treated her like shit.
That just added to the depression of being alone in a theater where it seemed as though everyone else had come in couples.
5
Sometimes I feel as though there’s this hidden country inside me, a landscape that’s going to remain forever unexplored because I can’t make a normal connection with another human being, with someone who might map it out for me. It’s my land, it belongs to me, but I’m denied access to it. The only way I could ever see it is through the eyes of someone outside this body of mine, through the eyes of someone who loves me.
I think we all have these secret landscapes inside us, but I don’t think that anybody else ever thinks about them. All I know is that no one visits mine. And when I’m with other people, I don’t know how to visit theirs.
6
Wendy wasn’t on shift yet when Brenda arrived at Kathryn’s Cafe, but Jilly was there, Brenda had first met the two of them when she was a reporter for In the City, covering the Women in the Arts conference with which they’d been involved. Jilly Coppercorn was a successful artist, Wendy St. James a struggling poet. Brenda had enjoyed the panels that both women were on and made a point of talking to them afterwards.
Their lives seemed to be so perfectly in order compared to hers that Brenda invariably had a sense of guilt for intruding the cluttered mess of her existence into theirs. And they were both such small, enviably thin women that, when she was with them, she felt more uncomfortable than usual in her own big fat body.
This constant focusing on being overweight was a misperception on her part, she’d been told by the therapist her mother had made her go see while she was still in high school.
“If anything, you could stand to gain a few pounds,” Dr. Coleman had said, “Especially considering your history.”
Brenda’s eating disorders, the woman had gone on to tell her, stemmed from her feelings of abandonment as a child, but no amount of lost weight was going to bring back her .father.
“I know that,” Brenda argued. “I know my father’s dead and that it’s not my fault he died. I’m not stupid.”
“Of course you’re not,” Dr. Coleman had patiently replied with a sad look in her eyes.
Brenda could never figure out why they wouldn’t just leave her alone. Yes, she’d had some trouble with her weight, but she’d gotten over it. Just as she knew it was a failing business that had put the gun in her father’s mouth, the bitter knowledge that he couldn’t provide for his family that had pulled the trigger. She’d dealt with all of that.
It was in the past, over and done with long ago. What wouldn’t go away, though, was the extra weight she could never quite seem to take off and keep off. Nobody she knew seemed to understand how it felt, looking in a mirror and always seeing yourself on the wrong side of plump.
She’d asked Jilly once how she stayed so thin.
“Just my metabolism, I guess,” Jilly had replied. “Personally, I’d like to gain a couple of pounds. I always feel kind of… skin-and-bonesy.”
“You look perfect to me,” Brenda had told her.
Perfect size, perfect life—which wasn’t really true, of course. Neither Jilly nor Wendy was perfect. For one thing, Jilly was one of the messiest people Brenda had ever met. But at least she wasn’t in debt. Brenda was tidy to a fault, but she couldn’t handle her personal finances to save her fife. She’d gone from reporter to the position of In the City’s advertising manager since she’d first become friends with Wendy and Jilly. At work, she kept her books and budgeting perfectly in order. So why couldn’t she do the same thing in her private life?
There was only one other customer in the restaurant, so after Jilly had served him his dinner, she brought a pot of herbal tea and a pair of mugs over to Brenda’s table. She sat down with a contented sigh before pouring them each a steaming mugful. Brenda
That just added to the depression of being alone in a theater where it seemed as though everyone else had come in couples.
5
Sometimes I feel as though there’s this hidden country inside me, a landscape that’s going to remain forever unexplored because I can’t make a normal connection with another human being, with someone who might map it out for me. It’s my land, it belongs to me, but I’m denied access to it. The only way I could ever see it is through the eyes of someone outside this body of mine, through the eyes of someone who loves me.
I think we all have these secret landscapes inside us, but I don’t think that anybody else ever thinks about them. All I know is that no one visits mine. And when I’m with other people, I don’t know how to visit theirs.
6
Wendy wasn’t on shift yet when Brenda arrived at Kathryn’s Cafe, but Jilly was there, Brenda had first met the two of them when she was a reporter for In the City, covering the Women in the Arts conference with which they’d been involved. Jilly Coppercorn was a successful artist, Wendy St. James a struggling poet. Brenda had enjoyed the panels that both women were on and made a point of talking to them afterwards.
Their lives seemed to be so perfectly in order compared to hers that Brenda invariably had a sense of guilt for intruding the cluttered mess of her existence into theirs. And they were both such small, enviably thin women that, when she was with them, she felt more uncomfortable than usual in her own big fat body.
This constant focusing on being overweight was a misperception on her part, she’d been told by the therapist her mother had made her go see while she was still in high school.
“If anything, you could stand to gain a few pounds,” Dr. Coleman had said, “Especially considering your history.”
Brenda’s eating disorders, the woman had gone on to tell her, stemmed from her feelings of abandonment as a child, but no amount of lost weight was going to bring back her .father.
“I know that,” Brenda argued. “I know my father’s dead and that it’s not my fault he died. I’m not stupid.”
“Of course you’re not,” Dr. Coleman had patiently replied with a sad look in her eyes.
Brenda could never figure out why they wouldn’t just leave her alone. Yes, she’d had some trouble with her weight, but she’d gotten over it. Just as she knew it was a failing business that had put the gun in her father’s mouth, the bitter knowledge that he couldn’t provide for his family that had pulled the trigger. She’d dealt with all of that.
It was in the past, over and done with long ago. What wouldn’t go away, though, was the extra weight she could never quite seem to take off and keep off. Nobody she knew seemed to understand how it felt, looking in a mirror and always seeing yourself on the wrong side of plump.
She’d asked Jilly once how she stayed so thin.
“Just my metabolism, I guess,” Jilly had replied. “Personally, I’d like to gain a couple of pounds. I always feel kind of… skin-and-bonesy.”
“You look perfect to me,” Brenda had told her.
Perfect size, perfect life—which wasn’t really true, of course. Neither Jilly nor Wendy was perfect. For one thing, Jilly was one of the messiest people Brenda had ever met. But at least she wasn’t in debt. Brenda was tidy to a fault, but she couldn’t handle her personal finances to save her fife. She’d gone from reporter to the position of In the City’s advertising manager since she’d first become friends with Wendy and Jilly. At work, she kept her books and budgeting perfectly in order. So why couldn’t she do the same thing in her private life?
There was only one other customer in the restaurant, so after Jilly had served him his dinner, she brought a pot of herbal tea and a pair of mugs over to Brenda’s table. She sat down with a contented sigh before pouring them each a steaming mugful. Brenda
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