Romance:From Fat To Fatale(23)

The only minor problem with this brilliant vision of the future was that Larry didn't feel that he was particularly well cut out to be Jewish. He had no objections to the ancient faith. Let everyone believe what they wanted, he used to say. He enjoyed the sense of belonging to a close-knit community. He just didn't really subscribe to any of the religious aspects of being Jewish. I guess you can probably see that that could pose a problem or three for a future rabbi-in-the-making. He had about a ton and a half of stubborn resistance in his heart that made it impossible to accept any argument solely on the grounds of faith. If it didn't make sense from the standpoint of reason, Larry would just shake his headful of unruly curls, cross his arms, look down at the floor and go into silence mode. Sometimes for days at a time.

He wanted to be a scientist, a pioneering explorer cutting trails in the uncharted fields of quantum physics. He'd told his rabbi and his father that if God really existed, He would be discovered at the core of an as yet undiscovered theoretical particle. The family's dream of raising a rabbi gradually faded away and Larry's grades could've easily opened the doors to a much more prestigious centre of learning than the town's college. But he felt a debt to his community and to his parents for allowing him the freedom to choose his own path and so he elected to stay closer to home. In a weird kind of way, I was glad he did. Physically, we really couldn't have been any more different and still remain classified within the same species. I was on a religious quest in search of the holy silhouette of the Slimmer Misha.

Larry just wanted to add a few pounds of muscle to his beanpole frame. I offered him a deal on a very generous lipo-transplant in return for some of his skinniness but he politely declined. We swapped stories of our childhoods, growing up in the same town but in very different communities. I told him that with his bone structure and those hypnotically amazing eyes, all he had to do was fill out those bones with a little bit of lean muscle and I'd have to loan him a baseball bat to keep all the gals at arm's length. He said they'd have to behave in a civilised manner and form an orderly line, each one taking their turn so that no one would leave dissatisfied. He was laughing at the absurdity of his own imagination, this skinny guy with the stooped shoulders and shy manner. Little did we know back in those more innocent days what was waiting for him. I guess no one, least of all Larry, could have foreseen his future.

We met most evenings at the pool, learned to swim after a fashion, and headed off to the cafeteria to hang out, one of the oddest-looking couples on campus. There was nothing romantic going on. I guess we became friends. He had a heart the size of Texas and was one of the kindest, most generous people I'd ever met. He never asked for anything. Any problem and he would instantly offer to help, lift the burden, figure out a way to fix things. He was bright, no question, but it was his kindness that touched my heart.

Yeah. That's right. I admitted it. He touched my heart. I'm a human being. What were you expecting? I also began to notice that Larry's exercise routines - he was hitting the college gym for an hour every lunchtime - were starting to pay off. Our infamous beanpole impersonator was building some muscle on his saw-horse frame. And it suited him. With Larry, it was never a case of misplaced vanity.

I'd never known anyone who was less concerned with their appearance. He applied a purely scientific approach to making his body stronger and more efficient, to fixing his posture and learning to hold himself a little more upright. And it worked. As my weight slipped away and I discovered the first hints of real muscle under the diminishing layers of fat, Larry started to show signs of a budding physique and ladies, well, you know what ladies are like, they started to notice him.

During these heady days of feasting on wholesome food, walking in my dance-syncopated shuffle round the college perimeter three times a day now, studying hard and swimming most evenings like a reincarnated Moby Dick, Larry cheering alongside for the fun of it, I noticed that all interest in my former love-life activities waned to the point of absolute zero. Apart from meeting up with Larry, I just didn't go out anymore, no longer drawn to the fading hours of those booze-fuelled parties, driven by my solitary quest to spot the semi-inebriated targets for my cunning and lustful ambitions. I just lost interest. I could've turned to you, of course, for advice.

But we hadn't been introduced, had we? I could've turned to Larry but this was something I wasn't ready to share with him. Not yet anyways. So I decided to call on to my lady nutritionist. I punched in the numbers to make an appointment but she was so delighted to hear my voice that she said I should come round right away, she'd just rearrange her schedule. She was positively beaming as she opened the door to her neat little office and welcomed me in, this time with a hug that took the wind right out of my sails. Wow! She said with that old twinkle in her eye. Just look at you. She couldn't stop complimenting me on the changes in my shape and condition and you've got to know how important it is to receive recognition for a job well done. It's all that stuff about positive affirmation and righteous feedback, a powerful validation for what you've achieved.

It felt wonderful. I got emotional again. Dammit. But it felt really good and I imagined that I could so easily get used to it.

Hey. Who wouldn't?

Now, she said as she took her seat beside me on the familiar couch, handing me a glass of cool, spring water, what can I do for you, Honey? You know those special people you can tell absolutely anything and they don't judge or criticise you? Don't put you down or make you feel small or wrong or dirty or perverted? Well, you probably don't know too many of them because they're about as rare as a rubber dispenser in the Sistine Chapel. OK. Times are changing.