|
|
Bikini
Kim Chinquee
Sally ordered a poppy seed muffin and
a coffee from the bakery. She and her daughter, Jen, were at the airport,
waiting for a flight. Sally wasn’t flying but her daughter was, just like
every other summer. Jen would be visiting her father.
This year, after Jen would arrive in Boston, her father would take her to Cancun. Sally had never been there. Jen’s
father was always taking her to fun, exotic places. Jen was seventeen.
Last weekend, Sally and Jen had driven to Wisconsin to visit Sally’s mother and her
family. Sally’s parents lived on a farm that smelled of horses and manure.
Her family loved eating. They ate a lot of steak, potatoes, pie. Last
weekend, Sally fasted. She weighed about a hundred. She didn’t notice that
Jen had eaten nothing.
Sally and Jen walked along. Jen would approach the airline stewardess just
like every other year, and she would fly off, and Sally would saunter through
the airport, like she’d just lost a puppy, and then she’d go about her day,
as if not a thing had happened. Sally didn’t know what her daughter did when
she was with her father.
Jen had said she wasn’t hungry. Sally and Jen sat on the plastic chairs and
waited for announcements. They’d gotten there too early. Yesterday Jen said
she’d only eaten tofu and some pudding. She wanted to look good in her
bikini.
Sally handed Jen a stamp, saying to make sure to send a postcard. She’d
talked to her ex-husband, telling him to keep an eye on Jen. "You know I
will," he’d said. "Guys are watching her. She’ll look good in a
bikini."
Sally had told her daughter to be careful what she put into her body. Jen had
said of course, she always would. Sally threw away her muffin. She sat
sipping on her coffee. Jen told her mother she couldn’t wait to go. Jen kept
on talking, and Sally tried to listen. Jen's face looked almost like her
father's. Sally wondered if her daughter felt the same way she did. She
looked at her daughter’s cheekbones. They were thin and hollow.
|
|