When I first met Vida she had been born inside the wrong body and was barely able to look at people, wanting to crawl off and hide from the thing that she was contained within.
This was late last year in San Francisco.
She came to the library one evening after she got off work. The library was ‘closed’ and I was in my room making some coffee and thinking about the books that had come into the library that day. One of the books was about a great octopus that had leather wings and flew through abandoned school yards at night, demanding entrance into the classrooms.
I was putting some sugar into my coffee when I heard the bell ring ever so slightly, but always just enough to alert me and to summon me.
I went out and turned on the light in the library and there was a young girl at the door, waiting behind the heavy religious glass.
She startled me.
Besides having an incredibly delicate face, beautiful, with long black hair that hung about her shoulders like bat lightning, there was something very unusual about her, but I could not quite tell what that thing was because her face was like a perfect labyrinth that led me momentarily away from a very disturbing thing.
She did not look directly at me as she waited for me to unlock the door and let her in. She was holding something under her arm. It was in a brown paper bag and looked like a book.
Another one for the caves.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Please come in.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, coming very awkwardly into the library. I was surprised that she was so awkward. She did not look directly at me and she did not look at the library either. She seemed to be looking at something else. The thing that she was looking at was not in front of me nor behind me nor at the side of me.
‘What do you have there? A book?’ I said, wanting to sound like a pleasant librarian and make her feel at ease.
Her face was so delicate: the mouth, the eyes, the nose, the chin, the curve of her cheeks all beautiful. She was almost painful to gaze upon.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I hope I didn’t disturb you. It’s late.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not at all. No. Please come over here to the desk and we’ll register your book in the Library Contents Ledger. That’s how we do it here.’
‘I was wondering how you were going to do it,’ she said.
‘Did you come far?’ I said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I just got off work.’
She wasn’t looking at herself either. I do not know what she was looking at, but she was looking at something very intently. I believe the thing that she was looking at was inside of herself. It had a shape that only she could see.
She moved very awkwardly over to the desk, stunningly awkward, but again the almost tide-pool delicacy of her face led me away from the source of her awkwardness.
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you. I know it’s late,’ she said, kind of hopelessly, and then broke away from the thing that she was looking at, to glance lightspeed at me.
She was disturbing me, but not in the way she thought. There was a dynamically incongruous thing about her, but I still couldn’t find it. Her face, like a circle of mirrors, led me away from it.
‘No, not at all,’ I said. ‘This is my job and I love doing it. There’s no place I would rather be than where I am now.’
‘What?’ she said.
‘I love my work.’ I said.
‘It’s good you’re happy,’ she said. She said the word happy as if she were looking at it from a great distance through a telescope. The word sounded celestial upon her mouth, stark and Galilean.
Then I noticed what was so extraordinarily strange about her. Her face was so delicate, perfect, but her body was fantastically developed for the fragility of her face.
She had very large fully realized breasts and an incredibly tiny waist and large full hips that tapered down into long majestic legs.
Her body was very sensual, inciting one to think of lust, while her face was Botticellian and set your mind to voyaging upon the ethereal.
Suddenly she sensed my recognition of her body. She blushed bitterly and reached into the paper bag and took out her book.
‘This is my book,’ she said.
She put it down on the desk and almost stepped back when she did it. She was going to step back but then she changed her mind. She glanced at me again and I could feel somebody inside of her looking out as if her body were a castle and a princess lived inside.
The book had a plain brown wrapper on it and there was no title. The book looked like a stark piece of ground burning with frozen heat.
‘What’s it about?’ I said, holding the book in my hand, feeling almost a hatred coming from within the book.
‘It’s about this,’ she said and suddenly, almost hysterically, she unbuttoned her coat and flung it open as if it were a door to some horrible dungeon filled with torture instruments, pain and dynamic confession.
She was wearing a blue sweater and skirt and a pair of black leather boots in the style of this time. She had a fantastically full and developed body under her clothes that would have made the movie stars and beauty queens and showgirls bitterly ooze dead make-up in envy.
She was developed to the most extreme of Western man’s desire in this century for women to look: the large breasts, the tiny waist, the large hips, the long Playboy furniture legs.
She was so beautiful that the advertising people would have made her into a national park if they could have got their hands on her.
Then her blue eyes swirled like a tide pool and she started crying.
‘This book is about my body,’ she said. ‘I hate it. It’s too big for me. It’s somebody else’s body. It’s not mine.’
I reached into my pocket and took out a handkerchief and a candy bar. When people are troubled or worried, I always tell them that it will be all right and give them a candy bar. It surprises them and it’s good for them.
‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ I said.
I gave her a Milky Way. She held it in her startled hand, staring at it. And I gave her the handkerchief.
‘Wipe your eyes,’ I said. ‘And eat the candy bar while I get you a glass of sherry.’
She fumbled abstractedly with the candy bar wrapper as if it were a tool from a distant and future century while I went and got some sherry for us. I figured that we would both need it.
When I came back she was eating the candy bar. ‘Now isn’t that good,’ I said, smiling.
The ludicrousness of me giving her a candy bar made her smile, ever so slightly, and almost look directly at me.
‘Please sit down over here,’ I said motioning towards a table and some chairs. She sat down as if her body were six inches larger than she was. After she had sat down, her body was still sitting down.
I poured us each a glass of Gallo sherry, all the library could afford, and then there was a kind of awkward silence as we sat there sipping our sherry.
I was going to tell her that she was a beautiful girl and she shouldn’t feel bad about it, that she was all wrong in denouncing herself, but then I changed my mind instantly.
That was not what she wanted to hear and that wasn’t really what I wanted to say. After all, I have a little more sense than that. We both didn’t want to hear what I first thought of telling her.
‘What’s your name?’ I said.
‘Vida. Vida Kramar.’
‘Do you like to be called V-(ee)-da or V-(eye)-da?’
That made her smile.
‘V-(eye)-da.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Nineteen. Soon I’ll be twenty. On the tenth.’
‘Do you go to school?’
‘No, I work at night. I went to State for a while, then UC, but I don’t know. Now I’m working at night. It’s OK.’
She was almost looking at me.
‘Did you just finish your book?’ I said.
‘Yes, I finished it yesterday. I wanted to tell how it is to be like me. I figured it was the only thing left for me to do. When I was eleven years old, I had a thirty-six inch bust. I was in the sixth grade.
‘For the last eight years I’ve been the object, veneration and butt of at least a million dirty jokes. In the seventh grade they called me “points”. Isn’t that cute? It never got any better.
‘My book is about my body, about how horrible it is to have people creeping, crawling, sucking at something I am not. My older sister looks the way I really am.
‘It’s horrible.
‘For years I had a recurrent dream that I got up in the middle of the night and went into my sister’s bedroom and changed bodies with her. I took off my body and put on her body. It fitted perfectly.
‘When I woke up in the morning, I had on my own true body and she had this terrible thing I’m wearing now. I know it’s not a nice dream, but I had it all during my early teens.
‘You’ll never know how it is to be like I am. I can’t go anywhere without promoting whistles, grunts, howls, minor and major obscenities and every man I meet wants to go to bed instantly with me. I have the wrong body.’
She was staring directly at me now. Her vision was unbroken and constant as a building with many windows standing fully here in this world.
She continued: ‘My whole life has just been one torment. I, I don’t know. I wrote this book to tell how horrible physical beauty is, the full terror of it.
‘Three years ago a man was killed in an automobile accident because of my body. I was walking along a highway. I had gone to the beach with my family, but I couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘They demanded that I put on a bathing suit. “Don’t be bashful, just relax and enjoy yourself.” I was miserable with all the attention I was getting. When an eighty-year-old man dropped his ice-cream cone on his foot, I put my clothes back on and went for a walk along the highway up from the beach. I had to go somewhere.
‘A man came driving by in his car. He slowed down and was gawking at me. I tried to ignore him but he was very persistent. He forgot all about where he was and what he was doing and drove his car right into a train.
‘I ran over and he was still alive. He died in my arms, still staring at me. It was horrible. There was blood all over both of us and he wouldn’t take his eyes off me. Part of the bone was sticking out of his arm. His back felt funny. When he died, he said, “You’re beautiful.” That’s just what I needed to make me feel perfect for ever.
‘When I was fifteen a student in a high-school chemistry class drank hydrochloric acid because I wouldn’t go out with him. He was a little crazy, anyway, but that didn’t make me feel any better. The principal prohibited me from wearing a sweater to school.
‘It’s this,’ Vida said, gesturing rain-like towards her body. ‘It’s not me. I can’t be responsible for what it does. I don’t attempt to use my body to get anything from anyone and I never have.
‘I spend all my time hiding from it. Can you imagine spending your whole life hiding from your own body as if it were a monster in a Grade B movie, but still every day having to use it to eat, sleep and get from one place to another?
‘Whenever I take a bath I always feel as if I’m going to vomit. I’m in the wrong skin.’
All the time she told me these things she did not take her eyes off me. I felt like a statue in a park. I poured her another glass of sherry and one for myself. I had a feeling that we were going to need a lot of sherry before the night was over.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said. ‘I’m just a librarian. I can’t pretend that you are not beautiful. That would be like pretending that you are someplace else in the world, say China or Africa, or that you are some other kind of matter, a plant or a tyre or some frozen peas or a bus transfer. Do you understand?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘It’s the truth. You’re a very pretty girl and you’re not going to change, so you might as well settle down and get used to it.’
She sighed and then awkwardly slipped her coat off and let it hang on the chair behind her like a vegetable skin.
‘I once tried wearing very baggy formless clothes, muu muus, but that didn’t work because I got tired of looking like a slob. It’s one thing to have this fleshy thing covering me but it’s another thing to be called a beatnik at the same time.’
Then she gave me a great big smile and said, ‘Anyway, that’s my problem. Where do we go from here? What’s next? Got any more candy bars?’
I pretended to get one from my pocket and she laughed out loud. It was a pleasing thing.
Suddenly she turned her attention upon me in a very strong way. ‘Why are you are here in this funny library?’ she said. ‘This place where losers bring their books. I’m curious about you now. What’s your story, Mr Candyman Librarian?’
She was smiling as she said these things.
‘I work here,’ I said.
‘That’s too easy. Where did you come from? Where are you going?’
‘Well, I’ve done all sorts of things,’ I said, sounding falsely old. ‘I worked in canneries, sawmills, factories, and now I’m here.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Here,’ I said.
‘You live here in the library?’ she said.
‘Yes. I have a large room in the back with a small kitchen and toilet.’
‘Let me see it,’ she said. ‘I’m suddenly curious about you. A young-old man like yourself working in a creepy place like this doesn’t show that you’ve come out too far ahead of the game either.’
‘You’re really laying it on the line,’ I said, because she had really got to me.
‘I’m that way,’ she said. ‘I may be sick, but I’m not stupid. Show me your room.’
‘Well,’ I said, dogging a little. ‘That’s a little irregular.’
‘You’re kidding,’ she said. ‘You mean there’s something irregular for this place? I don’t know how to break it to you, but you’ve got a pretty far-out operation going on here. This library is a little on the whacky side.’
She stood up and stretched awkwardly, but it’s hard to describe the rest of it. I had never in my life seen a woman graced with such a perfect body whose spell was now working on me. As certain as the tides in the sea rush to the shore, I showed her my room. ‘I’d better get my coat,’ she said. She folded her coat over her arm. ‘After you, Mr Librarian.’
‘I’ve never done this before,’ I said, faraway-like as if to no one.
‘Neither have I,’ she said. ‘It will be a different thing for both of us.’
I started to say something else, but abstraction clouded my tongue and made it distant and useless.
‘The library isn’t really open now, is it?’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s after midnight and it’s only open for special books, latecomers like myself, right?’
‘Yes, it’s “closed” but—’
‘But what?’ she said.
I don’t know where that ‘but’ came from but it vanished just as fast, returning to some conjunctional oblivion.
‘But nothing,’ I said.
‘You had better turn out the lights, then,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to waste electricity.’
‘Yes,’ I said, feeling a door close behind me, knowing that somehow this at-first-appearing shy unhappy girl was turning, turning into something strong that I did not know how to deal with.
‘I’d better turn the lights out,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
I turned the lights out in the library and turned the light on in my room. That was not all I was turning on as a door closed behind us and a door opened in front of us.
‘Your room is very simple,’ she said, putting her coat down on my bed. ‘I like that. You must live a very lonely life with all the losers and dingalings, myself included, that bring their books in here.’
‘I call it home,’ I said.
‘That’s sad,’ she said. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Years,’ I said. What the hell.
‘You’re too young to have been here that long,’ she said. ‘How old are you?’
‘Thirty-one.’
‘That’s a good age.’
She had her back to me and was staring at the cupboard in my kitchen.
‘It’s all right to look at me,’ she said, without turning her head the slightest. ‘For some strange reason I don’t mind your looking at me. Actually, it makes me feel good, but stop acting like a bandit when you do it.’
I laughed at that.
Suddenly she turned around and looked half at me, then directly at me and smiled gently. ‘I really have had a hard time of it.’
‘I think I can almost understand,’ I said. ‘
‘That’s nice,’ she said. She reached up and brushed her long black hair, causing a storm of bat lightning to flash past her ears.
‘I’d like some coffee,’ she said, looking at me.
‘I’ll put it on,’ I said.
‘No, let me,’ she said. ‘I know how to make good coffee. It’s my speciality. Just call me Queen Caffeine.’
‘Well, damn,’ I said, a little embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry but I only have instant.’
‘Then instant it is,’ she said. ‘That’s the name of the game. Perhaps I have a way with instant coffee, too. You never can tell,’ smiling.
‘I’ll get the stuff for you,’ I said.
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Let me do it. I’m a little curious about this kitchen of yours. I want to find out more about you, and this little kitchen is a good place to start. I can see at a glance, though, that you are something like me. You’re not at home in the world.’
‘At least let me get the coffee for you,’ I said. ‘It’s—’
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘You make me nervous. Only one person can make instant coffee at a time. I’ll find everything.’
I sat down on the bed next to her coat.
She found everything and made the coffee as if she were preparing a grand meal. I have never seen such care and eloquence applied to a cup of instant coffee. It was almost as if making a cup of instant coffee were a ballet and she were a ballerina pirouetting between the spoon, the cups, the jar, and the pan full of boiling water.
She cleared the clutter from my table, but then decided that we should have our coffee on the bed, because it was more comfortable.
We sat there on the bed, cosy as two bugs in a rug, drinking coffee and talking about our lives. She worked as a laboratory technician for a small institute that was studying the effects of various experiments on dogs in an attempt to solve some of the more puzzling questions of science.
‘How did you get the job?’ I said.
‘Through an ad in the Chronicle.’
‘What happened at San Francisco State?’
‘I got tired of it. One of my English teachers fell in love with me. I told him to buzz off, so he failed me. That made me mad, so I transferred to UC.’
‘And UC?’
‘The same story. I don’t know what it is about English teachers and me, but they fall like guillotines when they see me coming.’
‘Where were you born?’
‘Santa Clara. All right, I’ve answered enough of your questions. Now tell me how you got this job. What’s your story, Mr Librarian?’
‘I assumed possession of it.’
‘I take it then that there was no ad in the paper.’
‘Nope.’
‘How did you assume possession of it?’
‘The fellow who was here before me couldn’t stand children. He thought they were going to steal his shoes. I came in here with a book I had written and while he was writing it down in the Library Contents Ledger, a couple of children came in and he flipped, so I told him that I had better take over the library and he had better do something that didn’t involve children. He told me he thought he was cracking up, too, and that’s how I got this job.’
‘What did you do before you started working here?’
‘I kicked around a lot: canneries, sawmills, factories. A woman supported me for a couple of years, then she got tired of it and kicked my ass out. I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It was all pretty complicated before I started working here.’
‘What are you going to do after you quit here or do you plan on quitting?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Something will come up. Maybe I’ll get another job or find a woman to support me again or maybe I’ll write a novel and sell it to the movies.’
That amused her.
We had finished our coffee. It was funny because suddenly we both noticed that we did not have any more coffee to drink and we were sitting together on the bed.
‘What are we going to do now?’ she said. ‘We can’t drink any more coffee and it’s late.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘I guess it would be too corny for us to go to bed together,’ she said. ‘But I can’t think of anything else that would be better to do. I don’t want to go home and sleep by myself. I like you. I want to stay here with you tonight.’
‘It’s a puzzler,’ I said.
‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ she said, not looking at me, but not looking away either. Her eyes were somewhere in between half-looking at me and half-thinking about something else.
‘We don’t have any place else to go,’ I said. ‘I’d feel like a criminal if you left tonight. It’s hard to sleep with strangers. I gave it up years ago, but I don’t think we are really strangers. Do you?’
She turned her eyes 3/4 towards me.
‘No, we’re not strangers.’
‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know what it is about you,’ she said. ‘But you make me feel nice.’
‘It’s my clothes. They’re relaxing. They’ve always been this way. I know how to get clothes that make people feel better when they’re with me.’
‘I don’t want to sleep with your clothes,’ she said, smiling.
‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ I said.
‘I’ve never slept with a librarian before,’ she said, 99 per cent towards me. The other 1 per cent was waiting to turn. I saw it starting to turn.
‘I brought a book in here tonight denouncing my own body as grotesque and elephant-like, but now I want to take this awkward machine and lie down beside you here in this strange library.
What an abstract thing it is to take your clothes off in front of a stranger for the very first time. It isn’t really what we planned on doing. Your body almost looks away from itself and is a stranger to this world.
We live most of our lives privately under our clothes, except in a case like Vida whose body lived outside of herself like a lost continent, complete with dinosaurs of her own choosing.
‘I’ll turn the lights out,’ she said, sitting next to me on the bed.
I was startled to hear her panic. She seemed almost relaxed a few seconds before. My, how fast she could move the furniture about in her mind. I responded to this by firmly saying, ‘No, please don’t.’ Her eyes stopped moving for a few seconds. They came to a crashing halt like blue aeroplanes.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s a good idea. It will be very hard, but I have no other choice. I can’t go on like this forever.’
She gestured towards her body as if it were far away in some lonesome valley and she, on top of a mountain, looking down. Tears came suddenly to her eyes. There was now rain on the blue wings of the aeroplanes.
Then she stopped crying without a tear having left her eyes. I looked again and all the tears had vanished. ‘We have to leave the lights on,’ she said. ‘I won’t cry. I promise.’
I reached out and, for the first time in two billion years, I touched her. I touched her hand. My fingers went carefully over her fingers. Her hand was almost cold.
‘You’re cold,’ I said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s only my hand.’
She moved slightly, awkwardly towards me and rested her head on my shoulder. When her head touched me, I could feel my blood leap forward, my nerves and muscles stretch like phantoms towards the future.
My shoulder was drenched in smooth white skin and long bat-flashing hair. I let go of her hand and touched her face. It was tropical.
‘See,’ she said, smiling faintly. ‘It was only my hand.’
It was fantastic trying to work around her body, not wanting to startle her like a deer and have her go running off into the woods.
I poetically shifted my shoulder like the last lines of a Shakespearean sonnet (Love is a babe; then might I not say so, / To give full growth to that which still doth grow.) and at the same time lowered her back on to the bed.
She lay there looking up at me as I crouched forward, descending slowly, and kissed her upon the mouth as gently as I could. I did not want that first kiss to have attached to it the slightest gesture or flower of the meat market.
It’s a hard decision whether to start at the top or the bottom of a girl. With Vida I just didn’t know where to begin. It was really a problem.
After she reached up awkwardly and put my face in a small container which was her hands and kissed me quietly again and again, I had to start somewhere.
She stared up at me all the time, her eyes never leaving me as if I were an airfield.
I changed the container and her face became a flower in my hands. I slowly let my hands drift down her face while I kissed her and then further down her neck to her shoulders.
I could see the future being moved in her mind while I arrived at the boundaries of her bosom. Her breasts were so large, so perfectly formed under her sweater that my stomach was standing on a stepladder when I touched them for the first time.
Her eyes never left me and I could see in her eyes the act of my touching her breasts. It was like brief blue lightning.
I was almost hesitant in a librarian sort of way.
‘I promise,’ she said, reaching up and awkwardly pressing my hands harder against her breasts. She of course had no idea what that did to me. The stepladder started swirling.
She kissed me again, but this time with her tongue. Her tongue slid past my tongue like a piece of hot glass.
Well, it had been my decision to start at the top and I was going to have to carry it out and soon we arrived at the time to take off her clothes.
I could tell that she didn’t want to have anything to do with it. She wasn’t going to help. It was all up to me.
Damn it.
It wasn’t exactly what I had planned on doing when I started working at the library. I just wanted to take care of the books because the other librarian couldn’t do it any more. He was afraid of children, but of course it was too late now to think about his fears. I had my own problems.
I had gone further than taking this strange awkward beautiful girl’s book. I was now faced with taking her body which lay before me and had to have its clothes taken off, so we could join our bodies together like a bridge across the abyss.
‘I need your help,’ I said.
She didn’t say anything. She just continued staring at me. That brief blue lightning flashed again in her eyes, but it was relaxed at the edges.
‘What can I do?’ she said.
‘Sit up, please,’ I said.
°All right.’
She sat up awkwardly.
‘Please put your arms up,’ I said.
‘It’s that simple, isn’t it?’ she said.
Whatever was happening I was certainly getting down to it. It would have been much simpler just to have kindly taken her book for the library and sent her on her way but that was history now or like the grammar of a forgotten language.
‘How’s this?’ she said and then smiled. ‘I feel like a San Francisco bank teller.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Just do what the note says,’ and I started her sweater gently off. It slid up her stomach and went on over her breasts, getting briefly caught on one of them, so I had to reach down and help it over the breast, and then her neck and face disappeared in the sweater and came out again when the sweater went g off her fingers.
It was really fantastic the way she looked. I could have been hung up for a long time there, but I kept moving on, had to. It was my mission in life to take her bra off.
‘I feel like a child,’ she said. She turned sideways from me, so I could get at the brassiere clasp in the back. I fumbled at the clasp for a few moments. I’ve never had much luck with brassieres.
‘Want me to help?’ she said.
‘No, I can get it,’ I said. ‘It may take me a few days but I’ll get it. Don’t dishearten. There… AH!’
That made Vida laugh.
She did not need a bra at all. Her breasts stayed right up there after the bra left them like an extra roof on a house and joined her sweater. It was a difficult pile of clothes. Each garment was won in a strange war.
Her nipples were small and delicately coloured in relationship to the large full expansion of her breasts. Her nipples were very gentle. They were another incongruity fastened like a door to Vida.
Then at the same time we both looked down at her boots, long and black and leather like a cloud of animals gathered about her feet.
‘I’ll take your boots off,’ I said.
I had_ finished with the top of her and now it was time to start on the bottom. There certainly are a lot of parts to girls.
I took off her boots and then I took off her socks. I liked the way my hands ran along her feet like water over a creek. Her toes were the cutest pebbles I have ever seen.
‘Stand up, please,’ I said. We were really moving along now. She got awkwardly to her feet and I unzipped her skirt. I brought it down her hips to the floor and she stepped out of it and I put it on the pile of other battles.
I looked into her face before I took her panties off. Her features were composed and though there still flashed bolts of brief blue lightning in her eyes, her eyes remained gentle at the edges and the edges were growing.
I took her panties off and the deed was done. Vida was without clothes, naked, there.
‘See?’ she said. ‘This isn’t me. I’m not here.’ She reached out and put her arms about my neck. ‘But I’ll try to be here for you, Mr Librarian.’
‘I just don’t understand why women want bodies like this. The grotesqueness of them and they try so very hard to get these bodies, moving hell and high water with dieting, operations, injections, obscene under garments to arrive at one of these damn things and then if they try everything and still can’t get one, the dumb cunts fake it. Well, here’s one they can have for free. Come and get it, you bitches.
‘They don’t know what they’re getting into or maybe they like it. Maybe they’re all pigs like the women who use these bodies to turn the tides of money: the movie stars, models, whores.
‘Oh Christ!
‘I just can’t see the fatal attraction that bodies like this hold for men and women. My sister has my body: tall and skinny. All these layers are beyond me. These aren’t my breasts. These aren’t my hips. This isn’t my ass. I’m inside of all this junk. Can you see me? Look hard. I’m in here, Mr Librarian.’
She reached out and put her arms about my neck and I put my hands upon her hips. We stood there looking at each other.
‘I think you’re wrong,’ I said. ‘Whether you like it or not, you’re a very beautiful woman and you’ve got a grand container. It may not be what you want, but this body is in your keeping and you should take good care of it and with pride, too. I know it’s hard but don’t worry about what other people want and what they get. You’ve got something that’s beautiful and try to live with it.
‘Beauty is the hardest damn thing in the world to understand. Don’t buy the rest of the world’s juvenile sexual thirsts. You’re a smart young lady and you’d better start using your head instead of your body because that’s what you’re doing.
‘Don’t be a fatalist winner. Life’s a little too short to haul that one around. This body is you and you’d better get used to it because this is all she wrote for this world and you can’t hide from yourself.
‘This is you.
‘Let your sister have her own body and start learning how to appreciate and use this one. I think you might enjoy it if you let yourself relax and get your mind out of other people’s sewers.
‘If you get hung up on everybody else’s hang-ups, then the whole world’s going to be nothing more than one huge gallows.’
We kissed.