Sunday, May 01, 2005
The Gym
I joined this gym close to my apartment.
Working out, for me, is a personal thing that I do for and hour and forget about for the other 23 hours of the day. The gym is also a time for me to listen to an act of a great opera and think. But this personal time has been interrupted since I moved to Chicago and started going to this gym.
Last Thursday I go to the gym and am torturing myself on these elliptical gizmos. I’m listening to music and noticing someone across the gym looking at me. He looks somewhat familiar but I dismiss him as just another face in my life.
After my workout I walk into the locker room and pass by that same guy. He stares at me and I stare at him. Finally he says “Matt?”. I stop, look at him. Do I place that (very attractive) face? I stare a little longer and we both say at the same time “it’s Kevin.”
Kevin. . .
Kevin was my first “boyfriend”, for all of two weeks, and whom I broke up with for violating my trust by kissing someone else (who would ironically become a good friend). I was 18 years old and haven’t though about him or that situation for quite some time. The memories start flooding back.
So the next thing I do is pull off an Oscar-winning performance by seeming happy to bump into him, I ask him what he’s doing with his life and all that bull shit. He give me some sappy story about a bad break up and my performance continues with me pretending to be concerned (the fucker deserves it). He gives me his number and says we should get together for coffee sometime. For some sick reason I really wanted to call him that night and catch up. But I resisted.
The next day I go into the gym and suddenly I hear: “Gosh, you’re everywhere.” My heart sinks: Kevin again. And we engage in 30 seconds of small talk until finally he just comes out and boldly says it:
“You know, I wanted to let you know this yesterday. But I wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”
I’m at a loss to say something intelligent but sweak out: “You don’t have to. It was, what, at least ten years ago?”
He says “No. I have to apologize. I’ve done some bad things to you, among others, and want to make good on them.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. What do you say at a moment like this? I didn’t say much. Except to remind him how long ago it was.
It was good to hear the apology, but I’ve decided I will never call.
Working out, for me, is a personal thing that I do for and hour and forget about for the other 23 hours of the day. The gym is also a time for me to listen to an act of a great opera and think. But this personal time has been interrupted since I moved to Chicago and started going to this gym.
Last Thursday I go to the gym and am torturing myself on these elliptical gizmos. I’m listening to music and noticing someone across the gym looking at me. He looks somewhat familiar but I dismiss him as just another face in my life.
After my workout I walk into the locker room and pass by that same guy. He stares at me and I stare at him. Finally he says “Matt?”. I stop, look at him. Do I place that (very attractive) face? I stare a little longer and we both say at the same time “it’s Kevin.”
Kevin. . .
Kevin was my first “boyfriend”, for all of two weeks, and whom I broke up with for violating my trust by kissing someone else (who would ironically become a good friend). I was 18 years old and haven’t though about him or that situation for quite some time. The memories start flooding back.
So the next thing I do is pull off an Oscar-winning performance by seeming happy to bump into him, I ask him what he’s doing with his life and all that bull shit. He give me some sappy story about a bad break up and my performance continues with me pretending to be concerned (the fucker deserves it). He gives me his number and says we should get together for coffee sometime. For some sick reason I really wanted to call him that night and catch up. But I resisted.
The next day I go into the gym and suddenly I hear: “Gosh, you’re everywhere.” My heart sinks: Kevin again. And we engage in 30 seconds of small talk until finally he just comes out and boldly says it:
“You know, I wanted to let you know this yesterday. But I wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”
I’m at a loss to say something intelligent but sweak out: “You don’t have to. It was, what, at least ten years ago?”
He says “No. I have to apologize. I’ve done some bad things to you, among others, and want to make good on them.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. What do you say at a moment like this? I didn’t say much. Except to remind him how long ago it was.
It was good to hear the apology, but I’ve decided I will never call.
# posted by otas : 2:13 PM
