Page 21 of Be My Compass

Kastle

The clank of weights against metal is calming. The grunt of exertion. The low hum of conversation. The frantic guitar solo thrashing through the speakers in the corners.

I inhale the scent of sweat and plastic. Bop my head to the words that’s lost in the mush of an angry rock song. The singer is screaming his head off. Something about being trapped. Wanting to get out. Failing. Falling in love with his prison.

Hell, it hits a little too close to home.

Without the falling in love part.

I’m not that far gone yet.

Being pulled along by my strings still burns. Still sears my soul.

But I didn’t come here to analyze the lyrics of an angry composer.

So I don’t think about it. I let my thoughts drift to an empty space.

This is my last rep.

Push up.

Down.

My biceps bulge and contract.

The skin is stained with a tiger. Bold Stripes.

Classic Chinese letters.

??

Freedom.

It is the beautiful bird which gets caged.

Sweat runs down my ink. Thick lines. Harsh shadows. Soft angles. The chaotic mix of beauty and hopelessness.

The moment I summoned enough courage to get my first tattoo, I went all out. Told the guy to trace the half-sleeve outline before I lost my nerve.

Mom was horrified when she found out. Dad just nodded in approval. We’d talked about getting inked often, but mom never wanted him to get a tattoo and so he didn’t. In a way, he’s resigned himself to her whims.

A shadow falls over me. “You trying to work something out?”

“What gave it away?” My voice is just a little winded as I glance up at Ollie, the owner of the gym and a good friend.

He points to my face. “You were singing along with the music.”

“You call this music?” I toss the weight on the clamp.

Ollie hands me my towel. His giant arms are filled with tattoos. His hair is shorn and his eyes have a habit of peering straight into the soul. He’s an intimidating guy, but he's down-to-earth and has never watched a reality show in his life.

A blessing.

Most of these guys haven’t seen my family’s show. Not unless their girlfriends or wives dragged them in front of the television.

That’s why I like the gym.

No fuss.

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