Bodyscape

While her friends avoided scales and reflective surfaces and endured self-imposed hunger strikes, Cindy enjoyed gazing upon her naked form and smiled as she ran her hands over the peaks and valleys of the landscape of her flesh. Her mother, who subsisted on yoghurt and daily sessions at Curves, had waited anxiously for Cindy’s “baby fat” to disappear until she was 15. Though her mother continually sucked in her stomach and called herself a “a big fat toad”, she never used the word “fat” with Cindy, choosing instead to refer to her as “plump.” At night while the local news droned on, Cindy dutifully ate her baked chicken breasts and steamed vegetables and never asked for sweets or fatty foods. She’d never suffered from food cravings and had taken it in stride that she was going to have the body shape of the “unlucky ladies on your father’s side of the family” as her mother constantly reminded her.

Because of her wide bright smile and way of making a person feel they were the most treasured in a room, Cindy rarely had been the subject of ridicule. Once when the scrawny and mean Jeanette Parsons told her she was so fat, her “ass had its own zip code”, Cindy laughed so good-naturedly that Jeanette laughed too and when Cindy added that she was so fat she didn’t need the internet “cuz I’m already world wide” hands placed on each hip, Jeanette laughed even harder. And though she never had a serious boyfriend in high school, more than a few boys learned the secret that there is more pleasure to be had in grabbing onto softness than unforgiving bones.

In her 20s, when fashion magazines editorialized about the dangers of young girls striving for the “perfect bikini body,” she laughed and started her oft-stated diagnosis of “reverse body dysmorphia”. On occasion she was surprised when she discovered that her perception of her size and the actual number on the tag didn’t exactly match. But rather than feeling panic or self-loathing, she shrugged and grabbed the bigger size, vowing and adhering to a new rule to exercise more each week.

After two years of temp work at various offices throughout the city, she was finally offered a full-time position in a human resources department. Her mother immediately advised her to invest in some tailored business jackets that would have a “slimming effect”. She then went on to warn her of lunches out with the girls, happy hour drinks and appetizers at Applebee’s, and the general gluttony that would ensue with an increase in salary. Cindy, having heard the similar warnings before, chuckled and assured her mother she wouldn’t become a blimp, and added as she always did, that there would just be more of herself for her mother to love.

Her first year flew by as she fell into the rhythm of working five days a week from 9:00-5:00. She loved the constant flow of communication whether on the phone, in meetings, or just in passing with the scores of people who were employed there. At the end of each day, when she took off her heels, undid her blazer, and untucked her blouse, she felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and connectedness with the various “teams” she was a part of. So it was with a sense of earning a prize that she accepted an invitation with her group of work friends to take a 10-day trip to Thailand.

They had chosen to go in February when the Midwestern winters were at their cruellest and Cindy revelled in shopping for tropical climate wear. She chose a retro-styled bikini with a high-waisted bottom with a halter top in a bold turquoise colour and a few sundresses for nights on the town. At home she tried on each piece several times, loving the feel of the lightweight fabric and the way she could finally see her body without the confinement of winter layers—the flesh only slightly bulging between the two parts of the bikini.

They had spent the first three days in Bangkok, doing the requisite circuit of walking up and down Kao San Road with other tourists; taking pictures with drugged felines at the Tiger Temple; and riding the train on the Death Railway over the River Kwai. They tried som tam and curries, drank too much, and bought souvenirs of keychains and scarves.

On the advice of a staff member, they decided to travel to the relatively unspoilt Koh Lipe rather than the touristy Koh Phi Phi for the beach part of the holiday. When they arrived, the tourists, mostly from Asia, began climbing deftly from the ferry into the small wooden long-tailed boats that would take them the few meters to shore.

Suddenly, all eyes turned to Cindy.  A collective fear hung in the air as she stood to climb over the hull and down into the boat. Just as quickly, the spell was broken and she could hear and see nearly a dozen strangers, pointing and laughing at her. For a moment she felt the bouncing of her breasts and buttocks as the boat moved in the waves; her arm on the railing looked like a ham hock next to that of the Thai man who was helping people into the boats. She felt swollen like risen dough and wanted to punch herself down to a smaller size. Her face burned as her travelling companions cooed words of encouragement.

Looking up, she saw the small boyish figures before her and suddenly felt a surge of pity that they’d never know full breasts or burying a face into a soft, warm tummy. She stretched her arms above her, and because she was smiling so radiantly, the group found themselves smiling too. She dove effortlessly into the sea and they watched, mesmerized by the way the water rippled and eddied around her. And then, splashing and giggling, they followed her, minnows trailing a dolphin, as she led them to shore.