“And?”
“Well, I didn’t rip a hole in them.” He shrugs once straightened up.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Come look at yourself in the mirror.” I point to the large floor-to-ceiling mirror just to my left.
Marcello walks to the spot I gestured with my hand, but keeps his gaze downward.
“Look at yourself.” I nudge him. Standing next to him, I look in the reflection, waiting for his eyes to lift.
When they do, Marcello looks surprised.
“See,” I say, “you look good, don’t you?”
“I… I look better than I thought.”
“Wasn’t there a mirror in the changing room?”
“Yeah, but… I don’t really like mirrors. Haven’t for a while. It’s not just the weight.” He holds my eye contact in our reflection. “It’s everything. Ageing. Changing. Not being what I used to be.”
I nod. “I get that. I feel it too.”
“You do?” His eyes give my suit and body a once over. “Even looking like that.”
I pull in a slow breath. I feel what I feel, and then say it anyway. “You know there’s a reason I look like this, right?”
Marcello’s eyes narrow on me. “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t born weighing 90kg and wearing a three-piece-suit,” I begin.
“I assumed as much.” Marcello chuckles. “Only because you’d be world famous if you were.”
I smile at him and then continue, “I grew up short and skinny. Really skinny. Couldn’t put weight on to save my life. And I didn’t really grow until I hit sixteen. And even now, I’m not tall. Not really, not like you.”
“So you started training to gain weight? Surely eating pizza twice a day would have been a more fun way to do it?”
I laugh again. “Sure, but it wouldn’t have worked. Believe me I tried. I have a high metabolism,” I say, and I leave it like that. “My secondary school had a gym, a good one. Our PE teacher got us learning how to lift weights the right way, and he started a training group after school a few times a week. I joined and became hooked. The same teacher taught me about eating the right way – more protein, more healthy fats – and the weight, the muscle came. And then my father died.”
Marcello keeps his eyes on me as I swallow.
“Then it became all the more important to me. I felt like the gym was my refuge. A place I could go and sweat away some of the pain. I was nineteen, just lost my dad, at university studying for a degree I had no interest in, and I struggled to make friends. But in the gym, I had focus. I had goals. I could see progress. I could literally see the time I so badly wanted to pass tick on by.”
“And the suits?”
I smile to myself as I take in the grey, white and pink plaid suit I’m wearing today. “I lived in gym clothes until my graduation. Unbeknownstto me, my dad had left me money specifically for a new suit for my graduation. A decent amount of money. So I treated myself to a tailored suit. And I guess you could say it changed my life. It wasn’t just the way the suit looked on me when it was finished. It was the whole process of it being made. Getting measured up. Choosing the fabrics. Getting fitted. Making final adjustments. Picking out the perfect accessories. I liked that it took time. I liked that it took care. I liked that it made me feel put together, made me feel whole.”
Silence falls and I watch Marcello’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “You shouldn’t need a suit to feel that way.”
It’s delivered kindly and I appreciate that.
“And you don’t need to lose weight or tone up to feel better about yourself, to be a better person. You’re already a good person, Marcello, and what your body looks like has nothing to do with that. But you’re curious, aren’t you? You want to do this training and triathlon, right? You want to challenge yourself and see what happens?”
A smile breaks out on Marcello’s face. It starts off reluctantly, but by the time it’s settled, lifting his lips, there’s more to it. Maybe a little hope in there, perhaps.
“Well, that was a point well made with an emotional monologue.” His smile deepens and his brown eyes seem to sparkle under the many downlights in the changing room ceiling, revealing those flecks of gold and whiskey. He turns away from the mirror and looks down at me. His hand comes to land on my shoulder, warm and heavy. “But next time you can just tell me to shut up and get over myself, okay?”
I nod at him. “Noted.”
“So, shall I go and try on everything else?” He lifts his arm and I miss it instantly.
