Gifts and Consequences (14 page)

“Oh.  Uh, is this, can I talk to Trevor?”

“Yeah, this is Trevor.”

“Oh, hi.  This is Porter.  From the group.”

“Yeah, Porter.  It’s great to hear from you.  How are things going?”

“Oh man, they’re, uh, they’re not going great.  I need to talk to someone.”

“No problem,” said Trevor with a smile in his voice.  “Give me half an hour to tie a few things up here at the office and I’ll meet you at McKinley Park.  It’s the one next to the building where group is held.”

“Okay.  Thanks.”  Porter placed the phone next to the charger and squeezed down the hall to his bedroom for a shower and shave.

When he pulled into the parking lot he scanned the park and saw Trevor waiting at a picnic table.  With effort, he climbed out of his Corolla just as two teenage boys walked by.

“Whoa,” said of the boys.  “That’s like a Harry Potter car?”

“Huh?” said the other boy.

“Like those tents, dude.  They’re way bigger on the inside than they look.”  They laughed and walked on.

Porter thought about saying something but let it pass.  Just like he always did. 

Trevor stood and offered his hand when Porter walked up.  In the four months since they’d seen each other, Trevor had lost almost as much weight as Porter had gained.  Porter immediately noticed and envied the loose skin that hung around Trevor’s biceps and jowls.  Maybe calling Trevor wasn’t the best idea.

Though there was no sign of it on his face, Porter knew that Trevor sized him up and registered his drastic weight gain. 

“Porter,” said Trevor with a smile.  “It’s great to see you, Pal.”  He sounded sincerely happy.

“Thanks,” said Porter, unable to meet Trevor’s eyes.  He slumped onto the bench across from Trevor.  “I’ve had a pretty rough go of it lately.”

“You know what?  I think it’s much more important which direction you’re headed than where you happen to be right now.  I’m down seventy pounds from my high right now, but what good does it do if I start heading up again?”

“But I can’t do it.  I don’t even know why I’m wasting your time.”  Porter hung his head and waited for Trevor to agree.

“You think you’re the first food addict to say you can’t do it?”  Trevor paused to let his words sink in.  “You think you’re the only one, but millions of people are just as weak as you are.  And just as weak as me.”

“Wow.  That’s not exactly uplifting.”

Trevor shrugged.  “There’s no easy way to walk a tough road.  But you know what?  People have done it before.  It can start with something as easy as a single step.”  Trevor stood up.  “So let’s do it.  We’ll take a few steps while we chat.”

“Give me a second to catch my breath,” said Porter.

“Catch it while we walk.  We’ll go slow.”

With a groan, Porter pushed up from the bench.

“So what’s your story?” asked Trevor, taking a step onto the grass.

“I don’t even know where to start,” said Porter.

“Well, what were you like as a kid?  What did you like to do?”

“I wasn’t always into food,” said Porter, struggling to remember how that felt.  “I used to like Legos.  As a kid I was skinny.  I remember fighting with my mom about finishing my food.”

Trevor nodded and Porter took a couple breaths before going on.  “One day she ran off and I was left with my dad.  I guess he didn’t know what to do with me.  His idea of parenthood consisted of a TV, brand new Nintendo, and a giant jar of M&M’s in my room.  I thought he was the best dad ever.”

“Sounds like a ten year old’s dream,” said Trevor.

“No kidding,” said Porter.  “My new best friends were Mario, Mega Man, and Simon from Castlevania.  My dad bought me a new game whenever I conquered an old one.  He actually praised me when I finished the jar of M&M’s, then he refilled it.  It took about ten big bags to top it off.”  Porter stopped in the shade of a tree to catch his breath.

“I went from the quiet kid to the fat kid.  The movie
Stand by Me
came out and my new name was Lardass.  I couldn’t talk to my dad about it, so I just spent more time in my room with the Nintendo and M&M’s.  Of course, Fritos and Coke had a lot to do with it, but I remember the M&M’s more than anything.”

Trevor nodded.  “For me it was the bakery outlet on the way home from middle school.  It’s hard to turn down twenty-nine-cent Twinkies.”

“Yeah, and problems at home or at school just make it worse.  Now I know a lot of large people are that way because of gland problems, or because they lost the genetic gamble.  But I’ve never deluded myself or anyone else.  I’m like this because I simply have never been able to control my eating.”

With a nod, Trevor urged them into a walk again. 

“Anyway,” continued Porter, “by the time I started ninth grade I was over 200 pounds.  When I graduated high school I was almost 300.  My grades sucked, and no one encouraged me to go to college so I started working at a grocery store.  Over the years I got heavier and heavier.  Eventually the manager felt I was unable to do my job and fired me.”

Trevor shook his head.

Wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve, Porter went on.  “I talked to a lawyer and we settled a wrongful termination lawsuit for six figures.  That was eighteen months ago.  I haven’t weighed myself in a year—where would I even do it?—but I’ve probably gained fifty pounds since.  I have to take twice as much insulin as I did eighteen months ago.”

Trevor put a hand on Porter’s shoulder and turned him to face the picnic tables.  They’d walked almost halfway across the park! 

I just did that,
thought Porter, shocked at the distance.

They slowly walked toward the tables.

“I never leave my house,” admitted Porter.  “Last night I ate three pints of Ben and Jerry’s after I ate a large pizza for dinner.  I have my groceries delivered because I can’t walk long enough to shop and I’m too big for those electric carts.  I’m ready to give up.  It’s either that or get better, and I don’t know how that can happen.”

“Five months ago I didn’t either,” said Trevor.  “But I’m here to tell you, it’s not impossible.  The first Step is to admit you are powerless, and you’ve already done that.  Congratulations.  Now here’s what we’re gonna do next.  The two of us are going to a group tonight.  There is one that meets at Calvary Presbyterian.”

He looked over at Porter, who nodded.

“Tomorrow,” continued Trevor, “you are going to a meeting with Clint.  He was my first sponsor.  That meeting’s at the bookstore on Highland.  The day after that the two of us are going to the group that meets at Calvary.  And I know you have time for meetings because you don’t have a job.  Meetings every weeknight, and a phone call to me every morning.  I guarantee that in less than two weeks you’ll start feeling hope.”

Porter didn’t expect to ever feel hope again.  The Arby’s sign down the road caught his eye, and he mentally started a menu. 

“Listen to me, Porter,” said Trevor.

He tucked the menu away.

“You are going to do this.  You’ve already taken the first Step.  I’m not going to give up on you even if I have to follow you home and drag you to meetings every night.  Don’t think I can’t, either.”  Trevor flexed his biceps and the skin under his arms jiggled. 

Jealousy finally convinced Porter. 
If I’ve fallen so far that I’m jealous of flabby arm skin, I have nowhere to go but up.

The southern Utah sun was comfortable on Allen’s skin when he started walking.  It was the only upside of the laborious trek.  Before long temperatures were in the nineties, and he carried only a water bottle and cane.  The GPS watch Jonathan had given him tempted him, but looking at it wouldn’t do any good, just make him more nervous about falling behind schedule when there was nothing to be done about it. 

Walking without bending his ankle made that pain tolerable.  The pain in his ribs was minimal if he leaned slightly to one side as he walked.  The cast kept his hand stable, but when he swung it with his stride it throbbed, so he held it close to his side. 

I probably look like Quasimodo
, he thought.  But he felt like Job. 
Let’s just hope it turns out as good for me as it did for Job.

The physical pain was bearable, thanks to a heavy dose of Oxycodone, but the uncertainty of every step was agony.  All the hours planning, the hotel reservations, the meals he’d arranged to have delivered—all as useless as wet drywall.

Yet he continued to shuffle step through the red dessert.

“One step at a time.  That’s all I can do.”

The decision to keep walking without even taking a day or two to re-plan the details surprised even Allen.  It was the right decision; he just couldn’t believe he’d made it.  His pace was drastically slower, but he could put in extra time each day.  Within a couple weeks he’d get back to his goal pace.  Until then, he had long days to look forward to.

When the Yukon reappeared, pulling to a stop a short distance in front of him, Allen checked his watch—five point one miles so far.  He climbed into the air-conditioned SUV.  A mid-thirties man with light brown skin, faint freckles, and a strong jaw sat in the back seat with him.  He was well-dressed in a black blazer and dark blue slacks.  Three days of beard growth looked plain fashionable on him.  His most striking feature, however, was the rust-colored hair that matched his light freckles. 

Jonathan handed Allen a grape Gatorade, bottled water and a Subway sandwich.  By way of introduction he said, “Oscar has some good news for you.”

The newcomer offered his hand, and with a heavy Irish accent said, “How d’ya do?”  The Batman symbol was tattooed on his wrist.

“I’ve been better,” said Allen.

“You’ll be glad to hear I met your friends, George and Spider.  They said they’re very sorry for the rude treatment.  So sorry in fact that they’ve decided to turn themselves in to the authorities.  Gave them a ride meself, I did.  They wanted you to have this back.”  He gestured to the back of the car. 

Allen turned gingerly to look behind him and saw his backpack, shoes, and belt.

Oscar patted Jonathan’s shoulder and commented, “That George was as big as Bane, and Spider was as goofy as the Riddler.  It was a pleasure draggin’ that pair in.”

In a serious tone Oscar went on.  “I’m sorry about the pants, Allen, but I don’t think you’ll be wantin’ those back.  The blood would probably come out, but Spider emitted some less pleasant bodily fluids, if ya know what I mean.”  He winked conspiratorially. 

Allen had his mouth open to take a bite of his sandwich, but paused, horrified.  “What did you do?”

“Let’s just say justice was served by the Dark Knight today.”  He turned back to Jonathan.  “They had no idea the backpack had a tracking device.  You shoulda seen their faces.”

“No,” said Allen firmly.  “I didn’t ask for retribution.  Justice is one thing, but I didn't want vengeance.” 

“They weren’t exactly willing to walk into the police station and confess,” said Oscar.

“You could’ve let the police handle it,” said Allen.

Jonathan shook his head.  “Not unless you want to go to Vegas and accuse them.  Then back in a week for the arraignment.  And back again for the trial.  If you won’t rest for broken bones, you don’t want to be anywhere near the legal system.”

Allen stared down at his sandwich.  His appetite was gone, but he ate it for the calories.

“It’s water under the bridge, my pacific friend,” said Jonathan.  “I’d rather make sure you don’t have to experience anything like that again.”  He produced an arsenal of handheld weapons.  Three different types of pepper spray, two Tasers, and a small revolver.

Allen took the can of mace labeled
Bear Spray
.  If he did run into someone like George again, he’d want something that could stop a bear.  “This is all I need.”

“Don’t be too hasty to discount these,” said Jonathan.  “That one will slow someone down, but any of these will incapacitate him.”

After considering, Allen took a Taser. 

“You might as well take a pistol, too,” said Jonathan.

Allen shook his head.  “God has opened the way for me to save Yvonne.  His angels will watch over me.”

Oscar snorted and looked out the window.  He muttered, “Where were his bloody angels last night.”

“For all I know they were there with me,” said Allen.  “I’m still walking aren’t I?”

Oscar continued to stare out the window, but Jonathan jumped in.  “David didn’t face Goliath unarmed.”

“David’s true weapon was his faith in God,” said Allen.  “Even Gideon and his men didn’t carry swords when they attacked the Midianites.  They defeated thousands of soldiers with nothing more than trumpets and lanterns.”

“You’re a heck of a guy, Allen, but you’re not David or Gideon.”

There was no arguing with that.  Allen held up the mace in one hand and Taser in the other.  “This is my sling.  And this is my stone.”

Jonathan seemed to be searching for words.  Marcus stared at Jonathan from the driver’s seat and for a second their eyes locked.  Jonathan looked away first and told Allen, “I hope you change your mind.  Just let us know.”