Read Online Things I Want to Say by Cyndi Myers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cyndi Myers
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ordered.”
I lay down on the floor and began doing leg lifts.
“How can you do that on a full stomach?” Alice asked.
“Define full.” I rolled over onto my other side.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to exercise too close to bedtime.” She aimed the remote at the television and switched it on, but kept the sound muted.
I stared up at the image of a serious female news anchor narrating video showing a burning house. “I usually try to exercise earlier in the day, but some days that doesn’t happen.” I rolled onto my back, arms overhead, enjoying the stretch. “Better late than never.”
“I still can’t believe you lost a hundred pounds. That’s amazing.”
“It was the hardest thing I ever did.” I hugged my knees to my chest, stretching my lower back. “In fact, if I’d known just how hard it would be, I might not have ever started.”
“Not even knowing how great the results would be?” She stretched out on her stomach and looked over the edge of the bed at me. “I mean it. You look great.”
“Reasonably good with clothes on. Naked, my boobs are somewhere around my navel and my butt looks like a sharpei.” I began doing sit-ups, counting in my head, trying not to grunt with each lift.
Alice watched me for a while, silent. I was up to seventy-five when she spoke again. “Still, it must have felt fantastic when you met your goal,” she said.
I lay back, panting. When both my breathing and my heart rate had slowed a little, I said, “It did. But it was scary, too.”
“Change is scary.”
I hugged my arms across my chest. “I’d never been a normal size before—not since I was a little girl. I not only had to find a whole new wardrobe, I had to learn a different way of relating to people.”
“You mean people treated you differently once you were thinner?”
“I mean I acted different with them. I never realized before I lost the weight how much I used my fat as a shield. Now when people look at me, I feel as if they are seeing the real me—the one I’d been hiding. It was terrifying.”
Alice rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Neither of us said anything for a long while. The picture on the television switched to an ad for trucks. Brawny men in jeans and tight T-shirts raced big black trucks through mud puddles and over rocks.
“I really admire you,” Alice said, her voice thick. “Maybe having you along on this trip, some of your courage will rub off on me.”
“You don’t need my courage.” I sat up and looked at her. “You were never afraid of anything when we were girls.”
“I’m afraid now.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Do you believe in karma?”
A chill washed over me and I rubbed my arms. “Like things we did in some other life coming back to haunt us?”
“I’m talking about things we did in this life coming back to haunt us.” She sat up and pulled the bedspread around her, the quilted chintz billowing around her like a tacky hoop skirt.
I climbed up on the bed beside her. “I think,” I said slowly,“sometimes things just happen and there’s nothing we can do about them. Everybody makes mistakes. It’s part of being human.”
“But we can choose. And when we make the wrong choices, maybe we have to pay.” She watched me out of the corner of her eye, the way you watch a wild animal you know you can’t trust.
“I still don’t think you could have done anything that bad.” Even to me, the protest sounded weak. After all, a lot can happen in twenty years. The girl who’d been my friend possibly didn’t even exist anymore.
Alice smoothed both hands down the folds of bedspread that fanned out from her waist. “When I was twenty-nine, I met a man. A friend of Bobby’s. They played golf together sometimes, worked for the same company, though not in the same department. We met at some charity fundraiser or other. Bobby had begged off coming with me. I think he had to work. Anyway, I was there by myself and
I lay down on the floor and began doing leg lifts.
“How can you do that on a full stomach?” Alice asked.
“Define full.” I rolled over onto my other side.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to exercise too close to bedtime.” She aimed the remote at the television and switched it on, but kept the sound muted.
I stared up at the image of a serious female news anchor narrating video showing a burning house. “I usually try to exercise earlier in the day, but some days that doesn’t happen.” I rolled onto my back, arms overhead, enjoying the stretch. “Better late than never.”
“I still can’t believe you lost a hundred pounds. That’s amazing.”
“It was the hardest thing I ever did.” I hugged my knees to my chest, stretching my lower back. “In fact, if I’d known just how hard it would be, I might not have ever started.”
“Not even knowing how great the results would be?” She stretched out on her stomach and looked over the edge of the bed at me. “I mean it. You look great.”
“Reasonably good with clothes on. Naked, my boobs are somewhere around my navel and my butt looks like a sharpei.” I began doing sit-ups, counting in my head, trying not to grunt with each lift.
Alice watched me for a while, silent. I was up to seventy-five when she spoke again. “Still, it must have felt fantastic when you met your goal,” she said.
I lay back, panting. When both my breathing and my heart rate had slowed a little, I said, “It did. But it was scary, too.”
“Change is scary.”
I hugged my arms across my chest. “I’d never been a normal size before—not since I was a little girl. I not only had to find a whole new wardrobe, I had to learn a different way of relating to people.”
“You mean people treated you differently once you were thinner?”
“I mean I acted different with them. I never realized before I lost the weight how much I used my fat as a shield. Now when people look at me, I feel as if they are seeing the real me—the one I’d been hiding. It was terrifying.”
Alice rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Neither of us said anything for a long while. The picture on the television switched to an ad for trucks. Brawny men in jeans and tight T-shirts raced big black trucks through mud puddles and over rocks.
“I really admire you,” Alice said, her voice thick. “Maybe having you along on this trip, some of your courage will rub off on me.”
“You don’t need my courage.” I sat up and looked at her. “You were never afraid of anything when we were girls.”
“I’m afraid now.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Do you believe in karma?”
A chill washed over me and I rubbed my arms. “Like things we did in some other life coming back to haunt us?”
“I’m talking about things we did in this life coming back to haunt us.” She sat up and pulled the bedspread around her, the quilted chintz billowing around her like a tacky hoop skirt.
I climbed up on the bed beside her. “I think,” I said slowly,“sometimes things just happen and there’s nothing we can do about them. Everybody makes mistakes. It’s part of being human.”
“But we can choose. And when we make the wrong choices, maybe we have to pay.” She watched me out of the corner of her eye, the way you watch a wild animal you know you can’t trust.
“I still don’t think you could have done anything that bad.” Even to me, the protest sounded weak. After all, a lot can happen in twenty years. The girl who’d been my friend possibly didn’t even exist anymore.
Alice smoothed both hands down the folds of bedspread that fanned out from her waist. “When I was twenty-nine, I met a man. A friend of Bobby’s. They played golf together sometimes, worked for the same company, though not in the same department. We met at some charity fundraiser or other. Bobby had begged off coming with me. I think he had to work. Anyway, I was there by myself and
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