(251 Words) 12 Dec. 2017
by S.R.A. Markin
She holds my left hand. I look into the window, and the darkness behind it shows a reflection. I am unlike I was.
My muscles are swollen and protruding out my sleeveless shirt. My shoulders are striated, and there is a distinct separation between my biceps and triceps. Without flexing. I am more swollen than when I use to flex. I would look into the mirror in between each set, look myself in the eyes. I would wink and a cocky smile, although subtle, would open my mouth.
Now I walk, expelling sweat from my palms onto the palms of a beautiful young woman. I see her reflection.
She is smiling and looking at me. Directly at me. I look forward, and my head angles downwards. I clench my jaw and clear my dry throat. My lips stick to each other.
A large dark skinned bald man walks in the distance. He is carrying a foam roller and walking in the middle of the track. Slowly.
I see him through the beautiful bodies. My head lowers further, but my peripherals cast him.
I look at Joyce, and she is looking forward. I stare at the side of her face. Is she looking at him?
Her head remains forward. She has the faintest smile. My stomach fluctuates, and my chest sinks.
She squeezes my fingers twice. I look up from the floor. She is smiling at me with a glimmer in her eyes. My reflection.
I straighten my spine and smile back.
Your donation goes towards writing, editing, publishing, and keeping stevenmarkin.com going. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.