I am sitting in a room with three classy older ladies (80+ years of age) and one man (50-60 years of age). The older ladies nudge each other and smile at the man. He is famous and the rumors of his identity have floated around the clinic for weeks. Now there are just the five of us in this little room exercising to Marvin Gay. "Who makes a woman want to move more than Marvin?" they once challenged as we tapped our toes to Grapevine.
They are now watching the famous man carefully. They look like tiny birds on a telephone wire as compared to the famous man in a towering wheelchair. I tease the famous man that he is the guest of honor in our ladies group. I can't tell if he thinks it is funny or horrific as he looks around the room at his exercise peers. But the older ladies are poets, readers, and love the movies, they tell him. They read Chaucer but they also read Dave Eggers.
"Dave Eggers? He is quite contemporary for you," the famous man says. The ladies smile and nod and recite a list of Eggers' literary work by heart. The famous man is pleased with his audience now and he begins to tell tales of his oh-so-famous life in LA and France and New York etc. The older ladies giggle and stare at him star-struck while I continue to try to keep them moving.
"Bicep curl, Ladies and Gent," I encourage, but the famous man holds the attention of the room and I am stuck with half-assed arm curls. Except for Laura, who I call "my girl" because in the context of exercise and battling her disease, she will follow my arm exercise directives to the end of this earth. But I catch her smiling and chirping praises of the famous man. I can hardly feel bitter or second best in this moment. It is just too adorable- my little star struck ladies and the famous man.
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