This choice: 32, beautiful, with a top level fitness body • Go Back...Chapter #5Inner Strength. by: getbig   Through the viewfinder, his mom looked… different. But his hands moved too fast, outstretching the confused impulse to take a closer look. The shutter clicked, and Dennis lowered the camera. And reality no longer matched his memory. The kitchen was the same: Scarred wooden counter top, stainless steel stove, and light-blue cabinetry that’s been out of vogue since the early 70’s. But the shelves had new treasures in store. Gone were the family staple foods of old. No more pasta, flour, and frosted cereals lining the shelves. A tall, glass jar of quinoa set atop the pantry. Half a dozen Herculean jugs of supplements fought for space on top of the fridge. A liter of green-brown liquid sat bubbling softly in their high-power blender.
But the odd trappings of a fitness-obsessed cook were no match for the changes his mother had in store.
She lifted the coffee to her lips for another sip, and set the mug down next to a tall glass filed with protein shake. Her height was the same, but the rest was almost unrecognizable. The sweatshirt and jeans were nowhere to be found, replaced by a light-gray sports bra and matching leggings. He’d caught a glimpse of the ensemble in the camera lens, but had no time to reckon with the view before taking the picture.
His mother was carved from marble now, the Grecian ideal. Lean, fit, and strong, rounded biceps flex as she drums her finger against the counter top. The motion sends ripples up her forearm in a delightful dance. She sighs, and obliques jump into relief, bracketing a six-pack of defined abs. Strong quads fill the leggings, definition visible despite the heavy-duty fabric, and the diamond-shaped undersides of power calves peak out beneath the hem. The body of an Olympic sprinter, tightly wound and packed with explosive strength. Her face, too has softened, the years and miles melted away through some mysterious trick of the lens. Ten years, gone in an instant.
Dennis’s mouth runs dry, dumbfounded at the sight.
A hand flicked back towards the blender. “There’s more, if you want some. I know you must be tired after our workout this afternoon.”
The words jolt Dennis out of his open-mouth stare, to glance downward at his own body. The camera still dangles, loose around his neck. But he too has seen a fair share of changes. A strong bicep jumps to life as he lifts a hand in wonder. Defined, full pecs tent his t-shirt, and Dennis just barely suppresses the urge to lift the hem and check if he too has abdominal of stone. There will be time enough later, for now he can only fight to stay calm.
“I’m not pushing you too hard, am I?” She asks. “You told me to keep the workouts intense, but I wanted to check. With only nine months in the gym under your belt, it’s understandable if you’d like to ease into things.”
Memories snap into place, of their afternoon workout. Sweat pouring down his brow, as he powers through another set in their home gym. The equipment is familiar, leftover from one of his father’s bouts of vanity, but to see the weights in-use is strange and new. Spotting for his mother, her faced twisted with exertion as she benches a heavily-laden barbell. Thick quads pumping furiously, as he sprints across the lawn.
“No, no, no.” He rushes to reassure her. “You’re doing. I feel strong, which is a first. And it’s fun, working out with you. Don’t worry about it.”
The compliment draws a smile out of her at last. “Thanks, sweetie.”
Outside a car alarm softly chirps as the door locks. His mother sighs heavily, once-again. “He’s here to pick-up Sarah, too. I’ll fetch her. Get the door for me, will you honey?”
He nods, and his mother takes the stairs two at a time up to his sister’s bedroom.
Dennis’s father walks towards their front door, but he’s not alone. A blonde ponytail flounces up the sidewalk behind his father’s broad shoulders. Laura. A bubble of pain lights in his chest, at the sight. A traitorous voice in the back of her head notes how beautiful she is, today. A low-cut crop top and high waisted shorts put the girl’s long, athletic legs on display. What could she see in his father, the man who brings a girlfriend to his ex-wife’s house just for the pageantry?
It was one level of betrayal to file for divorce, another entirely to flaunt his mother’s lithe, youthful replacement in her face. He opens the door without the need for a knock, and gives his father the barest of nods.
“Dad.”
“Dennis.”
They’ve had little to say, since the divorce was announced. Father was always closer with Sarah than Dennis, and the two had strained their relationship to its ragged limit long ago. Once visitation was no longer mandatory, he only made the trek across town to his father’s apartment on scant holiday occasions. It was easy enough to be cordial, but not much more.
“She’ll be down in just a minute.” His mother busies herself searching for Sarah’s hoodie in the hall closet, eyes everywhere but towards the door.
Laura waves, a nervous half-baked thing, over his father’s shoulder. A small comfort, that she too is uncomfortable with the situation.
His sister cascades down the stairs in a whirlwind. At 17, all ungainly legs and bad attitude, he’s anxious for her to outgrow the mean-streak high school’s left her with. One hand grabs the hoodie from her mother’s hand, while the other wraps around her waist in a half-hug.
“Bye Mom.” She glances across the hall at Dennis. “Bye loser.”
And then she’s off, bounded towards the car, backpack bouncing with each step.
“Mary,” Father says.
His mother finally looks towards the door. Looks at the sheaf of papers clutched in his father’s hand.
Dennis takes them. Clutching the divorce papers tight enough to crease.
Mary smiles, thin and uncomfortable, and tosses her head towards the car. “Best if you get after her, Hugh. Sarah does get so impatient these days.”
And for one long moment, his parents just look at each other. Laura’s gaze drops to the sidewalk, the tree, anywhere but the open door.
“Right, then.” Father’s voice has a strained note, almost apologetic, if Dennis thought the man capable of such a thing.
And then he turns back towards his car, and Dennis swings the door softly shut.
“Never gets easier.” His mother mutters.
There must be some way, to set things right. Dennis refuses to sit idly by, as one parent moves on far too swiftly and the other lingers painfully behind. Through the kitchen window, he watches his father walk away. His sister, pile into the car, excited for a full week of relaxed rules and frozen pizza.
And Laura, knocking a lingering heel against his mother’s planter of roses, as she meanders her way back to the car.
Two hands tighten around the camera, as the opportunity comes into focus. There is something he can do to set things right.
Dennis raises to the camera, with his father’s darling paramour centered in-frame. Through the viewfinder, the mental picture leaps into reality, warps to his desires. Focus sharpens, as he refines what he sees to a finely-honed ideal.
The shutter clicks once more.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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