The Heavy Cycle (of clothes)
You need new clothes; there’s no choice. Everything either has a rip, tear, stain, split… ugly.
So, you walk into the store. Every mannequin laughs, faces empty and emotionless. They’re conniving, skilled in persuasion. Reedy-high voices call out, “Try on this dress. These pants are slimming. This shirt is cute. It’ll look just as good on you.”
Like a lamb to slaughter, you follow along, forgetting what has happened before, and before. You take clothes off the rack.
It should be the right size. You have hundreds of items in your closet with that number (ripped, stained, torn, split…) It should fit. On the hanger, it looks perfect for you. Slip on like a glove.
Hope. Stupid hope. Just… maybe?
Layers are removed and you are bare. There’s nothing to hide behind.
Tears in the skin unveil, red against white. Angry marks that rip through, areas of growth that took place too quickly. Streeeeetched out. Something to hide.
You feel...
Sick. Vile.
You want to rip off pieces of your body. In vain, you grab folds of your stomach, ripples of your arms, layers of skin and flab.
No use. Misuse. Disuse.
You try on the first item. Shirt. No problem. A shirt is easy…
And it’s tight in the wrong places, showing folds in your back, ripples on your belly.
Get. it. OFF!
Next one. Dress. It should fit, it’s a stretchy material…… and it can’t even fit past your knees. Who knew you could have fat knees?
Next. It’s the last item. You look in the mirror, wondering if it’s worth it. Your face is starting to get red and you’re SWEATING! How? HOW ARE YOU SWEATING?
But you try. You pick up a shirt, innocuous and not even great looking, but it’s simple enough that it should work. Should. Work.
Alright, it’s on.
You look like you’re wearing a potato sack.
Look up. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry… Breathe.
You take off the shirt and put it back on the hanger.
All you see, staring back, is a fat, sweaty tomato. Who’s trying to not cry. Just. Don’t. Cry.
You give up. Put up the battered armor, covering every fresh wound. Can’t cry. People will hear, people will see. Hidden laughs will cover their mask-faces.
Leave. Never come back.
“We never wanted you here to begin with.”
“What a fool, thinking that she will find what she is looking for.”
“Poor, fat, deluded girl.”
And so it is, until the cycle starts again.
Leyla Gentil is a SUNY Purchase graduate (B.A.) and is happy to be growing professionally within the Buffalo arts scene. Her passion and love is theatre, but she has always been fascinated with the written word. As a plus-size woman, she finds difficulty navigating through societal expectations of her body and her love for food. Adoration to her wonderful partner, Jay, and her little demons, Tiggy and Heresy, who keep her on her toes.