Finally, One I Remember!
For some reason I am back in Arcata, visiting some old friends. Odd, since I never had any friends while I was living there. I start telling them about Eliza, a co-worker from the flower farm who I was filling in for while she had her stomach stapled.
She was always desperate for attention. The day after her surgery, she came back to the farm, against doctor's orders. A week later, she was back at work despite being instructed to take at least two weeks off. Her first day back she was eating solid food, specifically an Egg McMuffin, despite being instructed to stay on a liquid diet in the beginning.
She would explain that since her new stomach was now the size of a Nyquil cup, she could eat as much as she wanted, but she would feel full faster so she'd eat less and start losing weight dramatically. She also said that her body for some reason wouldn't absorb fat the way it used to, so she could eat any old crap she wanted. So much for a new healthy lifestyle beginning with a $10,000 gastric bypass operation. I bet she's one of the few people that the surgery doesn't work for, because she never stopped being a piggy.
I decided to visit her at her house, purely out of curiosity. I just wanted to see what she looked like. I didn't really care to know if she was doing well or not, if she was happy, if her daughter was growing up to be a fine young lady. Eliza and I weren't friends, and I can safely say she hated me.
I knocked on her door. No answer for five minutes. I knocked again and was about to leave when she came to the door. She looked completely different from the old Eliza, and she was gorgeous. Her dark, wavy brown hair was dyed strawberry blonde and she had grown it down to the middle of her back. She was shorter, about my height, but also petite, and she looked 25 instead of her actual age, 35. She still had some weight to lose around her belly, but otherwise she was perfectly proportioned.
"Hey Eliza," I said, faking friendliness. "How are you doing? Remember me?"
She didn't smile, only looked me up and down and said dully, with a smoker's cough, "What do you need?"
Christ, I haven't seen this woman for over a year and she can't even conjure up any courtesy.
"Just wanted to see how you're doing," I said, pretending to be oblivious to her rudeness. "I'm back in town for a few days and was thinking about you." It was obvious she saw through my fakey fakey and had no interest in indulging me.
"Yeah, sure," she said, leading me into her house. "I know you just wanted to see if I was still fat or what."
***
A few days later, I am feeling a vague, dull guilt. Someone hired me to kill her, so I did. I didn't really like her, but I didn't necessarily think she needed to die. But anyway, someone else requested it, so whatever. I guess I wasn't the only member of the Annoyed by Eliza Club.
I'm wandering around the square in downtown Arcata when I notice a bunch of cops lining up suspects. There is a bit of chaos, and I allow myself to be herded into the group of suspects. I dutifully join the suspect lineup, not really knowing how or when they figured out it was me, but figuring it had to happen at some point. Someone I know nudges me and says, "You're not on the list of suspects. You shouldn't be here."
"Oh," I say. "You mean I have to be on the list first before I can be here?"
"Yup," he says.
I wander away from the lineup, trying to be inconspicuous. Successful, I blend into the crowd of spectators that has gathered. I notice that the lineup is mostly men, oddly enough, and I point it out to someone standing next to me.
"Yeah," he replies. "And the weird thing is that none of the female suspects would ever do that to her."
This observation strikes me as so close to making sense that the situation almost stops being bizarre. In the next instant, I am surrounded by a pale light, and my alarm is going off. I hit the snooze, hoping to stay awake long enough to recap some details before dozing off and overwriting this dream with another one.
She was always desperate for attention. The day after her surgery, she came back to the farm, against doctor's orders. A week later, she was back at work despite being instructed to take at least two weeks off. Her first day back she was eating solid food, specifically an Egg McMuffin, despite being instructed to stay on a liquid diet in the beginning.
She would explain that since her new stomach was now the size of a Nyquil cup, she could eat as much as she wanted, but she would feel full faster so she'd eat less and start losing weight dramatically. She also said that her body for some reason wouldn't absorb fat the way it used to, so she could eat any old crap she wanted. So much for a new healthy lifestyle beginning with a $10,000 gastric bypass operation. I bet she's one of the few people that the surgery doesn't work for, because she never stopped being a piggy.
I decided to visit her at her house, purely out of curiosity. I just wanted to see what she looked like. I didn't really care to know if she was doing well or not, if she was happy, if her daughter was growing up to be a fine young lady. Eliza and I weren't friends, and I can safely say she hated me.
I knocked on her door. No answer for five minutes. I knocked again and was about to leave when she came to the door. She looked completely different from the old Eliza, and she was gorgeous. Her dark, wavy brown hair was dyed strawberry blonde and she had grown it down to the middle of her back. She was shorter, about my height, but also petite, and she looked 25 instead of her actual age, 35. She still had some weight to lose around her belly, but otherwise she was perfectly proportioned.
"Hey Eliza," I said, faking friendliness. "How are you doing? Remember me?"
She didn't smile, only looked me up and down and said dully, with a smoker's cough, "What do you need?"
Christ, I haven't seen this woman for over a year and she can't even conjure up any courtesy.
"Just wanted to see how you're doing," I said, pretending to be oblivious to her rudeness. "I'm back in town for a few days and was thinking about you." It was obvious she saw through my fakey fakey and had no interest in indulging me.
"Yeah, sure," she said, leading me into her house. "I know you just wanted to see if I was still fat or what."
***
A few days later, I am feeling a vague, dull guilt. Someone hired me to kill her, so I did. I didn't really like her, but I didn't necessarily think she needed to die. But anyway, someone else requested it, so whatever. I guess I wasn't the only member of the Annoyed by Eliza Club.
I'm wandering around the square in downtown Arcata when I notice a bunch of cops lining up suspects. There is a bit of chaos, and I allow myself to be herded into the group of suspects. I dutifully join the suspect lineup, not really knowing how or when they figured out it was me, but figuring it had to happen at some point. Someone I know nudges me and says, "You're not on the list of suspects. You shouldn't be here."
"Oh," I say. "You mean I have to be on the list first before I can be here?"
"Yup," he says.
I wander away from the lineup, trying to be inconspicuous. Successful, I blend into the crowd of spectators that has gathered. I notice that the lineup is mostly men, oddly enough, and I point it out to someone standing next to me.
"Yeah," he replies. "And the weird thing is that none of the female suspects would ever do that to her."
This observation strikes me as so close to making sense that the situation almost stops being bizarre. In the next instant, I am surrounded by a pale light, and my alarm is going off. I hit the snooze, hoping to stay awake long enough to recap some details before dozing off and overwriting this dream with another one.
posted by Justina at 9:29 AM
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