Imaginary Boyfriend - Chin Up

Imaginary Boyfriend
by Mark Anderson

You know who I'm talking about.
That man you met ten years ago on the train
whose deep brown eyes asked you to dinner,
whose soft-yet-strong hands tracked your every move,
touching your back as he took off your coat,
grazing your cheek as he wiped away a crumb of cake,
whose lips later unfolded you
like an origami box.
Before he asked you to stay,
you had already left the building,
skidding across the ice to your train,
a nonstop, one-way trip
homebound,
safebound,
where the love you claimed you needed,
golden and engraved,
framed easily on the mantel.
Now, as the embers cool each night,
everyone tucked their beds,
you close your eyes and decide
next time you'll stay.

Chin Up
by Michael Herman

He was just hanging there when I first came upon him. I noticed how thin he looked. His shoulders were no wider than his hips and his coal black hair gave him the appearance of a burnt match. If he had been pushed around by larger men for his entire life it wouldn’t surprise me.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

He responded with silence. His focus seemed transfixed on holding his grip and his thin arms held his slight weight completely motionless. His eyes weren’t closed though and I’d seen them turn slightly in my direction when I spoke. I knew he’d heard me so I tried to speak to him again.

“Excuse me,” I said louder. “What are you doing?

“I’m doing pull-ups,” he said quietly.

It was at this point I realized his feet were crossed. I don’t know what additional benefit it offered him except he didn’t need to think what to do with his feet. He could just pull himself up and not worry about touching the ground.

“I’m doing pull ups in sets of 20 and I’m resting between sets.”

“You do them in sets of 20?”

“Yup. I do them in sets of 20.”

“How many sets have you done?”

“So far I’ve done 3 sets. Now excuse me for just a minute.”

His arms began to move and through his shirt I could see his shoulders tense. My initial impression of him as a slight and wiry man was unfounded. He was thin, that was undeniable. Close to his frame his muscles hid as though each had a secret compartment for it to be stored until its utility was needed. I stood admiring him while he lifted his chin to his hands twenty times in rapid succession. Slowly he lowered himself into the hanging position I’d found him in.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Please.”

“Why are you doing pull-ups here?

“I suppose you think it’s odd because this is not a place where you would usually find someone doing them. I do them here at the bus stop because I have a long wait and I want to be efficient with my time.”
I didn’t know which impressed me more: that he had given me such a well-thought and lucid answer or that had not broken the concentration he used to hold his grip.

“Why?”

He set his feet on the ground and lowered his arms from their locked positions. I briefly pondered how I was talking to a stranger and, though I had the best of intentions, my questions may be an annoyance to him. He squared his shoulders with mine and his gaze fixed quickly upon my feet.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I’ve learned the hard way to be prepared for whatever comes your way. And on top of that, I don’t want to believe I am prepared for something only to find years of misuse had left me not able to meet my opponent.”

He looked up briefly and caught his eye in mine. Then he turned back to his work and reached his hands up.

“It most frustrates me I must think of the world as my opponent and that I must be prepared to defeat it.”

With that he stepped off his feet and his knuckles flushed to pale white. He hung briefly as he regained his composure and again I watched as he lifted his chin to his hands twenty times in rapid succession.