By Samantha Knight. Published with Cicatrix Publications, 2016
“Yeah, mine’s on The Count of Monty Cristo … Because it’s a wicked book! Better than Jane Eyre. Based on history too, but we don’t have to start that yet, right? … Well at least the bio part for me will be easy … already on my way. The bus is always late anyway and—dude!”
In the center of the park, in which Elya would cut through to catch the four o’clock bus to her friend’s house for studying—or social media—was a LifeFitness elliptical, stationed near the ball diamond. It stood gloriously where everyone could see, catching eyes with its peculiar location. Surely, Elya thought, this confusing piece of workout equipment, with a high-tech, touchscreen control panel, adjustable features, and silver thumb sensors, should have permanent residence in a gym, where nobody would use it— because who really knows if that is the correct amount of calories you’re burning?
However, it wasn’t the machine that caused passers-by to pause their activities and stare, but a man wearing eighties-style tights who served as the “nipples” to this, otherwise, public display of fearlessness.
“Shoot, sorry!" Elya fumbled to get her phone to her ear again, after having dropped it in the grass upon glimpsing the unexpected sight. "But, oh my gosh, Julie! ... No, it’s just some dude here in the park. I think he actually dragged his own workout machine here … Yeah, he’s seriously over there getting’ his sweat on!”
And there he was, pushing the limit on his elliptical in the middle of a park, no word of a lie. Small goggle-like sunglasses, reminiscent of The Matrix, were strapped around his head as if he were swimming. His legs, sheathed snugly in the bright blue casing that was his tights, resembled two pixie sticks in a stationary parade. His overly-trimmed mustache compensated for his ineffective headband, while his neon yellow tank-top glowed in the sun, creating a spotlight that nobody could overlook.
On a park bench nearby sat two sharply dressed elderly ladies. One wore cat-eye framed glasses and a royal blue cardigan, while the other donned her best church button-down and a golf visor. Both had fanny packs.
“My, my, Edna. Mr. Tights is looking rather tighter than usual today,” the one in cat frames whispered, rather loudly. She raised a silver flask to her parched lips—lined with magenta lip-stick—and swigged a generous amount of the aged brandy from her husband’s liquor cabinet.
“Shh, Gloria. I’m trying to focus on his toned buttocks. And put that stuff away!”
“Do you want any?” she asked, handing the flask to Edna inconspicuously. She accepted.
In their usual spot on a typical Sunday, the two women didn’t look at each other once while they remained occupied with the scene before them. This was a weekly routine, a girl’s day out.
"He reminds me of male figure skaters; it's my favorite sport to watch you know." And indeed, his lean, slender body—if not a bit lanky for his age—moved fluidly, as if he had oiled himself up prior to arriving.
“I think I’m still having hot flashes," Gloria exclaimed, fanning herself. "Must be his hair… those wonderfully oiled chestnut curls. So long, they remind me of Sylvester Stallone from that one movie.” Gloria paused. She cocked her head and squinted her beady eyes. “On second thought, maybe more of that cheating guy from Bingo.”
“Still, they’re long and bouncy like a poodle, one that’s had a bath and a blow-out.” Both women gasped in agreement, tittering from behind their hands.
“Yes, they really are! And the tights, far better than last week's. These bad boys make his muscles look like a tube of toothpaste. I just want to squeeze—”
“Gloria, hush! You’re going to raise your blood pressure again.”
"Oh my aunt fanny!" Gloria huffed, shrugging off her friend's concern as she took another swig from her flask. "How else am I going to get any thrills? Watching George trim his nose hairs?" Her gaze held steadfast on the man upon the elliptical, like a predator sizing up its prey. "Indeed, that's one tube of toothpaste I'd fancy squeezing."
"You are so bad!"
Both ladies shared a giggle that, once he began moving faster, trailed off like the toots of a train as the tracks passed around the bend.
“Bro, I think this guy is going to pass out. He’s just goin’ for it!” A young man in his early twenties scoffed humorously as he sprayed the back of his neck with his water bottle.
And he wasn't wrong. The man in tights was perspiring heavily, dripping from every inch of his body like a human fountain. He huffed and groaned as he increased the speed, his legs and arms alternating up and down fast enough to make his head bob.
Is it an elliptical? Or stair-master? Both, perhaps. How did he get it here and where did he plug it in? How did he get into those tights? These were the thoughts of the onlookers, who dared not meander too close for answers in fear of sharing the spotlight.
“Gotta give the guy props for toting that thing here, and for wearing that costume in public. Crazy loon.” The other man observed from beside his friend, who handed him the basketball.
"Your shot, bro." But he stared a moment longer at the modest, though defined, muscles rippling beneath the blue tights.
Before the afternoon was out, a young boy bravely wandered up to the man in tights. Being young and naïve, he had the courage to express his curiosity, in lieu of those who could do nothing but stare.
“What are you doing, mister?” The boy asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. His hands fiddled within the pockets of his trousers as he dug his toe into the dirt.
The man in tights did not stop his workout, or even slow down. Instead, he simply glanced down at the boy and replied, “Why, I’m playing a game.”
“What kind of game?” The boy took a step closer, expressing interest now.
“Well,” the man panted, wiping sweat off his face with his arm band before smiling, “basically, you do whatever you want, wherever you want. So long as you don’t hurt yourself or bother anyone else. And you just don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it, kiddo. Be yourself and do what makes you happy." He winked, surveying his audience scattered around the park. "Sometimes it’s funny to put people in such a state of disbelief."
"Do you ever get embarrassed?"
The man in tights smiled broadly, his face like stretched leather. "Embarrassed? I'm in the limelight, kid. I'm electrified!" His machine hummed louder as he sped up; if it were a cartoon, smoke would have started billowing from the friction. The boy scampered off when the man began ululating with zeal at the top of his lungs, an arm fist-pumping the air.
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