Shy

CHAPTER 1

Journal entry 1:

I don’t know his name. I’ve never heard it spoken out loud, unless I did hear and didn’t associate it with his face – his mannerisms. But, I call him Shy.

I’ve only heard him talk once and his tone was high pitched, almost whining. I don’t know if it was a mere exclamation of achievement over his racquetball defenders after a heated match or his actual voice. Then again, that was only once. He mutters with his brothers, I call them -- a group of oversize over-nourished giant Samoan-like fellows. They are so big that their arms have no way of ever touching their sides.

For a while there, I didn’t even think he spoke. Mostly smiles, if you saw that much. His head is always tilted downward as if the sun is beaming down on him and it’s too bright to look up. He struts with his muscular arms carved inward, hairy legs slightly bowed almost pigeon-toed. Tattooed three times, eagle in flight left leg, band on arm and one other, I forgot what and where. Marine-cut hair, small patch shaved bare on the sides. Red? Red hair – surprised me too. But, it is a deep, dark red color.

That one day, I heard his voice was a shock, ‘cause I guess I expected something deeper almost bellowing. Though, it was after all his win, throwing his arms triumphantly in the air with the racquet in his hand. Winner!

He grinned, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek. A wholesome smile, his whole face lit up like a child learning to ride a bike for the first time without falling. I smiled, too. But, I wasn’t so sure if he saw me.

Suddenly, my attention was redirected…

The room spun around her. An unexpected jolt of the treadmill sent Griffin Jones to the downside of her workout to bonking. True athletes call that feeling – lightheadness, wobbly legs and now the room spin – the end of an invigorating workout; the body’s thirst for recovery food.

Not out-of-shape fitness wanna bes like Griffin. Bonking occured when she pushed herself beyond her personal fitness level. Like a giraffe trying to climb a tree, everyone knows those are for monkeys.

She deviated for a moment….

Had she held her breath for some unknown reason, and suddenly decided it was a good time to breathe once the moving sidewalk stopped? Or had reading the book drawn her attention from paying attention to the surroundings or the decrease in speed?

Whatever it was, she was on a downhill: gasping for water, a protein bar or juices, something to kick start her into finishing the routine. She held the heart rate bar with one hand and a water bottle in the other hand. She squeezed a concoction of her own, Powerade and green tea, into her mouth; half of it sloshed down her cheeks. Enough landed in her mouth to regain consciousness.

Her alibi, reading a book with its covers folded in to one another, handheld or placed on the treadmill’s bookstand because of a hovering breeze from the large oscillating fan ruffling the pages made it difficult to read, so she opted for walking with it, a balancing act with utmost concentration. She could no longer freely swing her arms to keep her rhythmic walk. Often she walked faster as the plot thickened or her anticipation to complete a chapter before the time ended on the treadmill.

The book served several purposes.

One, she caught up on last minute reading. Purchased sometime last year, the book was overdue for being completed. The book’s plot hadn’t failed to generate an interest, just lately Griffin’s interests changed. Somehow, the book became less important. Two, reading kept her from searching the room for familiar faces to spark a conversation.

More talk for her, meant less time for workout. Her figure often suffered the consequences. She exercised less and gained more weight. Though, she knew the latest in Livingston County than what showed on the evening news.

Thirdly, the newsprint pages kept her from looking for him. She could easily lowered the bound pages long enough to study the flow of the traffic and then shield her face if needed, when she spotted him entering the gym.

She strategically positioned herself near the door, nearest to the counter in the treadmill room. Front row, third treadmill in a room of ten, facing the entrance. This way, she could see him when he entered or passed by.

He didn’t.

At least that was her perception; he might have if she hadn’t been reading that stupid book.

Six months ago, Griffin signed a twelve-month contract to improve her fitness at Gem’s Gym. Twenty pounds less was her initial goal, until she discovered the real benefit of the gym, meeting new people, especially men.

From the rough to a polished stone to the perfect cut were gold matrix letters scrolling across a screen at the entrance of Gem’s Gym, specializing in people looking for the tight fit body with all the right cuts.

The right cuts consisted of definitions in the leg, calf and shin. The look of tendons bursting through the skin found in a medical journal, the natural build of man. Total fit arms. Each curvature molded as clay to fit each body type. Gluts without any hidden fat tissue, no love handles or skin pinch under the breast plate where flabbiness lurked.

There was no such thing, except for those who stuck with the holistic regiment of Paul “PT” Thor, ex-Marine drill sergeant, owner and personal trainer of Gem’s Gym.

“Anything was possible,” he repeated, mentally sizing her up, calculating the best program to fit her apple-shaped body type, 36, 39 and up, 30.

“Jewel two, stage four,” he said, “…we’ll start you out slow and build on your endurance. Start with blue topaz. If you stick to the regiment, you’ll grow to emerald, easily.”

Emerald was three spaces from the top, diamond. To reach that level, Griffin needed to work out at least five to seven times a week for hour-and-thirty-minutes. If not more on each fitness sector: cardio, free-style weights and aerobics. The shock factor, PT called the transition from one level to the next. If Griffin survived, she’d be an emerald in no time.

Emerald? she cared less, blue topaz was fine. Her mother’s birthstone was blue topaz and being at that level was like having her mom close to cheer her on.

Griffin grinned. If she felt up to pushing herself through the ranks from blue topaz to ruby, emerald, pearl and the cream of the crop diamond, perhaps she would pursue the shock factor.

But, blue topaz wasn’t half bad – at least it wasn’t the bottom of the chain, there was still CZ to consider.

Considering….

The closest Griffin came to a gym before signing with the PT’s fitness program was a year ago, when she cheered for Sonja’s beau-of-the-month, during the spring intramural basketball season.

At twenty-six, Griffin’s body make-up wasn’t half bad. Of course, it wasn’t great either. Pounds seem to collect mainly around her torso, butt, and chest. Honestly, fat was everywhere – she could stand to loose a couple of pounds – ten, twenty-pounds – the more the better for her clothes to fit. A size eighteen, felt like a twelve, unless she had on a tummy bodice that cost just as much as the clothes themselves. While everyone at the office wore pencil skirts, she was stuck somewhere between the permanent marker and a highlighter.

When Omar, an old boyfriend mentioned his fondest for keeping fit and the benefits of a long and healthy life, Griffin decided to checkout his philosophy to give the gym a try. Within a week, she was hooked. There was work and then there were workouts. She favored the later of the two.

With a good diet, mostly raw fruit, vegetables, leaner meats, and lots of water – a size sixteen fit like it should with some play in a well-made size fourteen. She couldn’t help but feel good about herself. Finally, she was getting back to her natural weight, style, and posture. What a world of difference losing four pounds made?

Griffin gained her composure and logged in her treadmill time ­­– 15 minutes: 1.2 miles, 4.0 speed, 2.0 incline, 109 calories.

Not bad, she whispered, wiping down the treadmill with her towel.

Like all the other days, unknown to Griffin, he’d seen her. He caught a glimpse of her when he entered the square brownstone building. A quick glance long enough to take in everything about her: blue shorts, white T-shirt with lime writing outlined in blue, blue socks and shoes. A light blue scarf tied back on her head.

He signed in, caught her pretending not to look for him. Then her head was down reading “Under the Stars,” as he moved closer to the treadmill room. She’d been reading that book going on a month now; he’d noticed the dark cover with metallic stars sprinkled on top. The first time he spotted her in the gym.

The treadmill room was in direct line of his path where he would eventually end up upon entering the building.

Sign-in, flash the club card, and pick up a towel – in that order, nothing different from the day before. His daily routine, just as it was a habit for him to look in the treadmill room, after grabbing a towel as he did, always until she came into full view.

She often saw his feet, first, from the edge of the book, white tennis with black stripes; the leather and vinyl shoe with the short shoelaces when she didn’t dare to look at his face. Often, than she cared to admit, she saw him sign in and scan the room. But, she would bury her head in the book, to keep from gawking, when she was actually stuck on one word, “now” the opening word for the first chapter’s paragraph. Her mind jetted to him and then the book. If only she could formally introduce herself, if the opportunity afforded itself to do so. But, so often when she made up her mind to say something, he was usually was no longer insight.

She only wished, when she could no longer see him that they would telepathically meet in her dreams that night.

Fat chance.

That night, she dreamt of traveling to Chicago for no apparent reason to visit a man, she did not know with his father; of driving backwards in a car down a busy highway and four dogs on one leash.

What did these dreams mean to her? Better yet, what had she eaten the night before? Griffin awoke in the middle of the night with a puzzled look on her face; she squinted at the clock, “was it really 5 a.m.?”

The clock read 1 a.m. with four more hours to go. She fell back, deep into the mesh of blankets with a pillow over her head. The next four hours would be grueling. The first two spent lying awake, watching the spiraling geometric shapes formed when her eyes closed, imposed insomnia. The third hour spent making a mental list of tasks for the incoming day. Her eyelids weighted by the approaching hours, sleep came in the final hour.

At 5 a.m., the buzzer sounded followed by the television set to deliver the news, “This morning in the news an in depth report: the stem cell debate.”

“Ugh!!!” Griffin screamed throwing her feet over the edge of the bed, her wrists behind her back and bent forward. She struggled to stand. Her body felt weightless. She wobbled to the dresser, keeled over and withdrew panties, bra and socks. Her choice of socks meant a pants day. There was no way to justify wearing a dress to wake up enough or gain sanity to tackle a day of photo shoots.

Skirts, blazer, and pumps sometimes helped when she needed a change in attitude for an upcoming project to pump her up. All black attire meant professionalism, a business attitude. Most project meetings with clients, she wore either a black pantsuit or blazer with skirt, and pumps.

On hump day, when everything supposedly went downhill, especially at the end of the month, socks were appropriate. If her memory served her correctly, there was a photo shoot outdoors today with one of the growers, roses from A to Z, an unlimited variety of variegated and single-colored species.

Another long tedious day, she wasn’t impressed.

Water blasted from the shower, saturating the plush washcloth in her hand. She squeezed out the excess water and wiped her face in a circular motion, breathing in the lemon scented bath gel. The citrus aromas and warm water were refreshing. She inhaled three times, each time deeper than the time before.

She imagined Shy standing in the shower with her after a long night of … steamy, hot, wet s….the second alarm sounded. Griffin jumped, turned off the shower, and dressed quickly. On most days, second alarms sounded way after she was already out the door.