Why Can’t I Make Couscous?
A short story about fitness or lack of it.
“A lot of people are afraid of heights. Not me, I’m afraid of widths.” Steven Wright
Sherry and Keegan were getting fat. They’d been getting fat ever since Keegan lost his job at the Darville auto plant. He came home that day, turned on the television, and lit a cigarette. Sherry figured a nice meal would cheer him up. They had roast beef and baked potatoes the first night, then pork chops with candied yams the next. This went on until Sherry looked at herself in the mirror.
“My god,” she said to Keegan. “I look like a whale.”
Keegan was unlacing his old sneakers.
“You look okay to me,” he said.
“Well I’m fat, Keegan. We both are. We need to exercise.”
Sherry sat down next to Keegan on the bed.
“Maybe we should join a health club,” she said. “Our office gets a discount at NewLife. We have to do something.”
“What does something like that cost?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll find out.”
Sherry asked what it would cost to join the club. The young woman rose up on her toes as she talked.
After lunch the next day, Sherry stopped in at NewLife. A young woman with a long ponytail was there at the desk. Sherry asked what it would cost to join the club. The young woman rose up on her toes as she talked.
“Is it just you joining?” she asked Sherry.
“And my husband,” Sherry replied.
The young woman looked around.
“Look, I’m not supposed to do this, but I can put your husband down as a guest the first month. That’ll save you sixty bucks. He’ll still get all the privileges including discounts at the juice bar and store.”
Sherry said that would help a lot.
“You’ll need a physical first,” the girl said. “It’s club policy.”
Keegan was watching television when Sherry got home with groceries. She told him she’d signed them up at NewLife. “You get the first month free as my guest,” she said. “We’re saving sixty bucks.”
“How long did you sign us up for?” Keegan asked.
“One year.”
“A year? What if we don’t like it?”
“We’re having something different tonight,” she said through the door. “I’m making couscous.”
“We will, honey. There’s lots of things we can do. They have a swimming pool. You always liked swimming.” She took the groceries out to the kitchen. “We’re having something different tonight,” she said through the door. “I’m making couscous.”
“What’s couscous?” he said, coming in the kitchen.
“I’m not sure. It’s supposed to be good for you.”
He sat down at the kitchen table with his cigarettes.
“You’d better lay off those,” Sherry said. “We have a physical tomorrow.”
“A physical? What for?”
“To check our heart rate.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
The next day, Keegan and Sherry stood in the exercise room waiting for the instructor. All around them, people were lifting weights, riding the exercise bikes, sometimes just stretching. Keegan was sweating already. It was trickling down his back.
The instructor came out, shook hands, said his name was Frank. He had a tattoo of a horse on his neck and a few more down his arms. His hair was cropped back to almost nothing and he had an Australian accent. He took them over to a machine in the corner, then said, “Okay,” he said, “I’ll take your standing heart rate first. Then later when you’ve been running.” He set the dials on one of the treadmills. “You first,” he said to Keegan.
Keegan stood on the treadmill. It felt spongy under his feet.
“Just walk,” the instructor said.
Keegan started walking.
“How long do I have to do this?” he asked Frank.
“Until your heart rate’s up,” Frank said.
Keegan was already puffing.
“Try running,” Frank said.
He kept glancing over at the office. The woman from the front desk was sitting in there, looking at the ends of her ponytail. Her feet were up on the windowsill, legs crossed. Keegan kept huffing and puffing until Frank turned the treadmill off. Keegan leaned on the handles. Sweat was pouring down his face and his heart was pounding.
“Okay,” Frank said to Keegan. “Go over to the monitor. I’ll get your wife started.”
He watched her for a minute, then went over and cuffed Keegan. He checked the monitor.
Sherry got on the treadmill. He watched her for a minute, then went over and cuffed Keegan. He checked the monitor. Then he brought Sherry over, cuffed her, took readings. “Your blood pressure’s high, too,” he said to her. “We’ll start you on some low impact exercises. Come over to the mat.” He went and knelt down with his hands on his hips. “Lay down here,” he said. He showed them a modified sit-up, then asked Keegan and Sherry to do the same. “Try reps of five, rest, then try again. I’ll be back.”
Keegan and Sherry lay there on the mat doing the modified sit-ups. They had to bring their hands slowly up their thighs to their knees. Frank, meanwhile, was back in his office talking to the girl with the ponytail. He said something to her. She looked out at Keegan and Sherry, then slapped Frank’s arm. Keegan sat up.
“Why are you stopping?” Sherry asked.
“They’re making fun of us.”
“Who is?”
“Frank and that girl from the front desk.”
“They’re just flirting, Keegan. Let’s keep doing our exercises.”
Keegan tried doing more sit-ups, but then he looked over at the office again. Frank and the young woman were still laughing, Frank blowing out his cheeks, her slapping his arm. Keegan stood up.
“Come on,” he said to Sherry. “We’re leaving.”
“Come on,” he said to Sherry. “We’re leaving.”
“Keegan, we just got here,” she said. “What about our membership?”
“You’ll get a refund.”
Frank came out of the office.
“Where are you two going?” he called out.
Keegan pushed Sherry through the doors. Then he gave Frank the finger.
The next night, Sherry was in the kitchen reading a recipe book. She still hadn’t gotten the hang of couscous. It kept turning into a starchy mess. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she said to Keegan. “Why can’t I make couscous?”
“Don’t sweat it,” he said. “Who needs couscous?”
“We do, Keegan. I want us to lose weight. I thought you’d like the gym. Maybe we should’ve stuck to swimming.”
“Why can’t we exercise here?” Keegan said. “I can put some carpet down in the basement. Maybe paint the walls and stuff. We can even put the television from the bedroom down there.”
“I guess we could,” Sherry said. “We’ll have the refund.”
“I’ll get that carpet out of the garage.”
Raccoons had made a nest in it. He sat next to Sherry and lit a cigarette.
Fifteen minutes later, he was back saying the carpet was ruined. Raccoons had made a nest in it. Sherry was making a list of things they needed and the cost. She didn’t want to go over what she’d spent on the club membership. Keegan was telling her to put a hundred dollars for a remnant, then maybe sixty dollars for the television brackets.
“What about equipment?” Sherry said.
“Better put three hundred just to be on the safe side.”
That Saturday, they checked out some garage sales. Nobody was selling exercise equipment. They ended up at the paint store getting paint and rollers. It totalled a hundred and ninety dollars.
Things weren’t any better on the Buy and Sell. Every time they found an elliptical bike or treadmill, it was either sold or too expensive. Sherry ended up coming home one day with an exercise book called “Simple Calisthenics for Everyone.” They sat at the kitchen table going through the pictures and diagrams. When they found something they thought they could do, they took the book in the living room and stood against the wall.
She pressed her back against the wall, then slowly went down until her knees were straight out.
“We’re supposed to slide down until our thighs and knees are parallel with the floor,” Sherry said, holding the book in one hand. She pressed her back against the wall, then slowly went down until her knees were straight out. Keegan did the same. They were both wearing sweat pants and t-shirts from a 5k charity walk they never took.
“How long do we do this for?” he said.
“Sixty seconds,” Sherry said.
“I’m getting a cramp in my leg.”
“Just another thirty seconds.”
“What are we having for dinner?”
“I might try making couscous again.”
“I’d rather have potatoes. One night won’t hurt.”
“We’ve got to cut back on our starches, Keegan,” she said, handing him the exercise book. “I’ll go get supper started. At least try doing a few of these floor exercises. Find some you can do on your back.”
Keegan went through the book, looking at the pictures, seeing all those flat stomachs and broad shoulders. It reminded him of that Frank character and the blonde, both sitting in Frank’s office puffing out their cheeks. He felt like writing NewLife a letter and complaining.
Sherry came back with a plate of carrots and celery sticks. She put them on the rug next to Keegan. “How’s your leg?” she asked.
“I’m never going to look like this,” he said, pointing to a picture of a man doing leg squats. “Not in a million years.”
“Still hurts,” he said. “What’s with the carrots and celery?”
“Just something to munch on. Did you find some exercises?”
“I’m never going to look like this,” he said, pointing to a picture of a man doing leg squats. “Not in a million years.”
“You don’t have to look like him, Keegan,” Sherry said.
“What are we doing this for then?”
“To be healthier,” she said.
“I heard you can die from overdoing it.”
“We’re not exactly overdoing it,” she said, going back to the kitchen.
Keegan turned on the television. There was some kind of skiing event with skiers coming down the slalom course. They were all so fit and sleek, looking like human stallions in their ski suits. The more Keegan watched them, the more he realized there were two different worlds, the fit and the fat. He was fat, a fat man trying to do one sit-up. He reached for his cigarettes, lit one, and lay back.
“Keegan?” Sherry called from the kitchen. “I think it worked.”
“What worked?”
“The couscous.”
The skiers were standing on a platform, getting medals now. They held them up over their heads with big smiles on their tanned faces. Keegan put out his cigarette, turned the television off, then went to help set the table. Sherry was dishing out the couscous, a yellow glob next to a green glob of peas and beans. It looked like a fat man’s nightmare there on the plate. It looked disgusting.
