Fat Girl in a Pretty Dress (20)
She’s feeling self conscious in her new dress
ducking behind my figure as we meander
through the evening streets of Chattanooga
just as the streetlights begin to flicker on
it is this yellow thing, I don’t know the term
but her breasts pool out of the top
her cute belly stretches the center
and it makes her blue eyes-
behind clear frames
with stylized blood splatters on them-
even more maddening
we sit down for pizza at this worn brick place
next to an open concept venue
with a loud wedding reception
blasting the top 40 hits and slurred toasts
I’m practically drooling as she scans the menu
and the couple seated a few booths behind us
who she’s sure are watching and pointing
laughing at her
I turn and look at the boy
who can’t be more than 15
and when he catches my eye
I am appropriately stern
turning back I tell her she’s beautiful
and I say it stuttering and unable to look at her
because if I do for too long I might cry
because being here I’m sort of happy
and that would make things worse
we are keeping this as casual as possible
despite stopping ourselves
in the middle of complements
to stop something else from coming out
after pizza we return to her condo
the sky shot through with twinkling stars
her dogs asleep and tongues lolling
she slides her dress off slowly
stands in front of the sliding door to the balcony
looks at cars passing on the street below
and asks me if I mean it
when I say she’s beautiful
I say yes, forcing myself to look her in the eyes
when she turns with a face so expectant of hurt
and she asks me to say it again
to say it as many times as it takes
because she wants so badly to believe it.
