Part 9

Well folks, I still haven't gotten back my computer, so I decided to rewrite Part 9. Which has actually worked out better, because I have remembered a bit more. I have part 10 ready to go also, but not yet finished on part 11. This week I leave for Iowa for two weeks (on Thursday to be exact) but I will keep the story going even while I am there. From the looks of it I will have lots of time on my hands up there, and with my new laptop, I should have no problem finishing the story. But until then, here is the next chapter, in the ongoing saga that was, and still is my life. Enjoy.

The next big thing I remember was actually a concert. Weezer to be exact. It was a pretty good concert, but all the while I was thinking about Gaby. As they played “Only In Dreams” I thought about her, and wished she was there with me. As the long guitar breakdown at the end of the song played, blue lights and smoke flashed, and I thought about all of our times together. How fast she had came into my life. And how fast she had left it. I wondered what she was doing, if she was thinking as much about me as I was her. A few days later I found out. She had emailed me. She and her cousin had made it to Guadalajara ok, and everything was ok. I would have to say I was a little worried about the flight, because that was not too long after 9/11. Everyone was a little tense about flying. She told me she was a bit nervous at first herself, and then when the airline couldn’t find the right tickets for their flight, that didn’t help much. She said that the airline had overbooked, and because of this, they got to fly first class. Her and her cousin got all sorts of free food and drinks, which they fully took advantage. She said they ate like they had never eaten before. I remember I emailed back something to the effect that “I am glad that you and nice arrived safely.” It was something simple to me, nothing out of the ordinary. She emailed back saying “ you know, that’s why I like you, cause you not only think about me, but you think about my cousin too.” I was surprised. To me it was just nothing, but to her it meant more. I guess those little things, those things you don’t ever think matter much, end up being what matters the most.

Over the next few days and weeks, we emailed each other. I had given her my work email that way I could respond faster to her mails. Sometimes she would be online during the day, and we could send emails almost like if it was a chat room. She told me about her life there, how it had slowly gotten back to normal. She said she missed San Antonio, she missed the places we would go, the downtown and the riverwalk. She missed me. She missed having me there to fight, she missed my joking around. She missed holding my hand. I read this with my heart on the verge of cardiac arrest. To hear such things was just music to my Gaby loving ears. She told me about everyday life, how her and her mom would like to go shopping at the market for all sorts of things. I got a picture in my head, I imagined her there, walking through the many stands and small shop like markets. I imagined her hair in its natural curls hanging down her face, her lips lightly covered with lip gloss. Her face would shine in the sun, her eyes would sparkle, and the small scar on her left cheek (that she got when she was a baby, when the doctor performing the C Section on her mom cut a bit too deep) would compliment her smile. I imagined this all in my head, because all I had was her text, her black and white words on my screen. I imagined her room, her computer there in the corner where she wrote me from. I really had no idea what to imagine, because I had nothing to go off of. It’s funny when you have nothing, how the mind can come up with all sorts of colors and concepts of what you think it would be like. How funny I was back then, how optimistic and confident I was. Ignorance is bliss after all.

I remember getting an email saying that she had gained weight in the United States. She said when she got back home, all her friends had said that she got fat. She said most of her clothes were fitting tighter and that she needed to do something about it. She said she was going on a diet. I laughed at the thought. A diet? Is she crazy?? She looked great! There was no need for a diet! But that got me thinking, if her friends thought SHE was fat, what the hell would they think of me if they ever met me? I was Mr. Fatty McButterpants at the time! I could imagine the worst, them meeting me and in their light speed spanish saying something to the effect “she likes him??” I thought about it, and I made the decision. I would go on a diet too. I emailed her back and broke the news to her. She laughed a bit in her response, but said that if I wanted to go on a diet, then I should. Why not be healthier? So from that day on, I had made up my mind to do it, to be on a diet, or at least attempt to be. The first thing that came to mind, was exercise. In the past I would play basket ball every week, most of the time many days a week for hours on end. I could pretty much eat whatever I wanted, because I would work it off. But now with the desk job, and the lack of people willing to play, I had packed on the pounds. But things were going to change. I found about a gym up the street and because of pressure from another employee (thanks Pablo) joined. I had actually joined many many months before, but had never actually gone. The pressure of it all just turned me away. I thought I was going to walk in and see nothing but Brad Pitt look a likes. Everyone would be buff and cut and model material, and I would be the fat laughing stock of the gym. I would show up in my old basketball shorts and my beat up adidas while everyone else would be in their aerodynamic state of the art work out clothes designed by NASA. I would certainly be shunned. But boy, was I completely wrong. I remember the first day. I walked in and changed and walked in the gym. For the most part it was empty. There were a few people, the majority of them just normal people. I searched around the room for the Brad’s, but they were no where to be found. Everyone looked pretty normal, even some being heavier then me. That made me feel better. I wasn’t the outkast (hey ya!) after all. I didn’t really know what to do. I remember just watching others use the machines and weights, taking mental notes. The first thing I did do though was the treadmill. I figured I better warm up with some jogging first, before I attempted to lift all kinds of massive heavy weights. I set it to a slow jog, sure no problem. I stayed on it for about 20 minutes, and didn’t even break a sweat. Ok so this working out stuff was going to be easy! I used a couple machines, for the shoulders, legs and all sorts of other body parts. I watched a guy do some crunches, and I knew that was what I had to do. I had to destroy my stomach. Or shall I say gut. Yes my gut. My elephant size, enormous, mistaken for a mountain range, viewable from space, gut. I had to get rid of it. It was my worst enemy. Even if my legs and armed were toned and cut, this gut could not be this way. The guy did many reps, many different styles of crunches. Bicycle crunches, crunches with his legs up, side crunches. I watched, and soon began to copy his every move. I used the ab flex machine thingy and did regular crunches on the floor. That first day I was a ab pimp. I slapped my stomach in the face and told it who it’s daddy was. As I emerged from the floor, my stomach felt tight, even slightly stronger. I loved the thought. The first work out came and went, and I was proud. I had spent 1 hour and 30 minutes in the gym that day, yes I had spent my time to work on me. I relished the idea. I was working out? Me? Yes, Me. Now if ever anyone said for any possible spontaneous reason, “do you work out?” I could say a resounding “Yes, I do.” I felt good, I felt proud, I felt strong, and this was only the first day. I was confident in myself, all the while naïve to the pain and agony that awaited me, just around the bend.