Being Anti-Social

by Leigh K. Cunningham

  “For starters, he has the hugest legs, which I particularly do not like. It’s a wonder his thighs have not caught on fire.”

  “Instead of putting yourself through all this aggravation, and me, why don’t you just stop for a minute and ask yourself why you don’t want to go.”

  “I already know why.”

  “I know I’ll regret this,” she said, “but why?”

  “Because it’s winter,” I said, as if speaking to a numskull. “Even polar bears hibernate in winter and they’re used to the cold.”

  “Yeah, but they lose weight when they hibernate.”

  I gasped. “That was quite a low blow, Rachel.”

  “And at your age, you can’t afford to be putting on more weight,” she added.

  I gasped again then pondered the accumulation of three kilos every year for the next ten years. “I see your point.”

  “Pleased to have been of assistance, Ms Evans.”

  “Oh, and thank you,” I said belatedly.

  I was feeling frumpy after two months of couch surveying so I wore a generous tracksuit and t-shirt to the gym with just the flesh on my forearms exposed to the frosty night.

  I had not seen Rudy for months since Amber’s last birthday, and had not seen him at the gym at all for a comfortable eternity so there was only one way to explain his sudden appearance that very night when I was not at my best and about to be seen with a personal trainer (further emphasizing that I needed help)—the fourth law of thermodynamics, better know as the law of Murphy.

  In such circumstances, the best course of action is to pretend not to have been seen, however, the secret to this strategy is to not gush if/when caught out, for example: “Oh hi! (said with exaggerated delight). I didn’t see you there. How are you? (said with faked genuine interest)” This cover is never convincing and merely makes the rude ignorer look more foolish. I prefer a humdrum kind of response, for example: “Yeah, hi,” then continue with whatever you were doing, even if it was nothing. This lets the ignored know the snub was intentional and you make no apologies for it.

  I spent four minutes strolling on the treadmill for a warm-up while waiting for Cam who appeared beside me full of exuberance, which was exhausting, and armed with a little book that would document my journey.

  He asked about the food diary and we were off to a bad start. “I’ll be honest with you, Cam,” I said. “There’s no point to a food diary because I can tell you now that it will be filled with Thai take-out, pizza, chocolate and merlot.”

  “All the more reason to complete the food diary!” he said. “It seems to me that most of your problems will be solved just by learning about good nutrition.”

  “Cam,” I said, exasperated. “I know good nutrition—that is what I do in spring and summer.”

  “I see,” he said. “Well, Mace, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t try to change that, and I’ve cracked tougher nuts than you before.” He laughed.

  I wanted to crack Cam fair across his pompous nasal bridge, which was not my style, ordinarily, as I prefer to battle with my wit, but this is not always possible when dealing with one less blessed.

  “I’ll email an eating program to you. I want you to follow it for the next week until I see you again, okay?” he said as if he owned me.

  “You’re putting me on a diet?” I asked, mortified, just to be controversial.

  “No, no, no—it’s not a diet. We don’t do diets here. It’s a healthy eating program you will be able to follow all year round, not just in the warmer months.”

  I was bored. “Fine,” I said.

  Rudy walked past then and said, “Hi, Mace!”

  “Yeah, hi,” I said.

  “Getting some professional help with your training?” he asked.

  “You calling me fat?” I replied.

  Rudy laughed and strutted off while Cam looked stunned.

  “What now?” I asked of Cam.

  “Right,” he said, bouncing back. “Let’s get started on your upper body!”

  The hour-long session was unsettling, and if I had not been dressed head to toe in cotton jersey, with an elasticized waistband and a t-shirt emblazoned with “Everyone is entitled to my opinion” (which I bought for Shannon’s birthday, but was too afraid to give to her), I might have thought Cam was making a non-PT maneuver on my person—his hands were everywhere, purportedly to check that I was using the right muscle with proper execution. Then, to embarrass me further in front of the ever-present Rudyard Wilkes, he insisted that I place my palms on his pecs to feel them contract and release as he lay on an incline bench pushing dumbbells into the air.

  I should have been jubilant as I drove home, having broken a long-standing custom by exercising in June, but I was completely free of endorphins, and cranky too after an hour of being told what to do, how high to jump and when. If I derived any pleasure in subservience at the hands of a despot, I would spend more time with Shannon.

  To spite Cam, and to please myself, I called into Hawkesburn and bought a packet of Doritos, sour cream (not lite), a bottle of salsa dip, and green chilies. I steered clear of the refried beans for they smacked of healthy, and gas, and to break further with tradition (having exercised this wintry night), I bought a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and a block of Cadbury’s Top Deck. It would all go in my food diary.

  By the time I showered, switched tracksuits, cooked my Mexican feast, ate it, and moaned as I washed the chocolate down with the heavier cabernet sauvignon, it was late, and only then did I check my answering machine for messages. There were two from Sophie needing to talk urgently. I checked my watch—it was too early for phase IV, so there was no need to be calling back at eleven o’clock at night. I made a note to call her the next day.

  Unable to sleep, due to the pain of over consumption, I checked emails on my laptop while discovering the genius of reality TV. Erin had returned my first writing assignment, all fixed and ready for submission. I sent it off to my tutor. Erin is a very dear friend and always available to respond to the call of another friend in need.

  I had an email from Sophie also. She had tried to call me twice to let me know it was over with Adam. They had agreed to separate after twelve years of trying to save what was not savable, but this time, it was “really over”. I had heard it all before, however, since everyone knows the wolf does eventually eat the boy, I replied with support, offers of time and tissues, and an explanation for my absence at this, her direst hour. As Oscar says, “Philosophy teaches us to bear with equanimity the misfortunes of others.”

  Cam had sent through the eating program. I decided to follow it every second day, to give him false hope that he might be able to save me.

  I slept soundly for five hours until the alarm, but had a dream that Erin and I were riding around on our bikes having a wonderful time like we were twelve again. We stopped by the playground, dropped our bikes beside a sand pit and mucked about throwing sand. Cam the personal trainer was at a desk in the middle of the playground working on his little books. He came over and told us to stop fooling around or he would throw us out of the playground. When he turned to stride back to his desk, I threw sand at his back. I woke up feeling pretty good.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  MOTHER received the all-clear after a round of radium treatment, although the news came with a warning that should the cancer return it will be the end because there is nothing more they can do for her. No one wanted to hear the proviso so we bypassed it and went directly to a celebration for mother, a good Christian woman who rightly says her Lord is a shepherd who takes his flock to green pastures to rest.

  While mother was ill, I made a list of other ways to connect with her, in addition to my spontaneous drop-ins and sleepovers. Nothing would please her more than to see me at church one Sunday—a place I visit for weddings, baptisms and funerals (for Kimba’s father and baby Poppy so far). Until the age of seventeen, I attended every Sunday with the rest of the Evans family, but ended the farce the day I s
tarted university, like David and Jason before me. Lauren withdrew at the same time, which just left Shannon, mother and dad, and so it has been for decades since, but with Toddy and the grandchildren now.

  Also on my list of mother-Mace bonding initiatives was, ‘find a good man and settle down’ (which conflicts with one of my annual resolutions, ‘stay away from men – they are all cads’). At one moment, when mother was looking particularly frail, I had added, ‘get along with Shannon, for mother’s sake’. That was never going to happen now that mother was well again, and I thanked mother’s shepherd for that.

  A board meeting loomed once again and much nastiness preceded it. Thomas and the Projects Director had developed an intense personal and professional hatred arising from the inability of each to understand the purpose of the other. Add to that an unhealthy dose of male ego and you have a catastrophe in the making. I was in the middle, with expectations from both armies that I would align on their side at the board meeting. For years now, I have had an alliance with the Projects Director (because he understands budgets and the critical colors of finance: black, white and red). Then, there is Thomas for whom I have a healthy professional respect after months of cohabitation in the southern corner. I am also quite fond of him as he is the source of much entertainment in my daily working life. He continues to destroy telephones, throw things (often at Rachel or at our adjoining wall), beat his desk, and has displaced me as the most offensive, obnoxious employee in the company.

  I planned to call in sick that Saturday morning for the first time ever. Amber suggested I buy a green cover stick to help, which is effective in concealing blemishes and blotchy skin, apparently. I had never heard of such a thing, but planned to cover my face with a fine layer of green under a pale foundation for the Monday morning return. Erin and Sophie were in rare concurrence that I am a coward, and should instead be purchasing a yellow concealer stick to match my ignobility. I did not care—the boardroom was no place for bravery. But I would not waste my board-free weekend staying home, and had plans to draft my next writing assignment for review and amendment by Erin before submission.

  The second assignment was more to my style with no fancy descriptions, just facts. For the first part, I had to come up with a title and opening paragraph for two magazine articles then write another unrelated article up to 1,500 words in length for the second part. I decided to write on one of my pet peeves—people who cough or splutter in my breathing zone since there was a lot of it going around. In the meantime, I had to endure another session with Cam the personal trainer.

  He would be pleased at least that I had completed his food diary. I was looking forward to his feedback and what he might make of my erratic adherence to his eating program. My second night of June exercise was just as miserable as the first, but at least my new garden, courtesy of mother, would benefit from the cold torrential rain.

  Cam was effervescent, annoying and touchy-feely, which I do not like. I flinched when he rested a hand on my knee on the squat machine, purportedly to check ligament movements within, which was only permitted because my unshaven, scarred patella lay beneath a thick layer of fleecy cotton. The only consolation was the absence of Rudyard Wilkes although that was no fluke as I had booked my session to be sure I would be in and out before he was likely to appear.

  I booked three sessions for the following week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday, not arising from a sudden burst of enthusiasm, but to get it over with ASAP so I could resume normal winter programming. I had social events on the horizon too, like Violet’s homecoming, and looked forward to including every morsel and beverage in Cam’s food diary; he would be glad to see the back of me in every respect.

  Kimba and Kenneth lived in a red brick Edwardian in Middle Park with original stained glass windows in the entry and original floorboards throughout. Some renovations had updated the bathrooms, kitchen and back courtyard, but it had all been done consistent with the era.

  Kenneth had inherited the house in his early twenties following the shocking death of his parents in a road accident while the family was traveling south to Warrnambool for his grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. Kenneth was not seriously injured in the accident, but as an only child, suffered enormously in the aftermath. No questions were asked as to who was driving that day, but the family car had been torn apart on the left passenger side and those sitting there had no chance against the oncoming vehicle. Afterwards, Kenneth ventured out into the world to find its meaning, and this is how he became involved in charitable works where he met Kimba who was of a like mind. At the time, Middle Park was not a desirable address, but the home was now worth a mint.

  As soon as I stepped inside the bright buttercup walls of the entry, the mutt was chipping away at my ankles. Trying to avoid its hostile welcome almost caused me to drop my gift—an African Violet potted plant (a clever gift I thought), and two bottles of merlot. It followed me through the house to the back courtyard, yapping all the way. Apparently, this had not happened to anyone else upon arrival, only me. It despised me and the feeling was mutual. Kenneth finally plucked it from my heels to lock it away inside and I was able to relax in relative comfort for I could still hear it in the muffled distance.

  Sophie was without Adam and miserable. This was unusual—not that Sophie was miserable, but that Adam was not present for through all past trials they would always appear together at any gathering. The solo appearance was troubling, and I feared we had moved into a new phase, phase V, and an indefinite period of melancholy.

  If I had a choice, I would rather see Adam than Sophie for no matter how dire their married life, Adam was always happy around us, unlike Sophie. For more selfish reasons though, I wanted to see Adam because he was my link to Ben. I resented Sophie for taking this away from me, displacing the connection to my long lost love with her gloom and doom. It seemed Adam and Sophie had decided, without consultation with us, that since we were predominantly her friends, based on duration only, Adam should be the one to stay away. If democracy had reigned, Adam would have been with us, and Sophie’s tears would have been dampening someone else’s day. Sophie, as a friend, was high maintenance.

  From time to time, Sophie would retreat to the living room for another pathetic cry, and someone had to follow her for support and words of comfort. I hoped the breakup was temporary for I was not yet ready for such division and turmoil, especially as I was still recovering from mother’s scare, and now dad’s poor health. Kimba and Kenneth had been to visit mother and dad during the week with baby Violet, and Kimba came away concerned because dad was not looking too well in her expert opinion. She had urged him to have his heart checked, and I was to make sure he did, for he is a stubborn old fellow who does not like a fuss.

  In defense of my perceived lack of empathy for my friend, Sophie during this, her most recent crisis, one must remember that this is nothing new and very tiresome, and one might even conclude that she enjoys the drama she creates. If it were Erin, Amber or Kimba in crisis, my response would be different, as they have not used up their crisis rations through years of abuse.

  I wondered what Kenneth, Jake and the Bobmeister thought of it all, especially Jake since it was his first time at one of our group gatherings, and there we all were, running about after Sophie as she meandered from one state of mind, and room, to another.

  During the shifting about, someone had let the mutt out of his prison and it raced to the back courtyard to yap at me once more. This was apparently entertainment for everyone else (possibly because the day had been so somber) who mulled then as to what it was about me that was so utterly repulsive to man’s best friend. I had a theory—I was marked; marked with the jaws of that orange, rabid mongrel in Brazil, and forever identified as foe as if I bore a scarlet letter. Erin dismissed this argument by recalling the German Shepherd from next door, evidence she said of a much earlier animosity between woman and beast. Amber suggested that since dogs have a much keener sense of smell than humans they are able to sni
ff out more instinctively when something is not quite right, as was the case with me. Kenneth offered a more insightful observation, which stopped me for a moment—he suggested that as dogs are able to sense fear, perhaps they could spot someone who might live their life in fear. Then Amber added, like a person who might avoid a board meeting; someone who might “hide their yellow nature under cover of a green concealer stick”. I did not care much for the hypotheses, but at least for a brief moment, Sophie was smiling and we were able to enjoy a pleasant lunch before the rains came again.

  I recounted the Brazil dog attack again, as I like to do often to be sure others do not forget my bravery, and because Jake had not yet heard about my near-death experience. I spoke to Jake specifically, telling him how five rabid dogs had surrounded me, and how one had latched onto my calf muscle with locked jaws so that when I turned to fight my attackers and glare into their ferocious eyes, the orange mongrel had spun through the air like a paratrooper. True friends would not have laughed. Erin said that she had underestimated my talent for fiction, and perhaps after all I should put away the non-fiction I had not yet started and focus on my strengths.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  IT WAS fortuitous that I was not going back to the gym until September as the break-up with Cam the PT was a difficult one. I had misled him once again with my burst of enthusiasm in that final week with three sessions in five days, so when I announced I was quitting, he was genuinely shocked. He wanted to know why, and I had not prepared answers, not expecting there to be a discussion on the matter. I then had to endure a rather lengthy exposition on why I particularly needed his assistance. He referred to the food diary in support, pointing out that I was able to follow the program on odd days, bar some major blips on weekends, and if I could just apply myself a little harder, I could do it, and he persisted on this point for the entire hour-long session. I was not interested in explaining that the food diary was a scam perpetrated on him by me (I had learned something from Rudy the conman) as this would lead to another kind of discussion, and I wanted the talking to be over so I could be home in time for the late night movie, pizza, merlot and chocolate. I did not feel guilty leaving Cam the way I did.