Fat Woman Walking

Psychedelic Bingo Ain't Gonna Work on Dizzy's Farm No More __________________________ P sychedelic Bingo . What old boomers play at Paisley Palace Nursing Home in 2035. Flashing strobe lights, the scent of medicinal weed hanging in the air, mingling with patchouli, Pine Sol, rubbing alcohol, scented Depends – Piss. “Pump it up!” the 20-something Bingo caller will yell. We’ll be hard of hearing. Years of cranked up Grateful Dead and Steppenwolf concerts taking their toll. About time for a winner. The caller, a pale, young part human, part cyborg with rainbow dreadlocks and gaunt body, wants to split, to get on with her young robotic life, her young lover, probably with matching dreadlocks, passions, jutted-out hipbones. We hardly matter. “B-5!” spews out of the caller’s mouth, a brown sound morphing into airy blue. “G-59!” plays like a green note with a blue-brown under melody. The air fills with Bingo numbers, colors, and anticipation. If I could captu...

______________________ I HAVE NEVER FELT closer to Nicole. I’m grateful to Auntie for the inheritance, not that I wanted her to die. It’s not that at all. It’s just that Auntie’s money has allowed me to take Nicole on this trip to Disney World. It’s been such a great trip! Five days in the Magic Kingdom theme park, one day at Kennedy Space Center, and one day at Marineland. I’ve always wanted to take my daughter on a vacation like this, but money’s always been tight, with my divorce, going to school, and all. I know I haven’t always been the best mother – all that past drug use must have blown my brain chemistry. I have lived my life backwards, and I’m sure my zigzag course has affected my relationship with Nicole in negative ways. Though she never says much about it. These days, she seems to be preoccupied with something else, something puzzling and mysterious – I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s just a kid thing. After Auntie died last year, I received ...

_________________________________ O NCE UPON A TIME there was a little girl who ate SO many Twin Bing Candy Bars she grew & grew SO tall that she looked DOWN on the Empire State Building. Her body was so stretched out that it couldnt stretch any more, but Gargantua, the not-so-little girl’s name, kept on eating Bings anyway & so all that blubber had to go somewhere, so it began spreading out, out, out. Gargantua grew into a blob of mountainous fat. She grew SO fat she couldnt move at all so the New York City Police decided to leave her next to the Empire State Building & build a fence around her. There she sat, Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer, while all the city folks gawked & stared & fed her all kinds of sweets. Once, some tourists from Sioux City, Iowa, even gave her Bings. One day, some people from the Modern Museum of Art decided to buy Gargantua & made plans to build an art gallery around her. “Thank you,” Gargantua said. “It’s getting cold ...

S HELDON PARKS THE CAR in front of the small rock house, just outside Timber City. There are no other houses in sight. The sun has just set, and the peepers and katydids try out-chirping each other. A tension – maybe static – seems to crackle around us. Sheet lightning in the distance. A hot night, the humidity hanging in the air like a damp towel. I had heard about the humidity here, how it clings to you like a whiny kid, but I never realized how it could sit on you and make you beg for relief. Half moons of sweat drip under my armpits, and my skin feels hot and scratchy and raw. Later, I’ll find out about the chiggers, how they get on your skin and stick to you until they get what they need. My sister’s thin silhouette poses in the doorway, long cigarette in hand. My stomach suddenly aches; I don’t want her to see me like this, fat and bloated. I want to be thin like her, thin like the rest of the world. Why, for our first meeting, does she have to see me like this...