it was the time that had passed or because Rainy had met me so we could walk to the studio together that day, but my eyes didn't feel as sharp as I scanned the street. Not like day three, or seven, or even fifteen. My heart fluttered less as the apprehension that I might actually see him, might talk to him lessened, too.
I waited each day for my shoulders to slump forward in defeat, too, but they never did. The daily Yoga/Pilates I'd been doing had been working some sort of hippie magic on me. I looked down at a body that was less than it had been in years. I was getting strong. I'd probably lost fifteen pounds or more, but I didn't care about numbers.
What I did care about was that I could actually hold my body in plank without flopping onto the ground like a beached whale after three seconds. In fact, there wasn't a whole lot of floppage happening at all anymore. My Costco-sized muffin top had shrunk to one of those cute mini-muffins and while my stomach wasn't flat (by a long shot) it looked less and less like I was carrying a full-on food-baby into a second term. It didn't hurt that Rainy'd gotten me to swap my nighttime ice cream with a cup of Sunny tea (as she still called it) and that Anna had shown me enough videos of slaughter houses to make me shy away from meat for the next five lifetimes.
Heck, it wasn't even just my outsides that were changing. I wasn't heading home right after work anymore to watch a whole night's worth of TV. I hadn't checked any of the Downton Abbey or Sherlock message boards in weeks. Instead of hiding, I was getting out and experiencing life rather than watching other people's fake lives on TV.
The whole idea of these signs being my counseling was actually working. I was talking more at work, too, not just to my friends. The nagging question of "why me?" seemed less and less far-fetched. This New Sunny was making a life for herself that was worth saving and I felt that Mostly likely to die alone yearbook page fall further and further into the past. I smiled at the goodness of how it all felt and Rainy and I pushed forward in the crowd.
The streets were busier than they'd been in a while. I had to pull my workout bag closer to me as we wove through the business folk, bums, and don't-you-have-a-job-or-school-to-be-at teenagers. The studio came into view and I let a sigh escape me slowly, releasing the hope of seeing Green Shoe Guy for one more day.
"Hey!" I heard behind us. Rainy turned to look and grabbed onto my arm.
"Holy shit." Her voice fluttered and her eyes locked onto mine. She broke into a full smile.
"Fancy cat bag!" The words floated to me and sat in front of my face for a moment before I could really take them in. I stopped.
Cat bag? I looked down at my workout bag with a picture of a cat in a suit ironed on the front. Fancy cat bag. That was me. Blood crammed into my face like nightmare Black Friday crowds to an opening door at 5:00 AM.
I couldn't breathe. I heard footsteps scrape behind me. And I convinced my body to pivot.
You know that point in movies where the heroine turns around to see her hero lit up like an oiled up Fabio (sans the I-can't-believe-it's-not-butter)? I always thought that had been fake, stupid, made up, how-lame. But I'm telling you, when I turned around, eyes looking down (because I hadn't totally changed myself in a month, come on) and I saw those green shoes, I swear I heard music, saw lights, the whole production.
The characters in movies were usually looking at the guy's face first, not his shoes, but that's okay. It was him. Everything would be okay. I had found him. Actually, he had found me. I blinked as my eyes unsteadily made their way up from his shoes, up his slightly wrinkled khaki pants, up his "typical office guy" button up shirt, to his stubbly chin, sloping nose, curly brown hair, and deep blue eyes.
They blinked back at me, seeing me clearer through those same black-rimmed glasses he'd worn last time.
"Hey." He smiled and tried
I waited each day for my shoulders to slump forward in defeat, too, but they never did. The daily Yoga/Pilates I'd been doing had been working some sort of hippie magic on me. I looked down at a body that was less than it had been in years. I was getting strong. I'd probably lost fifteen pounds or more, but I didn't care about numbers.
What I did care about was that I could actually hold my body in plank without flopping onto the ground like a beached whale after three seconds. In fact, there wasn't a whole lot of floppage happening at all anymore. My Costco-sized muffin top had shrunk to one of those cute mini-muffins and while my stomach wasn't flat (by a long shot) it looked less and less like I was carrying a full-on food-baby into a second term. It didn't hurt that Rainy'd gotten me to swap my nighttime ice cream with a cup of Sunny tea (as she still called it) and that Anna had shown me enough videos of slaughter houses to make me shy away from meat for the next five lifetimes.
Heck, it wasn't even just my outsides that were changing. I wasn't heading home right after work anymore to watch a whole night's worth of TV. I hadn't checked any of the Downton Abbey or Sherlock message boards in weeks. Instead of hiding, I was getting out and experiencing life rather than watching other people's fake lives on TV.
The whole idea of these signs being my counseling was actually working. I was talking more at work, too, not just to my friends. The nagging question of "why me?" seemed less and less far-fetched. This New Sunny was making a life for herself that was worth saving and I felt that Mostly likely to die alone yearbook page fall further and further into the past. I smiled at the goodness of how it all felt and Rainy and I pushed forward in the crowd.
The streets were busier than they'd been in a while. I had to pull my workout bag closer to me as we wove through the business folk, bums, and don't-you-have-a-job-or-school-to-be-at teenagers. The studio came into view and I let a sigh escape me slowly, releasing the hope of seeing Green Shoe Guy for one more day.
"Hey!" I heard behind us. Rainy turned to look and grabbed onto my arm.
"Holy shit." Her voice fluttered and her eyes locked onto mine. She broke into a full smile.
"Fancy cat bag!" The words floated to me and sat in front of my face for a moment before I could really take them in. I stopped.
Cat bag? I looked down at my workout bag with a picture of a cat in a suit ironed on the front. Fancy cat bag. That was me. Blood crammed into my face like nightmare Black Friday crowds to an opening door at 5:00 AM.
I couldn't breathe. I heard footsteps scrape behind me. And I convinced my body to pivot.
You know that point in movies where the heroine turns around to see her hero lit up like an oiled up Fabio (sans the I-can't-believe-it's-not-butter)? I always thought that had been fake, stupid, made up, how-lame. But I'm telling you, when I turned around, eyes looking down (because I hadn't totally changed myself in a month, come on) and I saw those green shoes, I swear I heard music, saw lights, the whole production.
The characters in movies were usually looking at the guy's face first, not his shoes, but that's okay. It was him. Everything would be okay. I had found him. Actually, he had found me. I blinked as my eyes unsteadily made their way up from his shoes, up his slightly wrinkled khaki pants, up his "typical office guy" button up shirt, to his stubbly chin, sloping nose, curly brown hair, and deep blue eyes.
They blinked back at me, seeing me clearer through those same black-rimmed glasses he'd worn last time.
"Hey." He smiled and tried
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