“Beach body ready?”
The words claw at my brain
digging between the intricate folds of my unconscious
the instant I step onto the crowded subway.
My legs move to a seat as if they had brains of their own
because my eyes are transfixed on the neon yellow billboard ahead
I stare.
At the white woman’s sultry facial expression
her breasts protruding out of her yellow bikini
the frizzless blonde hair
size 20 waist
large hips
arched back
small nose
opened legs.
This woman doesn’t exist.
She is an object used to sell.
Exploited across Manhattan
telling women to try her weight loss powder
because just look how well it worked!
Isn’t it so nice of her to want to help womankind?
I know she is photo-shopped.
A figment of someone’s imagination.
I know she’s plastic.
Vulnerable.
Yet I still find myself shrinking down in my seat
to make myself physically smaller
as if I will suddenly become “beach body ready”
just
like
her.
The train comes to a stop.
I stand up to walk out
but not before hearing
*Catcall whistle*
echoing behind me
as I walk out of the double doors.
I tug on the bottom of my skirt
wondering why I wore it today
crossing my arms over my chest
I think about my large nose
small breasts
size 25 waist
wide hips
large thighs.
I feel a sudden chill the second I step onto the platform
as I turn around and watch the doors close
trapping the woman inside.
