another stupid
grey day pushed
summer way past its quota and i was waiting in the
drive-through at
taco bell for some petty meal i wasn't eating out of hunger but out of
boredom. my car seized and i restarted it and it
seized again. finally i left it off, to cool down. the
minivan mom in front of me sucked grocery bag after grocery bag of
poorly wrapped burritos in through the window of her
aerostar. i imagined she was an
octopus-like creature and the bouncing children whose silhouettes were visible through the rear window as the tips of her
tentacles. i pictured her stuffing bag after bag into some
slimy orifice ringed with small, weakened fangs, napkins and
hot sauce and all.
beyond the minivan, two women emerged from
inside, crossing around the
octopus woman's bumper. their legs went clip, clip, clip,
neat as machinery. they looked alike - white
lab coats,
platinum hair dyed to cover grey, frightening
real tans, white tights, white pumps. they weren't doctors or
dental hygienists. they looked like they were certainly
selling something, though it was also plausible that they made their livings
squeezing other peoples' blackheads.
shrink-wrapped women, sucked
dry, slathering on
oil of olay every morning so as not to turn to dust when something touched them.
hard and skinny on a diet of salad and mineral water and
bland, overpriced non-fat lattes and a routine of nightly exercise in front of
qvc and spare time wasted at some
health club rich with
networking opportunities. soulless.
they would be
divorcees with large, tan, childlike boyfriends who worked for
car dealerships and lusted after young secretaries and the
empty headed spokesmodels of late night cable. they would be
status symbols, decorations, like a nice white couch from
ikea or an suv dedicated to a clothing company. they'd talk about how they loved the outdoors and nature, but couldn't
survive for more than two days out there before running home to
rehydrate their cracked shells and find comfort in their
ultra-controlled existances.
all they wanted was to appear
young. they missed something in their twenties,
trying too hard to fit in even at that
capricious time, and they wanted it back. but they'd never been free and never would. they were trying to hard to
catch up (lacking originality of their own) and would never have time to make or do
the things that make people feel like they've lived.
i thought about the
older woman at work who looks like a
schoolgirl, with bright, happy eyes. she did the whole thing and came
back to school and throws herself into what she believes in. and all the
older men flock to her like a star, because she's beautiful with her
greying hair and wrinkled skin and cellulite. she's beautiful because she never died inside. she's not white gold, polished so long that all the
uniqueness is worn away - she's a river stone who's tumbled into everything she wanted and bears the
scars and shines in spite of them.
i'll think about all that next time i have a non-fat latte.