The Amber Pearl
She lay alone again, thought she might cease to be, in the disarray of the unsupported mattress, the humid night, her newness to love. But someone was there, even greater than herself, a pearl, sleeping in a cold river, reflecting amber light back into her head. She knew she’d lost, and back then believed it was everything. But one night, when summer began to dwindle, she realized she remained, above herself, as varnish sometimes does, even over worn out wood. Next day she declared she’d be up soon, tomorrow in fact, back in that game, even if no one else followed her way. Didn’t doubt her wandering footsteps, the coming of mornings, autumn and winter. The young woman thought that was all of it, when life pinned her down hard, just beside the heart, but she never left her. Summer nights were turning amber. A graceful hand had held on gently, just below the river’s surface, stars looking down upon it. And when it opened, the amber pearl kept steady, her space in the current so young and fleeting. She knows, always, how not to get carried astray.
Bodies and Gurus continued
Rhaya got on with the program a week later. The lanky exercise lady’s book never returned to its place in the shelf, she kept it close by, on her nightstand. Now she had all the tools needed to keep herself in check, using the book as reference material. An extreme urge pressed on her to do it flawlessly, with total concentration. All other aspects of her life would have to wait, like cleaning her room; talking to Gaby, her best friend; thinking about ways to talk to the cute, next door neighbor. Everyday activities gradually merged to a blur in the background. There was still school though. The young lady had to get homework done every afternoon, the grind she had come to hate, with capital letters. She had painting class on Thursdays, after school, the only outside activity she didn’t loathe. Rhaya loved the aroma of paint at her teacher’s studio; the large sheets of vellum paper they used for tracing; fooling around with acrylics, thinner and oils. Academics on the other hand were a bottomless pit of compost. School didn’t agree with her. Real life was somewhere else, a place apart inside, and now even more, since her mission was set and clear. To change her body. She continually stopped at the rectangular mirror of her dressing table, and observed the bump of her lower abdomen. “Must be flat” would say Loud Thought ” is not usual”. He did had a peculiar way of speaking, like a strict, sour instructor of some kind. I could see his shadow as if in a snowy mist. “¿Not usual? you mean unusual…” Rhaya told it. “Look to others” said the Loud Thought. “¿Other tummys?” She asked, wanting further clarification, but Loud Thought did’t add to. It was pretty obvious to me. Rhaya was that kind of person anyway. The type to observe and listen to stuff that no one payed much attention to. Like how the teacher kept repeating a certain phrase, while the students manage to ignore completely, every single day. How some girls at school managed to look perfectly neat and groomed, while others seemed unable to achieve the look. The fact that some of them talked nonstop, chirping amongst themselves, laughing at nothing, never leaving any space for an awkward silence. Stuff like that. So, Rhaya took up noticing other people’s abdomens. That kept her focused, and practice made her realise Loud Thought was spot on, he knew what he was talking about. Her species of potbelly turned out to be not so common as Rhaya had believed. Almost all the girls at school had smooth abdomens, except for those with fuller figures that Loud Thought stated as being “not right”. Even some of the plumper young ladies at the all-girls school had smoother bellies, their skirts rested flatter on that area. By Christmas recital, when students were getting ready to go onstage, Rhaya’s heart and mind were far away. She dodged boredom by noticing bodies and all their peculiar differences. Loud Thought was a good spotter also, he pitched in. “Look her body. Is thick, strong, no good for graceful woman” “Look there, she well balance, face also”. “Yeah” thought Rhaya. “She’s so lucky” she told herself “she’ll never have to worry, ¡about anything!” Lucky girls would go on with her lives, unconcerned if the clothes they liked fit them well or not. They’d be able to wear the jeans. Rhaya dreamed of getting into the high waisted, fitted style. Already she had trouble in that department, even before Loud Thought got on her case. She couldn’t use tucked shirts because they made her feel chunky. My assigned girl never wore layered clothes, even though she longed to wear a nice preppy shirt under a standard V-neck sweater, very Academia. “Oh no way, no way” she would tell herself in front of the fitting room mirror, and that was the end of it. But Loud Thought flowed more words to her mind, once he took a hold. “I look so chubby, so not feminine at all” she told herself again and again. But it didn’t take long before Rhaya began loosing pounds, it was noticeable in her whole body. The Potbelly also got smaller but fought steadfastly to stay put. But it wasn’t just that anymore. Now she knew more about flaws in bodies. Hers had many. “My top should be lighter than my bottom.” she thought, while hunting for some visible progress in her reflection on the mirror. It naturally tended to be more towards the heavy side, though not as extreme as Grandma Henrietta’s and Great Grandma Mariah, who, by the way, never had a problem with their thick waists. But The Exercise Lady insisted it could be done. She transformed her own barrel like body to swan grace. Loud Thought got particularly insistent on the necessity of having slender arms. “No, no, too thick” it said one day, as Rhaya looked at her figure, reflected on the elevator mirror, while going up to the dentist’s office. “Yeah, I think I know where I got them from. Moms’ arms look sort of like sausages, and all that side of the family too” she rationalized in silence. As Rhaya got thiner, she felt hungry and cold most of the time. Low fat and multi grain didn’t seem to create that much energy. She believed those sensations would fade away after getting used to the regime, but they didn’t, it got harder and harder. “Its silly to be so hungry” she told herself. “Im having lots of veggies, fruits, beans and rice. It’s supposed to fill you up”. Loud Thought didn’t comment, but I was sure he heard that, he was keeping a close eye on her attitude. “I must be tough, I must be strong” Rhaya repeated during the day. Heavy exercise was also part her mission of transformation. Aerobics class every day, as her exercise Guru recommended. One hour of Gina’s class, the toughest
Sonia (novelette continues)
Chapter 3 from ¿Who Will Help Sonia? Rhaya never forgot anything of what came after that particular morning, but it was clearly part of the past. Something she had gone through and seen to the very end. But now with her niece Sonia emotions stirred. A shake of the old vinaigrette which had been sitting in her mental fridge for ages. The contents still there, unchanged, but for a while the particles whirled in chaos before settling. Sunny Sonia had ash blonde hair, greyish eyes, wholesome fair skin, cheeks as pink marshmallows. The child could charm anyone in minutes. Sonia was used to being entertained or made busy at all times, since a baby. She’d be a pest when bored. Her energy was naturally splendid, but her habit of eating constantly was showing in her eleven year old body. It was ballooning and picking up speed. The girl ate any moment she felt bored or anxious. Void moments without action were her enemies, getting her way was more than sport, it was an art. To her middle-aged aunt it was evident her body type tended to accumulate more upward than down, and that didn’t help her case. Sonia’s face was overfilling. She also developed a muffin top over her favorite skinny jeans. She usually charmed her way into everybody’s heart, obtaining any food item she craved, and that was limited to the sugary and fried food groups. Cookies calmed her, soda made her congenial, for a while at least. It was a pleasure watching her go from irritable and inscrutable to silly and clownish. Even I enjoyed her transformations. No one took it too seriously those years. This was the average upbringing of children. But Rhaya’s concern was with what tomorrow would bring for her niece, the future, that uncertain place where novelty and change can surprise us or, on the contrary, patterns and repetition could make us stale, hardened. She worried Sonia might need help. ¿How could she possibly take control of her sweet addiction? Would Sonia one day feel herself overweight and unacceptable? Even worse, ¿Would Loud Thoughts invade Sonia’s life the same way they did hers? She feared the child might get tagged as chemically imbalanced, bipolar or depressed. Her parents were conservative, faithful believers in mainstream, adepts to scientific facts. They went to a specialist for any kind of life disruption when it became a problem. They believed in explainable science. Rhaya wasn’t sure science and medicine, as they stood, could solve issues such as the one’s intersecting in Sonia’s horizon. To make matters worse, her niece knew nothing about firm rules, even less so regarding venturing into the kitchen outside of meal hours. Grabbing stuff between meals was entirely normal in her upbringing. No one had ever told her there was to be no poking around the pantry after lunch. ¿What would happen with her niece? Rhaya had in fact learned such things much later in life. The value of certain rules and limits regarding eating schedules, that folks from a not too distant past regarded as highly civilized. She didn’t ask to learn this but did nonetheless while mothering her own children. Considerations about food as nourishment came to her attention, as she experienced the age of wild economic chance, and extreme capitalism. Credit had become a dangerous game. More and more, people turned to living on a budget, and making sure there was enough at home was important. Meals prepared should feed everyone, for at least a couple of days. Rhaya discovered the value of waiting until the appropriate time to eat, even if she hadn’t been raised that way. Now, in the age of excess, such notions seemed almost archaic, so she seldom discussed them with anyone. Rhaya just watched her niece, unable to decide what to say, or if she should say anything at all. It seemed so pointless, almost impossible to explain that some issues lie beyond what meets the eye. She also considered another possible outcome. Sonia was a real social butterfly, so unlike Rhaya, who was born more on the lacklustre side of charisma. Just the way her niece entered the room added glitter to the air. The child was blessed. With a wide Cheshire cat smile, sparkling eyes under lengthy, dark lashes, she’d bat them like a moth, before flying upstairs with her cousins, probably carrying a bag of hot Doritos or a fresh pack of Oreos. Sonia would snap out of it and come out shinning, for sure. No ordeal, no long winding road, just childhood. So Rhaya hoped.
Potbelly Bump (novelette continues)
Chapter 2 from ¿Who Will Help Sonia? There is no such thing as a homemaker who is only that. A mother to three young ladies in their teens, Rhaya knew better than to conceive such bland thoughts about motherhood, even if the now older millennials insisted on asking what she did for a living, if she had a LinkedIn profile, or what her professional title was. Sometimes, on a flight to see her sister Amanda, who lived south, she came across silly questions from fellow passengers chit-chat. ¿So what do you do for a living? ¿What are you? I’m a… Questions like these never fit. They presupposed she should be doing something very specific to generate a solid product. And, she was, but those riches came later, they manifested on the long term. Sometimes, women are meant for that, for the long run, for the future. We place high importance on those missions in my realm, but people on earth seldom remember that nowadays. Making a home is an interesting concept, too broad to define simply as a place where families touch base, as they go through their daily grind. Home is a force in itself. It has the power to make people stay put, for others’ sake, but it will also push them outside of their heads. And from there, it may go even further. Home will extend its branches into the future as it anchors to the past. It grows forth lush as a fern or as bad weed, whether folks want it or not. Very well versed in the whims of dreams, most of Rhaya’s never did solidify. Some had been silly, of course, that’s a given with almost everyone. Others hadn’t been her authorship, just a fact she came to terms with a tad late. Then again, having a smooth and reasonable line from A to B, from childhood into adulthood, in an orderly sequence, with no delusional whims in between, may be desirable, but it seldom happens. Home had her coming and going, expanding and contracting. Sometimes she went forward with a sure step and then doubted at the next bend. At least she didn’t stay stuck in a single doubt for decades. I’ve known many who have. Uncertainty stalled her at times, but growing pains and other people’s needs nudged her on like a stubborn sheepdog does to cattle. That’s how she managed to rid her space of its old inhabitants from her preteen years, when her figure suddenly became a target. At thirteen, as her body started to change, she suddenly became aware of a flaw. This awareness came about as, let us say, a kind of voice. ¿What’s odd about that you may ask? Well, yes, so many people talk to themselves inside their heads. Nothing new there. The problem was the voice spoke when it wanted, and mostly about her body. It seemed focused on that one thing. “Must be loud thoughts” Rhaya concluded, leaving it at that. One thing I will mention here. Rhaya was never fearful of thoughts, and even though nobody had ever mentioned this peculiar phenomenon to her, she didn’t question it. A thought is a thought ¿right? “People don’t go around saying they get information from loud thoughts,” she told herself one day, in her head. And the idea slid by, floating aimlessly, as all others did. Later on, she would also have to admit to another curious detail. Having been unaware of already knowing certain things, bits and pieces of information. Like the word Potbelly, which she soon fixated on. Rhaya vaguely assumed she must have heard it before, without paying much heed. If not that, ¿how else would she come up with the term potbelly out of the blue, one fine morning, at the brink of of her thirteenth birthday? As she stood sideways, in front of the vertical mirror of her dressing table, pleasantly satisfied, the girl felt cute. Her favorite jeans fit exactly as they should, at the belly button. A cotton blouse hung loosely, draping soft over her torso. She appreciated her gentle curves, the roundness of her breasts, her pleasant hips. Soon after, Rhaya saw it. Protruding from the navel a slight bump, like a bread bun, made itself evident. “We get rid of potbelly,” said a loud thought, without much diplomacy, in a stark tone. “¿Potbelly? Oh! I see”, she acquiesced whispering to herself, observing her abdomen with new, clinical eyes. Rhaya knew what the voice was referring to, she had noticed this little protuberance before, it just never before registered as a “thing”, an add-on that should not be. Having never juggled the word potbelly before, she nonetheless recognized it. Grandma had one. She could tell, under her colorful dress pants. Mom did too, she had seen her in a bikini many times. When she sat, the slight rounded bun rested horizontally. A very familiar thing and yet, starting that very day, the potbelly became an unwanted guest, a separate entity that should not be there. The loud thought had stated so square and straight. It had to go.