Entry One Hundred One: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!

[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-one of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]

Even after several weeks void of human activity, the locker room still had the funky scent of sweat, balm and feet. Adam stopped at the entrance and looked around, smiling at the immediate memories that flooded him. High school gym class was never his favorite but the familiarity of a room that looked exactly as it had 14 years earlier was enough to make him smile. In the midst of everything that had changed—his life, the world--the recognizable blue, metal lockers and wooden benches dissecting the aisles between them gave him a secure feeling. He moved slowly between the rows of lockers, running his fingers along the outside of the closed doors. Some had locks on them, most did not. He remembered sharing a locker with two friends and the ghastly stench that was generated by damp clothes and towels, ignored in the bottom of the chamber for weeks. He followed the maze to the far side of the room and pushed through two swinging doors, entering the weight room. The equipment was new, as was the graphic painted on the wall of a bulldog, the school mascot, snarling and growling at some unseen opponent. The artwork itself was amateurish, probably commissioned to one of the social outcasts toiling in an art class. “The Squatters spared them a life of frustration and disappointment, if the mural represents the best they could do.” He walked over to a treadmill in the corner of the small room and he turned it on. It immediately started humming, its sound building as the walking surface broke through its lethargy and began a consistent spin. He found the control for the speed and dialed it down to the pace of “leisurely stroll” and straddled the moving base, holding on to the safety rails with his hands. When he felt he had good timing on the speed, he lifted one leg and gingerly placed it on the spinning belt and smoothly dropped into a walk. He swung his arms, emulating a natural walking motion and continued for several minutes. Satisfied he could handle it, he stopped the treadmill and stepped off as it slowed to a stop. “Let’s do it,” he said, and he made his way back to the locker room to change clothes.

All words and images ©2007/J. Colle