11 - Whipped into Shape
"Circle! Circle! Under! Over! Through! Around!" the enthusiastic instructor yelled from the tv, swinging the jump rope with vigour as she demonstrated the moves she called out. "Again!" The room was full of the thud of sneakers, and the snap of polyester rope against the floor, underpinned by heavy panting and some boppy music that sounded like it was from the eighties.
Five minutes into the Cardio-Whip DVD, Steph's lungs were burning. The woman on the screen called it the 'warm up', but for Steph, it hadn't gotten any better. Red-faced. Drenched. Stray tendrils of hair clung to her neck like seaweed to a rock. Deb, his face a canvas of exertion matching Steph's, flashed a grin that reached his eyes, egging her on.
She mustered a grunt, more breath than voice as they started another set. "Hate you."
Deb's grin grew wider still with her proclamation. "You love me! Don't lie!"
It was true. He'd become her saving grace in the darkness that had enveloped her after Carlos left. That first day, she'd poured her heart out to him. And every day since, he'd found a way to brighten her world just a little, whether it was by sharing random facts about the flowers he was working with in his mother's flower shop, or sending her pictures of foods they needed to try, or the semi-bi-weekly coffee date they had after class when they could both afford the time.
He was by no means a replacement for what she'd had with Carlos. Didn't even come close. But his friendship still meant a lot to her, and she felt like she could tell him things that Sarah and Louise, and even Mary Lou when she occasionally spoke to her, didn't understand.
Deb was the kind of guy who always had a solution to her problems. So, when she complained about her jeans getting too tight during lunch yesterday, he knew exactly what to do. And what to do, was death by jump rope workout DVD, apparently.
"Swipe it! Swipe it! Swipe it through! Check it out! Double jump!" the perky instructor yelled on the TV, and Steph almost whipped herself in the face to mimic the actions on the screen. "That's right! You've got it!"
Steph was pretty sure she didn't.
"I'm gonna… die… before this woman ... lets us… take a break," she panted. "You'll have… to drag… my body… out… to the dumpster."
A rough sound that might have been a laugh if he weren't also on the verge of death escaped Deb's mouth. "Just wait… for the next… bit," he instructed just as the woman on the screen told them to take a breather.
Steph immediately dropped the jump rope as if it had burned her. She dived for her water bottle, the cool liquid cascading down her throat like an oasis mirage turned real. "I'm done," she gasped. "You can finish this torture yourself. I'll be in the -"
The advertisement for a Cardio-whip DVD subscription ended and the woman returned to the screen. "If you've been with me for a while you'll know that the Cardio-Whip 3000 is more than just a workout," she explained. She was fresh faced and her breathing was calm, leading Steph to believe it had been filmed separately to the rest of the video, a point that struck a nerve as she stood there drenched in sweat and breathing hard, waiting for the next round of torture to begin. They could have at least given her a dewy complexion so it looked like she'd broken a sweat.
Steph's derisive thoughts were squashed abruptly as the camera zoomed out to reveal what she recognised from her classes at the Y as a defence dummy.
"Um…?" She had questions building inside her, but none of them made it out before the instructor was answering half of them.
"It's a defensive weapon!" Ms Perky explained, approaching the dummy with a twinkle in her eye. "Simply wrap the rope around your assailant's neck and pull 'til they turn blue! And you can use the patented handle grip to shatter your attacker's spine."
"Where did you find this?" Steph asked, turning wide eyes on her friend.
"Garage sale," Deb grinned. "But the lady insisted on keeping the jump rope for herself."
*o*
The course had transformed into a treacherous quagmire, a relentless opponent in its own right. Every move he made was hindered in one way or another by the rain that had started early this morning. His hand slipped on the slick rope, his boot squelched as they were sucked into the greedy mud, the relentless rain stung his face, blurring his vision. Carlos had braced himself for a trial of endurance, but the reality of basic training was a relentless assault on both body and spirit. It was hard. And he still wasn't sleeping well.
Exhaustion seeped into his bones, a nightly thief that robbed him of consciousness, yet left him a hostage to his own restless mind. Where once he'd had sweet dreams of Stephanie Plum, they now turned to nightmares. While he was sure he'd done the right thing for himself, for his future and for his own wellbeing, he was haunted by what could have been if he'd spoken up and shared what he felt for her sooner, and what Steph might be getting into without him there to watch her back. He worried for her even as he was glad to be out of her orbit and the silent suffering and heartache he had endured just to stay by her side.
Despite the distance, the gruelling task, and the harsh weather, his thoughts were consumed by Stephanie Plum. The way she'd spun around in the rain on the way back to the dorms after class one evening, her smile shining brightly, illuminating the dreary afternoon. Her groan the one time he'd tried to convince her to get up early to join him for a run. The subtle curve of her-
"OOF!"
Without warning, an unstoppable force collided with Carlos, catapulting him into the mire. It coated his tongue and filled his nostrils leaving him spluttering and gagging as he tried to clear his airways and suck in some oxygen. He tried to lever himself up on his hands and knees only for the ground to slide away underneath him and leave him right back where he started. A face full of mud.
"This isn't a luxury spa, Manoso! Save the mud baths for your leisure time!" Drill Sergeant's voice carried easily over the steady drum of rain that blanketed Carlos's hearing like static. "Get on your feet and get on your way!"
A large hand grabbed his bicep, reefing him upright with an almighty squelch. "Sorry. Guess I overshot the landing." The man's voice was deep, a quiet rumble that almost blended with the rain, and as Carlos managed to swipe the mud from his eyes once and for all, he couldn't help but stare up at the mountain of a man before him. His face was a couple shades darker than the mud currently coating Carlos head to toe, and the hand still gripping his bicep spanned almost the whole length of his upper arm. He had to be close to seven feet tall. Did the military even allow recruits of that height? Surely his size would be more of a hindrance than a help.
"No harm, no foul," Carlos replied, spitting out what he hoped was the last of the grit coating his mouth. He turned back toward the next obstacle - the crawl-under net. Probably, he should have just stayed down in the mud, since he'd be back there in a second anyway. Jogging forward, he launched himself through the bog. And the mountainous recruit was right beside him, his voice less of a rumble and more of a boom now as he made enthusiastic introductions.
"I'm Pierre," he said as they slithered side by side. "Pierre Sherman. The name doesn't exactly scream 'fearless warrior', does it? You can call me Tank. Everyone does."
Tank - what an appropriate name for the man - continued to chatter as they slogged through the swamp the training course had become. He shared inane details about himself, his family, his life before the military. In no time, they were both standing in front of the wall they needed to climb. Carlos, hands braced on his knees, gasped for air, his breaths coming in ragged heaves. Beside him, Tank was ankle deep in a tale about a family of ducks he'd once fostered.
Carlos didn't think he'd ever meet someone who could rival his cousin when it came to sprouting a never ending stream of words, but here he was. All seven feet of him.
"Sherman! Save the Ted-Talk for later! Get your chatterbox up that wall!"
Drill Sergeant's command spurred them both into action, but before Carlos could figure out how he was going to haul himself up and over the vertical, rain-slicked timber structure, Tank had his meaty arms wrapped around Carlos's thighs, lifting him easily off the ground. He gazed down, awe mingling with bewilderment at the sheer power coiled in the man's frame.
"Brace on the wall," Tank said. "I'm gonna adjust my hold and give you a boost!"
Carlos nodded, and a moment later, he was scrambling onto the narrow top ledge of the structure. He braced himself as best he could, squinting down at the man through the continued onslaught of rain and extended his hand. Tank backed up a few feet and took a running leap at the wall, latching on to Carlos's forearm and using it as leverage in his ascent. Just as Tank was throwing a leg over the top of the wall, Carlos's balance shifted and he tumbled off the other side, Tank following a second behind as he tried to catch him and tipped over himself.
This time, the impact of his body into the mud left Carlos winded. Doubly so as the mountain crashed down half on top of him. His lungs were screaming as Tank rolled off him, and hauled them both to their feet.
"Sorry, friend," Tank rumbled, mud sluicing off his face in the pouring rain that pelted them both. "Guess there was a bit of harm and foul this time."
Carlos snorted, a spray of mud emitting almost painfully from his nose along with his amusement. He shook his head and finally managed to suck in a full lungful of air in preparation to reply when Drill Sergeant's voice once again cut through the cacophony of the training field.
"Do you need an invitation to move faster, or can you figure that out on your own? The army waits for no one, not even the weather! The harder the rain falls, the tougher you become. Use it to your advantage!"
Biting back the words he was about to say, Carlos jerked his head toward the remainder of the course they had to get through and took off at a stilted jog through the slippery expanse of mud before the next obstacle. They worked through the remainder of the course together, with far less commentary from Tank, and For the first time, Carlos found his usually wandering thoughts anchored firmly in the now. It was kind of hard not to focus on the present when he was soaked to the bone, physically exhausted, and looking at the conundrum that was a seven foot man that refers to cats and kitties.
They formed up in front of Drill Sergeant and endured yet another speech about the importance of perseverance and brotherhood before they were sent on their way to shower and clean up. Now that they'd completed the only strenuous outdoor activity for the day, the rain decided to give them a break. The other recruits cheered, throwing their arms wide as a weak beam of sunlight attempted to break through the clouds.
On the way to the shower block, Tank moved with an easy stride at the heart of the pack, beaming as he bantered with a fellow recruit. Carlos jogged to catch up.
"Thanks for the assist back there," he said, falling into step as best he could beside the man. Carlos had considered himself relatively tall, especially since his last growth spurt, but his legs felt stumpy as he tried to keep pace with Tank.
"No problem," Tank replied easily. "You had the same look on your face that my Mama gets when she's lost in the past. Figured I could offer you a mental distraction as much as a helping hand. Pretty impressive how calm you were with the Drill Sergeant screaming in your face at the beginning of the course."
Carlos let out a small laugh, thinking back to the days following his arrest when he couldn't turn his head without his mother, grandmother or aunts ripping him a new one. "Trust me, one Drill Sergeant is nothing compared to a kitchen full of Latina women when you've stepped out of line." Offering a mud-splattered hand, he introduced himself with a small smile, "Carlos Manoso."