|
Issue 4: Home
|
The Fat Girl Tonight my weight doesn't matter. Not the size of my thighs, or even my derriere -- all irrelevant. I adjust the black caftan I'm wearing. I have lost weight, but that's not important; these garments have become oddly comforting to me. I take the stage, blissfully aware of the darkness. A single spotlight shines on me as if I am some rare specimen, but it reduces the audience to a mass of featureless faces, and vaguely animated humps out there in the black. I began to spew words and they tell of the life of a wallflower, of pain, ridicule, stubbornness and victory. Each word is saturated with joy or heartache, indifference or rage. The words soar, not from my throat, but from my center. When I am finished, my tirade ceased, there is a palpable silence. Then, an undulating roar fills the small, stale room as the fuzzy mass, seen through my squinted eyes, rises to its feet. For tonight, maybe for the only time, the fat girl is the star. ~Ali Seay Ali lives in Baltimore, Maryland with her husband, two small children and two militant cats. She recently completed her first novel, The Corpse Pose. Email. © 1999 by Ali Seay. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved. |