Tag Archives: gym

Bella’s First Disappearing Act

If you ever met Bella on the street, you might have a hard time seeing her. It has nothing to do with her physique. She’s gorgeous, slender, with brown eyes that spark a mix of excitement and just a hint of naughtiness.

It’s her clothing that makes her disappear. She leans on black, gray, and white. Sometimes those colors overlap, sometimes they stand alone, but compared to the women in brighter outfits, Bella fades into the background.

She isn’t clueless about fashion. She dresses this way on purpose. Bella hates standing out, and muted colors let her slip by unnoticed.

That choice became her shield. If Hancho came looking, he’d scan the crowds for the blacks, grays, and whites he knew she wore. To test her theory, Bella decided to experiment.

She went on Etsy and found this hand-knit turtleneck in blue and white. Autumn was creeping in, and her lace dresses were useless against the cold. The sweater promised warmth and a new kind of disguise.

When it arrived, she tried it on, pulled her hair into a bun, layered on rouge and mascara, and glued on long lashes. Then she staked out Hancho’s gym.

He walked in and out several times, never once recognizing her. Bella grinned. Success.

She hurried home, washed off the makeup, folded the turtleneck, and slipped back into her old clothes. To Hancho, she was still the muted Bella he knew. But now she carried a secret.

Above is the very turtleneck she wore. If you pick one up, I’ll receive a small token of financial appreciation in return.

Bella, Part Two

As I zipped up the tent, I figured Bella would mumble a quick thank you, and we’d both be out like lights. But the moment my head hit the makeshift pillow, the questions started. Who was she? Would this be Abby’s and my last night on Earth?

I started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Here we are, two strangers, lying side by side—almost as intimate as it gets—yet we know nothing about each other.”

“Would you like to hear my story?”

You’d think the scream that prompted me to “rescue” her would’ve been a sign to say, “Maybe tomorrow?” or “Just a quick version?” But nope—I told her to go ahead.

Bella’s originally from Wisconsin. Estranged from her parents, who used religion as a weapon. Two summers ago, she’d had enough. She hit the road for New York—on foot, no less—wearing these badass motorcycle boots.

She had never been to NYC. Instantly, she fell in love—not just with the city, but with the wrong man. Hancho. A Greek Jew who spent more time in the gym than he did sleeping.

Hancho wore tight shorts and a muscle shirt. Bella fell in love with the veins running down his arms. She wasn’t paying attention to the force behind them.

“Sit here!”

“Get out the fucking way, bitch.”

She’d never encountered a man like Hancho in Wisconsin. Bella did everything to appease him—polished his lifting shoes, ironed his sweaty socks, handed him his 128 oz thermos between sets.

It didn’t take long before Bella lost track of her finances. One day, sent to buy protein bars, her card declined. She panicked. What would she tell Hancho?

She raced back to the gym—where else would he be?—and muttered her confession. For a moment, he looked at her like she’d turned into a rotting corpse. Then he resumed his workout and ignored her for the rest of the day.

There’s only so much of Bella’s story I can tell in one sitting before getting ill. It’s so tragic. Absurd. And it’s to be continued.

Until next week, I hope your eyes stumbled across the affiliate link above. May the boots fit—and may you never trip over your own feet. Bella didn’t. Why should you?