Lives Between Walls

It was my second day at the gym.

The psychologist had suggested it.

“Build routines,” he had said.

“Your body will heal long before your mind does.”

So I came.

The divorce had been final for six months.

Somewhere between the counselling sessions, the lawyers, the medication and learning how to sleep alone again, I had forgotten what it felt like to simply exist around other people.

The gym asked nothing of me.

Only another rep.

Only another set.

Only another day.

I had decided it was time to train legs.

Something I had never really done before.

I loaded another plate onto the bar, finished my squats and looked towards one of the machines I had wanted to use since arriving.

Someone was already on it.

A woman.

She wasn’t beautiful.

Not in the way magazines insist women should be.

She was…

human.

Soft.

She adjusted the weight without looking.

Leant into the machine. Trusted it like an old friend.

Curled her leg backwards.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

As though she had done it a thousand times before.

Then she stepped off and walked towards another machine.

I went back to my workout.

When I finished, the machine stood empty.

I walked over.

Looked at it.

Looked at the little instructional diagram.

Looked back at it again.

The machine returned my stare, sensing that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

Making a fool of myself on my second day didn’t sound particularly appealing.

I looked around for assistance.

You were sitting at the ab machine a few metres away.

Earphones in.

Phone in your hands.

Resting between sets.

I hesitated.

The building expanded, the few meters between us became a hundred.

Rejection was still a sensitive wound in me that didn’t want to be touched.

What if you couldn’t hear me?

I didn’t want to wave.

Didn’t want to tap you on the shoulder.

So I walked until I entered your field of vision.

You looked up.

Removed one earbud.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face.

Then your eyes softened.

“Sorry…”

I scratched the back of my neck.

“Could you show me how to use that machine?”

You smiled.

Not mockingly.

Almost… amused.

“Sure.”

I turned and walked back towards the machine.

I could hear your footsteps behind me.

Close.

Close enough for me to become aware of another person’s presence.

I could feel the warmth of your amused eyes behind me.

As though, for a few seconds, both our lives had stepped out of their usual machinery.

A small interruption.

A pocket of amusement.

A commercial break from the harsh monotony of being alive.

Consenting to walk with me, the rhythm of our footsteps became one.

I pointed dramatically.

“Here we are…This is the culprit.”

You laughed.

“Oh…This one?”

“Yeah. I saw you using it earlier.”

The words escaped before I could catch them.

You looked at me.

You were watching me?
That’s probably what you thought. Maybe.

There it was again.

That quiet amusement in your eyes.

Heat climbed into my face.

“Mmm.”

You smiled.

Then you walked towards the machine.

I followed.

It waited for us in the corner of the gym like an unruly beast, refusing to be tamed.

Steel.

Hinges.

Pivots.

Padded supports.

Intimidating.

“So…”

You rested your chest against the support.

“This pad sits here.”

You adjusted the height.

“Hands here.”

Your fingers wrapped around the handles.

“Then…”

You slowly curled your leg backwards.

The machine sighed in surrender.

The weight stack lifted.

Steel kissed steel.

Then settled again.

Slowly.

Again.

I didn’t know where to look.

I had to look at you.

You were the lesson.
Even the walls seemed to lean in. Hungry to learn.

Sweat traced a narrow line down the centre of your back.

Your muscles gathered beneath your skin, then released again.

Your stretch pants did more to suggest than conceal, the fabric faithfully recording every movement your body made.

Ten slow repetitions.

Ten impossibly long repetitions.

Then you stepped aside.

“Your turn.”

I leaned onto the machine.

It suddenly felt smaller than it had looked.

As though it had been designed around somebody else’s proportions.

I adjusted myself awkwardly.

Curled.

Paused.

Lowered.

I caught you watching from the corner of my eye.

“Like this?”

You frowned.

Then laughed.

“No. You’ve got something slightly off.”

Heat rushed into my face.

“Here. Watch again.”

I stepped away.

You leaned back onto the machine and flicked your eyes towards me.

“Watch closely this time.”

Watch closely this time.

A dangerous invitation.

Again your leg curled.
The movement lengthened your body.
One slow line from your shoulders to your heel.
Your waist tightened.
Your hips settled into the geometry of the machine as though steel and muscle had reached some quiet agreement.
Every repetition revealed another rhythm.
Another line.
Another curve.
Another reason not to blink.

I tried looking away.
But a column stood between me and the squat racks.
Another machine blocked the mirrors.
Every line of the gym seemed to return my eyes to you.
As though the building had quietly decided where I should be looking.

By the eighth I had forgotten there were other people in the gym.

By the tenth you looked back over your shoulder, seemingly satisfied that my eyes were still on you. Maybe.

“You got it now?”

I smiled.

“I think so.”

I leaned onto the machine once more.

Adjusted myself.

Curled.

Paused.

Lowered.

“Like that?”

Your face lit up.

“There.”

“You’ve got it.”

You clapped softly.

“Perfect.”

I laughed.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You slipped your earbud back in.

“See you around.”

Then you walked away.
I stood there for a moment.
The machine still remembered the warmth of your body as I lay down on it.

After a few reps I looked back at you.

There you were, with another man.

Giving him those amused eyes, a kiss, a touch.

My heart crumbled, even though it had no right to.

I realised none of it had ever belonged to me.

The columns seemed to surround me, ganging up on me.

The mirrors seemed to reflect me back to myself too harshly.

The lights were suddenly too bright.

The ceiling felt lower, pressing me down.

The weights felt heavier now.

My heart started racing.

I couldn’t stay there.

I made my way out the gym.

The divorce was replaying itself like a tape stuck on a loop.

Causing me to meet a girl, fall in love with her and break up with her, without her even knowing it.

Projecting my entire relationship onto every instance of warmth.

I got home, to my empty house

That received me as it always did.

It stared at me with indifference.

Its front door yawning open as I shuffled in.

Alone again.