Chapter 2

The thought of possibly getting a look at Todd pushed the old man safely out of Dave’smind, and he left the gym. When he reached the showers, Todd was already gone. Disappointed, Dave stepped under the hot spray. 1

Dave stood under the hot spray of the shower in his bathroom, hoping the hot water would relax his stiff joints and tight muscles. He’d just worked out in his home gym, and as usual these days, even his reduced intensity routine produced discomfort.

Why do I do this? he thought.I’m not ever going to have the body I once had. All those hours of exercise, all the supplements—which you still take—he reminded himself, and it happened anyway. The plan didn’t work—I got old.

Doggedly, he continued his routine. He lathered up, rinsed, turned off the water, and applied Mrs. Jergin’s Crepe Skin Reducer to his warm, wet skin. He drummed his fingers on the glass wall of the shower enclosure as he counted out the two minutes it took for the concoction to supposedly work its magic and take away the offending wrinkled skin on his arms, legs, chest, and ass. It wouldn’t, of course, but as with the other weapons in his arsenal in his confrontation with aging, he still hung on to the hope that it might slow his descent into looking like Grandma Moses.

He thought about the book his grandmother used to read to him at bedtime: The Saggy, Baggy Elephant. The little elephant did his best to remove the sags and bags of his wrinkled skin, only in the end to accept that was how an elephant was supposed to look. He envied the little elephant’s submission to reality. But he wasn’t there yet. Hence Dave’s battle continued, despite deep inside, he knew it was doomed to failure.

He got out of the shower, toweled himself dry, and walked to the vanity. With a deep sigh he wiped away the condensation and looked into the mirror.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Dave?” he demanded of the reflection that looked back. As always there was no response, just the taunting evidence that the handsome man who once greeted his visits to the mirror was gone and replaced by what he considered a sad reflection of what once was.

Even though Dave was reluctant to admit it, he could still see evidence of the attractive face that once had been. But this was further degraded in his mind by echoes of the oft-heard phrase, “You look good for your age.”

How he hated that—for your age. What was that supposed to mean? Did people actually think that was a compliment? Didn’t it really mean you don’t look as good as you once did?

He guessed he actually did look better than many in his group of friends. And when he was clothed, his slender body gave the impression that a fit man was hidden beneath the fabric. However, he knew the truth. The muscled, bronzed, six foot two inch, two hundred and twenty pound man who graced the old photo he kept hidden in his wallet was long gone, and sadly would never return.

Dave shaved from the crown of his head to his chin. His once thick head of curly, dark brown hair had thinned and greyed to the point that there was no point. A Yul Brynner, King and Ilook, he felt, gave him a modicum of good looks. He then applied the last of his stockpile of creams and lotions to his face and body. He topped his assault off with just a hint of bronzer—not too much. He didn’t want his crowd to think he actually used the stuff. He applied just enough to give an illusion of a natural tan, enough so that his friends, behind his back, would debate whether it was real or not.

He walked to his bedroom. Cleo, his faithful old yellow lab lay snoozing on the bed in a shaft of sunlight that streamed through the window. She raised her head as he came in. Her tail thumped the thick comforter. Dave smiled. Theoretically she was older than he—if you compared dog years to humans. However, though she had thickened in the middle and her muzzle had turned grey, she was spry as a teenager, bounding off the deck to chase the idiot rabbit that insisted on living under the shed behind a house where a Labrador retriever resided.

Cleo loved racing to retrieve thrown sticks, although never giving them up when she returned them. Dave was envious. Why did those glucosamine/chondroitin tabs he gave her daily work for her, when the ones he took seemed to do nothing for him? He couldn’t even take Motrin for his pain anymore. He had developed ulcers from overdosing so that he could keep jogging long beyond the time it was wise for him to do so.