Whispers from the Beach

"Hey, look, boys!"

"Fatty coming this way."

"More like morbidly obese."

"Morbid because you'll die looking at her?"

"If she doesn't die from a heart attack first."

"Yeah, those legs are like logs."

"She could crush all of Guam with those fists."

"Her skin must feel like cottage cheese."

"Does that turn you on, Robbie?"

"Eww, c'mon, guys. I'd rather die."

"You will if she falls on you!"

"Shh...we're getting too loud. She's gonna hear us!"

Once upon a time, you and I went to the beach. Me in my one-piece, buried under a T-shirt. You in your new bikini, the one you said would snag Prince Charming, because you were proud about losing forty pounds, but the top was still too tiny. The bottom even tinier. I wanted to pick out the wedgie for you, but refrained. So I tried to ignore it, but just then we stumbled into a volleyball game, six Adonises on either side of the net, gleaming tans and lush hair. I turned away, sensing the forbidden. You were entranced by what you thought you could now have. I didn't tell you how blind you were to your reflection because I wanted you to be right.

You began to strut. I could hear the pretty boys' nascent snickers, the ones that seemed to erupt from the sand, shoot into the air, and reach the gulls hovering in the skies with their echoing insults.

At first you deflected their words, maybe because you couldn't hear them. Maybe because you didn't want to hear them. You held your stride and showed them another version of absolute beauty. I thought you were gorgeous, as gorgeous as you'd ever been, but I knew they'd never understand a beauty outside of fashion and porn. You were alive with flesh on your bones.

[Read the rest here.]