a gulp “my stalker may be back,” another wheeze for breath, “—the IRS thinks I’m cheating them—” some panting “—my mother thinks I’m raising my son wrong—” a small hiss of air “—oh yeah, and I have a bastard of an ex-husband who is trying to make my life a living hell.”

      “Wow,” he said, slowing his machine to a walk. “I’d call that a bad couple of weeks! Want to talk about it?” His breath was becoming lass ragged now that he was walking instead of running.

      “No. That’s okay.” She breathed. She was still hoofing it at an alarming pace (for her). That was quite typical of her. No warm-up, no cooldown, just jump right in at the maximum speed until she got it done and hit her goal, then stop. It was the way she had done everything her whole life.

      She’d like to say that she admired people who warmed up and cooled down as he was doing, but honestly? She didn’t have the time for that. For her, life had always been “get in, do it as fast as you can, and get out.” It’s how she shopped, worked, played, ate and even СКАЧАТЬ