My Soul Cries Out (17 page)

I suddenly felt that if I was a good Christian who studied my Bible as I should, I could answer her questions. Instead, my weak response was, “It's just what I believe.”

“Then let me believe what I believe and you believe what you believe.”

“Yeah, but what if the real answer isn't subjective? What if I'm right?”

“If you're right, your God has the power to make sure I end up on the right path. You pray that He saves me, and if Jesus is the only real God, then He will. If He isn't, then He won't.”

We decided to skip the rest of
Antwone Fisher
and moved on to
Man on Fire
. Nothing like some violence to make a person feel better. Drooling over Denzel didn't hurt either.

After the movie was over, we were both ready to go to sleep. As I lay in my bed, trying to fall asleep, I decided to pray. God and I had been issued a challenge.

A
fter two weeks of working out like a fiend, I studied my body in the mirror in the aerobics studio. I frowned as Alaysia walked up.

“What's wrong?”

“Seems like with all this working out, I should be seeing some difference. I shoulda brought my scale from home.” Alaysia refused to have a scale at home, and I refused to get on the scale in the middle of the gym. I didn't want anyone to see how far I had to slide the little bar over.

“Monnie, you can't do that. That's why so many people don't stick to their exercise routines. You're not gonna get immediate results. Try to focus on becoming more fit and feeling good after you work out. If you worship the scale and try to see a difference, it'll never happen quick enough and you'll get discouraged.”

“How will I know if it's working or not?”

“You have to trust me.”

I rolled my eyes. “This relationship of ours requires absolutely too much trust.”

 

 

I settled into a routine of workouts and healthy food. I got addicted to the endorphin coma that came after a good workout. If I missed a workout, I was tired and cranky and my body didn't feel right. I enjoyed our healthy diet. I never felt that yucky, heavy, about-to-burst feeling after a meal.

One thing Alaysia was right about, though. The farts. The pure, organic, vegetarian farts were a force to be reckoned with. I hated to be around my own self if one slipped out. And they definitely weren't the kind you could ease out in a crowd and hope nobody noticed. One of those jokers would clear a room. I had to be careful in the gym. The up and down pounding on the treadmill was enough to make things want to slip out. I didn't want a reputation in the gym as the fat girl with the wicked farts.

Even the whole fat girl/skinny girl thing didn't bother me anymore. I became one of the regulars in the gym, and we had a camaraderie of exercise addiction. People would see me on the track or pass by me on my favorite treadmill and say, “Do your thing, Monnie.” Made me feel good.

When I finally got up the nerve to try one of the step classes, I was discouraged at first. I couldn't keep up. The class would be going one way, and I'd be going another. Zanetta, a friend of Alaysia's, was teaching the class. She saw me struggling and yelled out, “If you can't keep up, just do the basic up and down step.”

That was easy enough, so I did it for the rest of the class.

Zanetta caught me before I left the aerobics studio. “Hey, maybe if we go over some of the basic steps, you'll do better in your next class.”

Next class? She was making a big assumption.

She spent half an hour showing me the tricks to mastering her step class. After she seemed satisfied I had gotten it, she made me commit to at least three classes a week for the next month before I decided to never step again. Might as well try. It was more fun than running on the treadmill.

 

 

Alaysia made a gross understatement when she said she needed help with the financial management of her business. It was an absolute mess.

Luckily, I knew a little something about running a business. I joined Dr. Stewart's practice when she'd just opened. She hadn't built up a patient panel and was agonizing over needing to hire a practice manager to do her billing and budgeting. I was always good at math, and convinced her I could do the accounting and billing for her. The small raise I asked for didn't compare to what full-time salary and benefits for an office manger would cost her.

After a few months of hard work, I turned her whole financial picture around. Dr. Stewart was so grateful, she gave me a huge bonus.

Alaysia was going to have to give me a huge bonus for all the work it would take to get her business in order. Three weeks after my arrival in Atlanta, I sat at my desk, looking at her numbers. After an hour of pulling my hair, I called Alaysia into my room.

“What are all these ‘payment pendings' about? Alaysia, most of your clients owe you money.” I pointed to the places in her book with the little smiley faces and red circles around them.

“Every once in a while, I extend a little credit.”

“Every once in a while? Alaysia, this person, Hazel Hampton, hasn't paid you in two months, but you've given her a one-hour massage once a week?”

“She's having some hard times. Her husband is divorcing her and she's short on cash. I'm waiting 'til she gets back on her feet.”

“Then she doesn't need to be getting massages.” Was it me, or wasn't that a logical conclusion?

“I know, but she's been stressed out. She's lost everything, and I didn't want her to have to give up her massages.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, what about this? Jim hasn't paid you for yoga classes in six weeks. According to your contract, he's supposed to pay you every two weeks.”

“I've been giving him the invoices, but he keeps making excuses.”

“Then stop giving the classes.”

“What would they do for yoga classes?”

I threw up my hands. “Why are you calling this a business? You should call it Alaysia's Charity Fitness. At this rate, you'll be bankrupt before the year ends.”

“See? That's what I need you for.” She bounced out of the room.

I'd definitely be earning my keep. I decided to deal with the mess later, and put the books in the file cabinet drawer.

I turned on my computer to check my email. I was excited to see Trina's name in my inbox. We had been trading emails over the past few months. I kept her updated on my move to Atlanta, and she told me about their continual progress in Africa. They were reaching out to surrounding villages and making a difference everywhere they went. I typed a long message back to her. When I first started emailing her, my messages were short because I was so careful, trying to make it seem like I was okay. Now that I was okay and had exciting things to tell her about my new life, my messages were almost as long as hers. I smiled. Things still hurt, but life was getting better slowly but surely.

I sent off the message and perused through the Spam in my inbox. My hand froze on the mouse.

There were two messages from Kevin. Only two? I had expected him to write every day. I guessed he was being considerate of me needing time. I didn't want to read them because I didn't want to feel that sad Kevin feeling, but my finger clicked the mouse against my will.

Oh well. I was sad now. Might as well click on the other email.

I was glad he promised not to write anymore, because I didn't know how many of those emails I could take.

Next thing I knew, I was standing in front of the pantry reaching for a box of cookies. I couldn't even remember walking into the kitchen. I slowly closed the pantry door and leaned against it.
Chocolate is not your friend, Monica.

I went back to my room and lay down on the chaise lounge and pulled the chenille throw over me. I pretended it was God wrapping His arms around me. I imagined Him wiping my tears and smoothing back my hair, telling me how much He loved me and how everything was gonna be okay. I closed my eyes and imagined myself snuggling into His chest and falling asleep in His arms.

Yeah. God was definitely better than chocolate.

A
fter working out for three months straight, I was addicted and even went to the gym if Alaysia couldn't make it. I still hadn't gotten on the scale, but all the clothes I bought when I first got to Atlanta were falling off me. I looked forward to getting some winter fashions in a smaller size.

After keeping my commitment to Zanetta to continue her classes, I was the step queen. Not only did I do the regular steps, I threw in some extra steps of my own, double-time what the rest of the class did. I had graduated to the advanced class after two months.

One day, Zanetta came up to my treadmill. “Monica, I need a huge favor. My little boy's school called and he's sick. I gotta go pick him up. Can you take my beginners class for me?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. The tape is already in the deck. Just push play.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, silly. You know my whole routine backward and forward. Hurry up. It's supposed to start in seven minutes.”

What's a fat girl gonna look like teaching an aerobics class full of skinny girls? I stopped the treadmill and got off. Zanetta pulled her keys out of her bag and put on a big wooly sweater, as if me saying no wasn't an option. I'd hate to leave her hanging if her son was sick. How hard could a beginner 's class be?

After ten minutes of leading the class, I realized I did know Zanetta's routine by heart. I stepped and called out the instructions like I had been teaching forever. I noticed a rather large young lady in the back struggling to keep up. I instructed the rest of the class to continue and jogged back to her step.

“Come on, right, left, right, left, tap left, now turn. Three knee repeater, do the same leg, two, three, now left, right, turn step, left, right.” I showed her the footing, and she got it with no problem. I stayed in the back with her and had the rest of the class to turn to face us. By the time the class was over, she looked proud that she kept up with the skinny girls.

After we cooled off, she came over. “Thanks for helping me out. I was about to put up the step and sneak out the back door.”

“I feel you, girl. That's how I felt after my first class.” I extended my hand. “I'm Monica.”

She shook my hand. “Talinda. Nice to meet you. How long have you been working out?”

“Almost three months now.”

“Wow, you're in really good shape.”

“Thanks. If you come on a regular basis, you'll be keeping up in no time.”

“Are you the regular teacher of the class?”

“No, my friend Zanetta is, but you'll like her.”

She frowned. “I wish you were teaching.”

“Tell you what. I'll meet you back here tomorrow and we'll do it together.”

Her face brightened. “Cool. I'll see you then.”

 

 

Later that evening, Alaysia popped her head in my door. “Hey, Zanetta called. Her son has a bad stomach virus and she wanted to know if you could take her class for the rest of the week. Did you teach today?”

“Yeah, she grabbed me off the treadmill and forced me into it.”

“How'd it go?”

“Great, actually.” I told her how I rescued a fellow fat girl from exercise despair.

She stood there thinking for a minute. “You know, that's a great idea. You should start a class for the fitnessly challenged.”

“Fitnessly challenged?”

“You don't want to call it a fat girl class, do you?”

 

 

In four weeks, my Full-Figured Fitness Class was so popular, I added extra time slots.

I started each class by going over the basic steps slowly before doing the routine. For some of the women who were really out of shape, I showed a modified version so they would still get the sense of accomplishment that comes with finishing a whole class. I used the bomb house music mixes, and sang and called out the instructions to make it fun.

Talinda came almost every day. She brought a few of her friends, and after a while convinced her mother to come, too. She and her mother could pass for twins. They had the same pretty face and the same big hips and butts. Made me miss Mommy.

Talinda introduced me to her mother after class. “Gosh, Monica. You've lost weight since I started taking your class. Can you help me out with a diet?” Talinda asked.

Next thing I knew, I was doing dietary counseling with several of the women in my class. We sat on the floor in the aerobics studio after our workouts. Alaysia came in one day as we were finishing.

After everyone left, she said, “You know, you should start a formal class. You can put together a handout with nutrition information and recipes. Only don't do it for free. I'll talk to Jim and figure out a way to get you compensated. A lot of people have joined this gym that never would have if you weren't doing your classes. He needs to give us more money.”

I was contracting with the gym through Alaysia's business. “I don't want to charge the women. I want to get them the information so they can live healthy.”

“That's not the way you run a business,” Alaysia said.

My eyes widened. “Oh, now you want to run it like a business.”

She laughed. “For real, girl. I think you're on to something here. You should get your personal trainer certificate and start working one on one with some of these women.”

“What's a fat girl gon' look like being a personal trainer?”

“The same thing she looks like teaching the most popular aerobics class in the gym.”

She had a point. Even though my class was a full-figured class, I had skinny girls and quite a few men in it, too. The classes were so packed, they started a sign-up list half an hour before the class began.

“Besides, have you looked in the mirror lately? You ain't Twiggy, but I don't think you should call yourself a fat girl anymore.”

“Whatever.”

“Naw, for real, though. You're shaping up. In fact, why don't you get on the scale?”

“I thought I wasn't allowed to get on the scale.”

“That was four months ago when you were studying yourself in the mirror every day to see if your thirty-minute workout made you lose an instant fifty pounds.”

I smacked her arm. “Shut up, Alaysia.”

I was nervous about getting on the scale. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. What could it hurt?

Everybody turned around when they heard me scream, “Oh my God! I've lost forty pounds.”

They all stopped their workouts and clapped. “Go, Monnie. Go, Monnie. Go, Monnie . . .”

I did a little sexy dance to their chant and got back on the scale to make sure I read it right. I lost forty-two pounds in the last four months. Amazing.

The women from my class gathered around me at the scale, all talking at once. “Okay, Monica, we want the whole program. Whatever you're doing, we want to do.”

One woman said, “We'll pay you whatever we need to if you help us lose forty pounds.”

“Yeah, girl, name your price. I'm trying to get whatever you got. You taking Metabolife?” Talinda asked.

“No, I ain't taking no pills. Just hard work. Five aerobics classes a week, a love affair with treadmill number four, and weight training. Plus a healthy vegetarian diet.”

I lost half of them there. I still had twelve who were willing to try my program. We decided to form a lifestyle support group and cooking class to meet on Saturday afternoons. Alaysia planned to talk to Jim about the business arrangement.

 

 

She came home later that evening, slamming the door and everything else in the house. “Jim is a greedy dog. Can you believe he thought you should do the class on a volunteer basis? He acted like he was doing you a favor, offering to let you ‘use his space.' He really made me mad. We're already offering our services at below market rate. Do you know how much other yoga instructors and personal trainers in the area make? Even for the step classes and massages. I got half a mind to . . .”

Alaysia paced around the living room, muttering to herself. “It's robbery. He's making a mint off us. It's worse than robbery—it's slavery. And we're not taking it anymore.”

She reminded me of the old Alaysia, getting fired up for one of her causes. I could almost hear “We Shall Overcome” playing in her mind.

“We're gonna open our own gym. Only we're not gonna call it a gym. We'll call it a . . . uh . . . we'll call it a Wellness Center. Or Life Center or New Life Center—no that sounds like a church. How 'bout Alternative Lifestyles Center? Naw, that don't sound quite right. We'll call it . . . something.”

“Slow down, Alaysia. Do you know how much it would cost to start our own place?”

“It's your job to figure that out.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

Alaysia continued pacing and muttering, throwing out ideas for our new enterprise. “We'll put it right next door to his gym and take all his business.”

I laughed. “He really made you mad, huh?”

 

 

The next few weeks, all we did was plan our new business. We scouted locations, priced exercise equipment, did a market analysis, and checked out the competition. It helped me not get depressed over the Christmas holidays.

One evening, I sat at the kitchen table, putting figures together to see how much money it would take to get started. I walked out to the living room where Alaysia was decorating a Christmas tree.

“Alaysia, where are we going to get all this money? With what you've let slip through your fingers, and the money Massa Jim has stolen from us, I don't know.”

“I still have the money from my condo sale. And we can always call Daddy. I haven't hit him up in almost a year. He's probably drowning in a pool of guilt.” She threw the last few strands of tinsel onto the tree and stood back to look at it.

I thought about Kevin offering me our savings. It was only $12,000, but I wanted to do my part. I suddenly realized I hadn't thought about Kevin in months. Hadn't thought about a divorce. Hadn't thought about anything about us. I had been enjoying my new life in Atlanta.

Alaysia adjusted the star on top of the tree. “Why so sad? Daddy won't mind.”

I shook myself. “I know he won't. I was just thinking—”

“I know. It would be nice if we could do this on our own.”

“No, I wasn't thinking that. I was thinking he could give us a loan that the business would pay back once we got up and running.”

Alaysia nodded. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”