A gym acquaintance.

The day before had been strange. In wanting to give the girls their space to talk, I was practically just a bystander in my own house. Isabelle, being herself, had little issue talking to the girls she once supposedly hated, but with a group of six people there, all wanting a turn to talk, I could do nothing else but stand back and silently watch.

I suppose it was a good thing that the girls had fun, but I couldn’t let go of the nagging feeling in the back of my head. Just being there, not participating, watching Isabelle seamlessly get along well enough with Mila, Grace and Sarah… It was bugging me in ways I didn’t understand. Good thing I was in the right place to let go of some frustrations.

I stepped into the gym. Wearing my uniform still, I quickly headed to the changing rooms. I had little time to spare, since I had to go to work right after this.

I changed into my workout clothes and went back to the main area, where I did my stretches in front of the mirror. Again, I felt eyes on me and did my absolute best to ignore them. By now, however, I was positive it wasn’t just my imagination. People were actually looking at me. From clear novices who were stepping into the gym for the first time to regulars who happened to come at the same time as me.

Ignore them. Ignore them. You’re here to work on your arms and shoulders for an hour, take a shower and go to work at the coffee shop. That last one was a big enough source of social stress, so better not even try to imagine what everyone else was thinking when they watched me.

I went to an open bench press, looked around just to make sure it really was open, and started putting the weights on. Then, as I finished setting the last one, getting it to 80 kilos, a loud, booming voice startled me.

“Oliver, my boy! How’s the day treating you?”

It wasn’t that he was shouting. The man was just naturally loud. Believe me, you know when he’s shouting.

“Mr. Carlos,” I said, turning back to face the large man. “Good afternoon. I’m doing well today.”

If I tell you that Mr. Carlos is a professional bodybuilder, it should give you a general idea of what he looks like. He’s Brazilian, 36 years old. He has dark skin and he’s about as tall as Thomas, so around 1.80 meters tall, maybe a bit more, yet his build was about three times that of Thomas. His arms and legs were thick like tree trunks, his figure was a massive inverted triangle without looking… How do I say it? Grotesquely muscled. He wore a black tank-top and red shorts that reached just above his knees. He fully shaved his head and kept a thin mustache.

“That’s good to hear. And going at it already, huh? Do you need a spotter?”

I nodded. “If it’s not a bother, sir.”

“Please.” The man let out a hearty chuckle. He stood behind the bench press while I laid back on it, wrapped my hands around the barbell and took a deep breath.

I lifted the bar and fully braced myself for what was to come.

“COME ON! DO IT! GUTS, OLIVER, GUTS! ONE! TWO! THREE!”

Mr. Carlos’ voice boomed in the large hall. I did my reps with him watching, counting and yelling his encouragement.

We met like a week ago, when he saw me getting ready for the bench press and offered to spot for me, just like he did now. I nervously accepted, and when he started shouting I very nearly dropped the barbell and all 70 kilos on my face from being so startled.

Mr. Carlos then spent the next 10 minutes apologizing with shame written on his face. He explained that his personal trainer did it for him, and that he felt really motivated when he did. Other people he helped seemed to find it encouraging as well, so he assumed it’d be the same for me.

From then on he started greeting me every time. He had almost the same schedule as me, but he didn’t come to the gym on weekends. Those were for his wife and daughter, he said. Mr. Carlos talks a lot. For example, he said he shaves his head and keeps a mustache because his idol is Sergio Oliva, a really famous bodybuilder from Cuba.

I finished my reps, set the bar back where it was and sat up, catching my breath.

“Excellent! Excellent, Oliver!” Mr. Carlos praised. “You even went up 10 kilos from last week.”

“I… thought I could handle it,” I answered with a small smile. “Thank you, Mr. Carlos.”

“Don’t mention it, boy.” Mr. Carlos beamed. “It just makes me happy to see someone as young as you working so hard instead of staying cooped up in your bedroom playing video games.”

I flinched. “I… I do play video games,” I said weakly.

“O-Oh. I see…” Again, shame was written all over the man’s face. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I don’t mean to judge, it’s just…”

“I understand, sir,” I said with a small smile. “Obsessing over things is not healthy, right?”

“Exactly! You understand! Even professional bodybuilders need to take their minds off the workout and live their lives. It’s the obsession that’s dangerous.” The man sighed in resignation. “If only my dear daughter could understand that.”

I hesitated to ask because I didn’t know if it was appropriate, but Mr. Carlos was so willing and seemed so happy to talk about his family that I dared to.

“Is your… daughter obsessed with something?” I asked.

“Her drawings, yes. She’s been spending all her time drawing on her computer. She sometimes forgets to eat and her grades are dropping. She’s in college, you see, moved to an apartment closer to her school, so we can’t keep an eye on her. She’s a fantastic artist, no doubt about that, but to draw so much she forgets to eat…” Mr. Carlos shook his head ruefully.

He seemed like a doting parent.

“Anyway, I’ll stop prattling.” He laughed. “Are you meeting your friends after this?”

“No, I have to go to work.”

“Oh my! You have a job? Where?”

“Maria’s Coffee Shop,” I told him. “I’m a waiter.”

“So hardworking. I was such a lazy bum at your age!” Mr. Carlos laughed loudly. “Well, tell me if you need anything, Oliver. Be careful not to hurt yourself.” The man left to do his own deadlift reps and I went back to my own routine.