A Clydesdale Carol, Part 1

It was a dark and stormy night. The lights flickered a bit, then dimmed, then got brighter again. Far off an owl hooted.

“I suppose I should post something to The Jogging Clydesdale,” Kevin said.

He slouched down into the oversized brown corduroy chair. He perched the laptop on his belly and began to write.

 “Life sucks and I am fat and I’m not getting anywhere and woe is me. Bah Humbug.”

 He quickly backspaced to erase it.

“What am I going to write about that someone would want to read?” he asked to no one in particular.

 “Kevin…” a voice said.

 “Wha?” he exclaimed.

“Kevin”

 Kevin turned his head and saw the most frightening sight. There stood a man wearing a dark brown cotton polyester blend track suit with two yellow striped down the arms and legs. He stood about five and a half feet. Long, curly and greasy hair hung from a receding hair line. A gold medallion chain sat upon a carpet of chest hair visible through the half open zipper of the jacket. He had a mustache. Not a nice one either with the curly cues at the end but a creepy one.

“Who are you?” Kevin asked.

"I am the Ghost of Weight Loss Past,” said the apparition. “You can call me Terry.”

“Oh no,” Kevin groaned. “Is this going to be some lame Christmas Carol parody where I learn important life lessons?”

“Oh yes,” Terry said. “Now, let’s get this over with.”

And with that, there was a sound of 157 Canadians named Doug wearing flannel shirts and those hats with the floppy ear things shouting !WHOOMP!.

Kevin and Terry were waist deep in a swimming pool. Everything was very still. Nothing moved. Kevin looked around.

 “This is mom and dad’s old swimming pool, the one that eventually collapsed in on itself,” said Kevin.

 “Yes. What else do you recognize?” said Terry.

 “Well, that’s me over there with the wiffle bat. Oh, I know where we are! I remember this in a photograph.”

 “That’s where we are,” said Terry. “In the photograph.”

“What do you mean in the photograph?”

“Look, I don’t have a lot of special tricks up my sleeve. All I can do is take you places you remember. And you don’t remember the evening this picture was taken. But you do remember this photo, so this is where you start,” said Terry. “What do you see?”

 “I hate this photo. That’s me. I was 17. Look at me.” Kevin pointed to his younger self, standing in the water, a wiffle bat poised to slap down and splash his younger brother off to the side. “I am 185 pounds. You can see that I’m just beginning to show some man boobs. Pasty white and doughy. No muscle tone. I just look like a big ball of blah.”

 “Uh-huh,” said Terry. “You’re 17, having fun, laughing and all you see is how you look?”

“I guess so.”

“Alright. What I see is a young man laughing and having fun. Look at that smile. You don’t have that look of bliss much anymore.”

“I suppose so. But again, why did you bring me here, Terry?” asked Kevin. “Surely I had other thoughts before this about my self image and body?”

“Yeah, but this one sticks out to you for some reason. This is your starting place as far as your mind’s eye goes. This is where it starts.”

 “Can we go, now? The white gleam off of my chalky chest is making me ill,” said Kevin.

“Yeah. But, remember this photo. Remember it for the smile on your face. Change your start.” Terry turned and said, “Now!”

And with the sound of 328 burly truck drivers named Buddy shouting !WHOOMP!, Terry and Kevin transported to Part 2.