What an odd and unexpected evening.
I left work and went to the gym. To my regular class. I critiqued my body. Felt fat, untoned. The comments by one of the trainers here ruled my thoughts. The gym once was a place that always restored my positive body image. Working out and seeing my reflection once quieted any negative dialog that existed in other hours of the day. Yet tonight, I couldn’t shake feeling inadequate. I thought about what else I could do. I work out almost daily. I eat incredibly well, aside from the occasional depressive binge. While the image that stared back at me was anything but fat, I wondered what she really looked like. As if, I lost the ability to see myself. Perhaps, I should ask others if they see me as overweight. I entertained the idea and searched for some other body that resembled mine. A way to avoid the lies a mirror can tell.
After the gym, I was to get a drink and/or a bite to eat with Mr. AB, someone I briefly dated here on the island in my months of initiation. He has been outside my radar for the many months since. The brief conversations we had, informed me that he was in Dominican Republic, New York, Panama, anywhere but here . . .
I ran into him in New York at a crazy St. Barth-esque brunch two weeks ago. I believed he was with his girlfriend. Always polite, I had likened him to a friend. Our dating simply fizzled. No abrupt stop, but perhaps the way dating can dissipate when no one demands an answer and traveling serves as the distracter—the realization that it has cooled and lacked that effortless quality and permanence “the one” should elicit.
So, after our run-in at brunch, he has been in touch. He texted me yesterday upon Fortuno’s win. I suggested a drink and today he reached out. I expected to see him, and talk, mostly about business—for he always loved my understanding of his. Always stated how I am ultra-cool and simpatica (so much so, that I seriously thought he needed new friends.)
We meet. We drive. He reaches for my hand.