The Last One
stomach is concave. I don’t think it’s supposed to be. Sucking in my belly, I nearly disappear. Is this why I’ve been so cold? I step backward and my reflection becomes a smear of grime.

    My priorities shift.
    Leaving the clothing I’ve selected in the changing room, I search the store for soap, for cleansing wipes, for whatever I can find to rid myself of the filth that coats my skin. I’ve bathed a few times, kind of, and I’ve been rotating my underwear between two pairs. I clean each as best I can between uses, but it’s been days since I last switched, and both pairs are stained and sour smelling.
    I find the bathroom behind a door that reads EMPLOYEES ONLY . By the light of a camping lantern, I turn the faucet. Nothing. Unsurprised, I take off the toilet’s back lid and fill a collapsible dish with the water. I undress the rest of the way and give myself the most thorough washing I can, decimating a bar of organic hemp soap and turning three travel towels brown. I use the rest of the water from the toilet reservoir to rinse off. Afterward, I still feel a slick layer of soap residue upon the skin of my legs and feet. It’s not a bad feeling. My hair is still disgusting, but the rest of me feels nearly clean.
    I look at the filthy pants and bra on the floor and notice my mic pack resting in the folds. It’s tiny and light, and I’d grown so used to it I forgot it was there. The battery’s dead; it’s been dead for a while. But surely the store is miked and the coyote was too.
    I unclip the microphone just in case—it must be expensive, and I bet there’s some clause I can’t remember in the contract about keeping it—and carry it as I walk naked to the changing room, the blue hat in my other hand. I dress in clean underwear and a thin sports bra decorated with blue and green stripes. The first shirt I try on is a sack. The pants feel as though they’ll slip off as soon as I take a step. I’m no longer a medium. I return to the clothing racks and a few minutes later am fully clothed—everything size S. Each piece is baggy, but it all stays on.
    I knew I would lose weight during taping. Secretly, I considered it a bonus to being part of the show. But this degree of weight loss scares me; looking like this, it’s difficult to tell myself that I am strong. My last period ended about a week before the show started; I wonder if this frail body is capable of having another.

    I select a new jacket, a dark green one with a fleece-lined hood. It has zippers under the armpits, so I won’t have to take it off and on so often. I transfer my surviving glasses lens to the jacket pocket. Then a backpack, which I fill with supplies: extra underwear, my second water bottle, a few packs of water purification drops, biodegradable cleansing wipes, a small bottle of Dr. Bronner’s, the flashlight, extra batteries, a compact poncho, my dull knife and the Leatherman I used to open the batteries, my battered little pot, a new first-aid kit to replace my depleted one, two dozen protein bars of assorted brands and flavors, some granola and beef jerky, trash bags from behind the counter. I find myself drawn toward superfluous gear: a BPA-free plastic spork, binoculars, a pocket trowel, deodorant. Of these luxury items, I allow myself to keep only a collapsible mug and a pack of herbal tea. There’s no reason to weigh myself down now. Finally, I tuck the dead microphone into the media pocket at the top of the pack.
    I’m ready to move on, but the sun is setting. It seems stupid to leave now.
    It’s a store, not a house. Maybe it’s okay to sleep here. Maybe I’m meant to. I look at the tent in the window. Maybe this is still part of my reward.
    I drag the tent through the aisles, setting it between the footwear display and a rack of Darn Tough socks. I stack several camping pads and two sleeping bags inside, then toss in an armful of tiny camping pillows. I illuminate my indoor camp with battery-operated lanterns, then

Similar Books

Pop Goes the Weasel

James Patterson

Shiverton Hall

Emerald Fennell

Deliverance

Katie Clark

First Frost

Liz DeJesus

Exposed

Georgia le Carre

Lady of Hay

Barbara Erskine

It's Just Love

Kate Richards

Jack and Susan in 1933

Michael McDowell