The old man puzzled over the Step Machine in the gym. He could not find a cord or a power switch and, somewhat slowly, he kept climbing on and off looking for a way to turn it on. He had never been on a Step Machine before. He was confused, but stubborn, he wanted to try the machine. He had brought his dog, who lay down beside him and watched.

After a minute or two, a young man – he looked about 14 – came over tentatively. He seemed wary of approaching the old man, and the old man was familiar with this, young people were trained to avoid old people, especially men and strangers, he knew better than to approach them or speak with them, he knew they felt unsafe around them and never quite knew what to say.

Sometimes it seemed that older people were invisible, some people opened doors for them, most people seemed to look right through them, as if they were ghosts.

“Hey mister,” said the boy, “you have to get on the machine and start pedaling to get it to turn out.” The old man thanked the boy and climbed on, soon he was pedaling along. He put on his earphones and plugged them into his cellphone, he got lost in the music for the next 30 minutes, as he often did.

The boy climbed onto the stationary bicycle next to him, he asked the old man about the dog.

The boy seemed almost afraid to look at him, and for a moment, the old man saw himself as the boy must have seen him, an old man in a gym filled with young men and women lifting weights, running on the treadmill, sweating, moving from one machine to another. I am the old man in the gym, he said, there is nobody else here like me. The old man rarely thought of himself as old, but he imagined that when he was seen through the eyes of a young boy or girl, he must have looked quite old to them. And he was getting old, it was the truth.

Still, the old man was proud of  himself that day, he had worked out for an hour-and-a-half, his back and legs ached and screamed in protest. But he had made it, it was one of the longest workouts of his life.

“You new here?,” asked the boy after awhile. The old man saw the boy was thin, almost skinny, he had long bony legs and giant sneakers, a shock of brown hair flopping over his forehead. He had a ready smile, too, he seemed like a nice kid. It was thoughtful of him to show him how the machine worked, he might never have figured it out.

The old man nodded, yes, he said, he had just joined the gym. He was working out four or five times a week, he said, and then the old man startled himself by suddenly telling the boy that he had just had open heart surgery, he was working hard to get in good shape and stay there, he didn’t want to go back and do it again. He could hardly believe it, why did he tell the boy that, a stranger, and why would the boy care?

The old man hated to talk about his surgery, he never mentioned it to strangers, not much to friends. He didn’t like to talk about it, it was an experience, not his identity. He hated when people came up to him on the street and clutched his arm, and said with sorrowful eyes, “how are you?” He was fine, he was good. But he had no idea why he had blurted it out to the boy, who was silent for a long time afterwards. And he couldn’t blame them, Lord, he thought, are you getting fuzzy?

But he liked this young man, he felt a connection with him somehow, although it didn’t make sense, there could be no connection.

He had some time to think about it, there were just the two of them and the dog in the gym, the rhythmic sound of the machines, thumping and squeaking, the vents on the ceiling blowing in heat on the cold day.

“Why are you here?,” the old man asked the boy, hoping to change the subject.

“I want to be on the basketball team, but coach says my arm and leg muscles are not strong enough. If I can do Level 10 for 30 minutes, he says I can make the team in the Fall. I’m going to do it,” he said,”I come here every day.”

The old man nodded, “I know you will, I can see you are doing well.”

The boy smiled, and thanked him. “Mister,” he said suddenly, “you are doing real well too, I see you are at level 9, I just peeked, sorry. Lots of people here don’t do Level 9. I’m working up to it.” The old man smiled and he puffed himself up a bit. It was a compliment he appreciated, he had been working so hard for months to get there, it was new to him, not nature, his joints did not move the way the boy did. Nobody in the world knew how hard he had been working, how determined he was to get his mind and body and heart back, how much it had come to mean to him. He was never going to lose control of his body again, never again have his heart stopped and his chest opened up.

It was not something he ever talked about, these workouts.

But they were important to him, so much so that he had joined this gym, came almost every day, worked hard every minute he was there, seating and sore and working to build up his lungs and breath, he felt his body returning to life, his strength returning, his pride also. Every day had been hard, painful, especially at first. He was learning to love these workouts, to find his body again, to listen to music and read, it was almost a spiritual experience. He had come to love it.

The two worked quietly on their machines for a few minutes more, and then the boy said “my grandpa had a heart attack and then died from the surgery last year,” he said. I’m sorry, said the old man. “Were you close to him?” The boy nodded.

Then the boy got off the bicycle machine and moved toward the weights down the other end of the gym. First, he stopped to pet the dog and talk to him. He turned to the old man, “you are really doing good,” he said, “you ought to be proud of yourself.” He stopped to pet the dog. The compliment meant so much to him, and wondered why? This was just a kid, he didn’t even know his name.

The old man nodded again, and thanked the boy once more. “Hey,” he said to the the boy, who turned around.

“I’d love to come and see you play basketball in the Fall,” he said. “Let me know.”

“Sure thing,” said the boy, “that would be great, my name is Kit” and he waved, and then moved away.