She didn’t sleep the extra half hour, choosing to leave early instead. Her thought was to explore the area, but the day pack with the laptop, yellow tablets of writing paper, pens, water bottle, extra battery, power cord, two hard boiled eggs and an orange of unknown quality weighed her down. She tried to make her dragging steps look casual, a woman on a stroll with no worries to be had, rather than one with arthritic knees and too many extra pounds on her hips and thighs. At the sound of footsteps she moved to the edge of the sidewalk, glancing to the right, catching a glimpse of herself in the black window. There was no mistaking what she was. An out of shape tourist, slogging along in pain, stepping out of the way of the brisk steps and clattering foot falls of those who belonged in this city.
She began to count fat people, scouring the crowds for slow walkers. Sure there were some butts which pushed out side seams, swayed a little with each step. A few bellies hung over black leather belts, crisply ironed white dress shirts pressed forward. But there were no fat people here. She flashed back to her one and only visit to Rodeo Drive, Where do the rich fat people shop? she had asked. Surely they can’t all be slim.
She walked past Noah’s Bagels, Starbuck’s, a Peet’s nearly next door, Jamba Juice, Subway. They were all crowded. Lattes, mochas, cream cheese, smoothies, breakfast burritos were all being consumed. The next window displayed the workout, rows of stair steppers, treadmills, stationary bikes, each skinny person staring straight ahead as arms and legs pumped to their own rhythm. Eyes were pressed to TV screens, ears filled with the tiny plugs of headphones, IPods and cell phones strapped to biceps or simply held in the hand that moved to and fro, synchronized with the feet. There was one slightly plump girl among the sleek animals. She stood with legs akimbo in front of some sort of white and black machine, stacks of metal discs prepared to change the level of her workout. A smiling young man, brilliant white teeth, bright eyes, smooth square jaw, his hair cut in what people her age called a close afro, was the obvious trainer, guiding this girl through her journey to become like all the others.
She imagined these thin people at home each night, in front of televisions tuned to reality TV - Dance Your Ass Off , The Biggest Loser, Drop Dead Diva - fascinated by grossly obese people, happy to watch and call them names. Did this validate who these beautiful people were? Who they were trying to be?
Were they filled with a deep thrill within, disgust playfully disguised as pleasure, such as she was when watching a cop show about a gruesome murder?
Whew! Great imagery! You nailed it! (Although I had a hard time thinking there is anywhere in the US that there are no fat people.) Who is eating at all those fast food junk shops you passed? You wrote your character so well, I was in her shoes!
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