My Mexican Novela #2

“I delete, de-story, and uncreate stupid people. I delete, de-story and uncreate stupid people. I delete, de-story, and uncreate stupid people.”

Isabel laid in the mid afternoon Hermosa Beach sun, sure it was late November, but no matter, El Niño or not, the beach was still warm, and this tan was not going to upkeep itself. As she chanted the seemingly healing mantra in her head, flashes of inept but beautiful, organic baristas, overpaid lawyers with zero common sense, and other over qualified faces popped in and out of her aura. Try as Isabel might, to purge all this stupid people from her reality, she could not get his voice and his cutting words out of her head. His voice haunted her legs up the wall, downward dogs, and Reiki Meditations: “Wow, I’d never seem a picture of you FAT before! How old were you, 12?”

Fifteen, she had been fifteen years old. And she had not been fat, but she deleted that memory from her reality too. She remembered that summer with ease, the summer where she could not wear her bikini, the summer where she was forced to live abroad. She had came back to school that year, talking about how exotic her extended vacation in Mexico had been. She described peacocks at a ranch, live-in cleaning ladies, private apartments overlooking the beach, security guards, drivers, and being able to walk around town, recognized and therefore treated with upmost love and respect. Even at that young age, she learned to turn a blind eye to the other side of reality. It hadn’t been so bad in the late 80’s, sure it was violent and scary, but compared to staying home all summer, hiding from people you might know, it was paradise – and that’s how she chose to describe it.

She angered at her husband who just did not understand. He didn’t even know how mean and cruel he had been. She thought she had gotten rid of ALL THE PICTURES, how had that fat picture come back into her reality? The answer was simple, her sister. How, such a person, unembarrassed by her reality could exist, was beyond her. But no, her sister knew better, she had to. She must have done it on purpose. Why had she sent that picture? Maybe her sister was too young to remember the starvation diets filled with chicken soup, skim milk, and syringes. Maybe her sister didn’t know about the potassium pills that made you pee like crazy, and the hunger, the constant hunger. Now that she ate a strictly vegan organic diet filled with correct food combinations, she did not have to worry about layers of fat – and hamburgers. Back then, it had been torture. She took enchiladas and beans out of her mind, “they’re nasty” she reminded herself, Carne Asada Fries, “gag.” In fact, she shunned most poor people comfort food. Deep fried carbs she called it, and trash. Shrimp were trash. Deep friend shrimp specifically, were trash, bottom feeders, like her sister dammed sister.

Isabel had convinced herself. Her sister knew, and she had done it on purpose. She comforted herself into her new reality, her sister, was not her partner who loved her, she was evil and wanted to fat shame her. She changed her mantra: “I delete, de-story and uncreate fat pictures. I delete, de-story and uncreate fat pictures.” She imagined all the pictures burning in a huge proverbial bonfire, one similar to the one that had used to burn the coma out of her husband, and she became calm and content. She was in charge of her life, and noone could do anything to hurt it. No one.

 

One thought on “My Mexican Novela #2”

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