She had always been a rare beauty, she decided, studying her face in the mirror. It had kind of an apple and cheese freshness; supple, with a disarming little dimple that winked at just the right moment. Innocent, too. Yet still, the years had imparted a sophistication to that innocence, creating a depth. Of course, all of this splendor had been useless when she was fat.

"What a waste," she whispered to herself, holding up the hand mirror, entranced. She had a magnificent profile. Even people in the before and after pictures, people who had undergone cosmetic surgery, couldn't claim a contour this immaculate.

Her husband was hollering up to her from the bottom of the stairs.

"What?" she called back.

"I said, 'Are you almost ready?' Blake and Rhonda are here. We'll be late for the show! Hon?"

"Okay, okay." Reluctantly, she set down the mirror. What did dumb old Mel know? "I'll be right there."

She glanced at the backside of her body as she slid past a full length mirror. It was that small distance between the end of her back and the rounding of her buttocks that she adored. Most people didn't have the length there that she did. It was one of her outstanding features, and it went really well with the span of her thighs. It might not be too late for her to consider becoming a model.

"Hey, Mom?" Now it was her teenaged daughter.

"What?"

"Wow! Slick! Where are you guys going?"

Dayna shrugged. "To a show"

"You're going to the show like that?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Well, it's just kind of stylish, I guess. Or fancy, I don't know."

Dayna blinked.

"No one's gonna see you anyway. You'll just be in a theatre. With your coat on."

"We might go somewhere afterward."

"Have you seen my pink and white parka?"

"No." Dayna was fascinated by the way a beam of light from the bedroom lamp elevated her cheekbones.

"Do you remember when I asked you to wash it, Mom?"

"Hmmm?"

"When I asked you to wash my parka. Do you remember?"

"No."

"What's the matter with you? You act like you don't even care about us lately."

Her husband was calling up the stairs. "Dayna! Rhonda and Blake are here. What's taking you so long?"

"Be right there."

Dayna turned to catch another glimpse of the way her back legs tucked up so firmly into the curve of her behind. Superb. It would be a shame to wear a long coat with a bottom like that. She would have to throw all the old, long ones out.

"Aren't you going to help me find my parka, Mom?"

"I don't know where it is, Christine."

"Well, don't you care?"

"Why is it up to me to keep track of your parka?"

"I just thought you cared, that's all. Excuse me for thinking that because you're my mother you cared."

Her daughter scowled, then whirled around and stomped out of the master bedroom.

Kids. Husbands. Everyone was always wanting something out of her. She fluffed out her hair. Maybe it was time she had something done to heighten it. How long had it been since she thought that it even mattered? She had just worn it yanked back in a pony-tail for all those miserable years. Mel had never minded, one way or the other. He always said he loved her just the way she was. How could it be any comfort to be loved as the person that you, yourself despised?

"I hated myself," she whispered, watching her lips form these words in the mirror.

"Dayna, do you need any help with anything?"

It was Rhonda's reedy little voice calling up the stairs.

"No, I'm fine."

She sighed. What an exhilarating evening this was going to be. Plump, insipid Rhonda with her torpid husband, and Mel, who didn't even know the difference between who Dayna had once been and who she had now become. A yearning flared up within her. It was a hunger to connect. Somehow she must be recognized for the extraordinary creature that she was.

"Beautiful bottom," she said to herself, glancing one more time in the mirror.

________

The show was depressing. It was a comedy, some silly thing about something. Dayna hadn't been paying attention. Sitting in a dark theatre next to Rhonda, who was chomping absently away on a tub of buttered popcorn made her feel doomed. Here she was, among the spiritless spectators and consumers of life. For all of these dolts it would just be matter of time, shuffling their way through each bleak day, until finally they came to their end. They all wore coats in theatres, did their laundry, promptly paid their bills. One functioning member of this unit was just as effective as any other so long as the whole dismal process kept going. Pleasures were to be had along the way, like gooey donuts and thick, greasy meats. Ice cream was like a tranquilizer and a large tub of popcorn was sure to quell any restless urge.

"Popcorn?" asked Rhonda.

"No thanks."

"You sure have lost a lot of weight," she whispered, chewing. "My friend from work went on that 'Vita-Life' plan. I thought of trying it for awhile. Is that the one you went on, too?"

"No."

Dayna felt like she would explode. She had been squirming in her seat for what seemed like hours, fidgeting, waiting. Waiting for what? And now she had to listen to Rhonda babble on about a diet plan some friend of hers read about in some sappy women's magazine. For Dayna, it had never been any kind of plan . And she hadn't gone to any lectures with a bunch of giggly watch buddies.

"Was it the Calorie Countdown, then?" Rhonda chomped.

"No."

What had happened was, one day Dayna just started to move. She walked, then she ran. And then she ran and she ran and she ran. Once she started, she couldn't stop. It was like running from a monster who was trying to slip its gummy, unctuous arms around her and absorb her alive. She was still running all the time, even now, in her mind and in her being, but everywhere she turned, something kept trying to make her stop and hold still. She was constantly being expected to do things which fat people did naturally and without effort. But Dayna was not fat any more. How could she force herself to sit motionless for nearly two hours in a dark room, staring at a wall, when everything in her was aching to experience something and to stir?

She stretched her legs out once again under the seat in front of her, heaved a sigh and squirmed.

I'm going to use the bathroom," she said.

Rhonda nodded.

Maybe Dayna could manage a walk or something, just a little night air by going around the block, and she certainly would never be missed. She could even prop up a dummy beside Rhonda or hire someone to take the place as Mel's wife for the rest of his days. He would probably never even know the difference.

"I'm just going out for a minute," she told the usher. "I've got my stub" She headed out the door.
Rain felt good on her face. Good and cold and clean. It reminded her of all those mornings she had gotten up at five o'clock before her family arose. She would run along the pavement and force herself up the hills in a frenzy of escape, shaking off that enveloping fat monster which had tried for a lifetime to clog up her soul. She liked how the cold made her shiver, and the darts of rain smacked at her. It washed off all the fat.

"Hey, Pretty Momma'" someone called.

That felt good. She needed more. Maybe someone would notice her in a bar. There were all kinds of night spots in this area, she was passing by one of them right now, one called Chi Chi's. She slowed down and looked in the window. Pretty waitresses with lithe young bodies were gliding around the floor, balancing trays of drinks on their delicate arms. One wore her hair in a saucy little upsweep, her graceful fingers brushing over the change money and the glittery glasses that she set down. Dayna felt a stab of envy for these girls. They got to display themselves all night to an adoring crowd , and they even got paid for it. Once again, that yearning squeezed at her and Dayna could no longer bear to watch. There was no point in going in and sitting down and becoming just one more sluggish consumer. She needed to be noticed tonight.

There was a congested scene going on across the street, over on the corner It looked like a gaggle of rain soaked kids, all of them agitated, all of them without a place to go. Most of them seemed gaunt, wound up, sneering. She couldn't see the details of their faces, but she recognized the very look of them. One girl felt instantly familiar to her.

The girls' teeth were bared. Her hair was bleached and cropped. Her emaciated body, clothed only in a tank top and jeans, resonated like a taut, wet string.

"Coffee?"

Some jittery guy was standing next to Dayna. He nodded his head at the tiny donut shop just behind them.

"Okay."

The shop was about the size of a large closet, just room enough for five stools and a counter. Being inside of it was still like standing on the corner, only in here it was clangy and smelled of hot donuts. The man handed her a Styrofoam cup full of coffee, then started blowing and slurping on one of his own.

"You like to sky dive?" he asked.

"No."
"Whew!" He shook his head and took a short sip. "Dynamite. Only time I feel like I'm alive." He began drumming his fingers. "Rest of the time I feel like I'm dead."

"Hmm," she said.

Someone was yelling just outside the door, raving on about salvation, and his words were still audible through the glass.

"For all his days are sorrows, and his travail grief!" he ranted. "Yea, his heart taketh not rest in the night!"

She shuddered. She imagined herself out there, sizzling with ferocity in the rain. The girl with the tank top was screaming at someone. Her face was contorted with fury and her shoulder blades jabbed out from under their soggy cotton straps.

"Yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast..."

Some gangly man was shouting back at the girl, raising his heavily coated arm and getting ready to strike.

"He's going to hit her," Dayna said.

"Who?"

"That man, and the girl with the short blonde hair."

"Oh her," the fidgety man snorted. "Jeez. That's Annie. That's her pimp, that dude hassling her." He sucked another mouthful of coffee. Then his fingers thumped more feverishly. "Like to sky dive with me sometime?"

"No."

"For he cometh in with vanity and departeth in darkness, and his name shall be covered with darkness..."

The girl on the corner ducked. The man, still howling, swung his arm past her head, just missing her. Then, he grabbed at a few sodden tufts of hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her head back up next to his face, the better to bellow at her some more.

Dayna gasped.

"They do that all the time," said the guy, tapping. "Why don't you want to go out with me?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Pretty Butt."

Dayna jumped up.

"Think you're too pretty for me? Prancin' around in your pretty little body with your pretty little butt." He scratched his face. "C'mere, pretty little baby."

Dayna lunged for the door.

The girl on the corner was twisting up her face now, in bony despair. She thrust out a hip and threw back her head, shaking it, the way Dayna used to shake her head, striving, yearning, exposed, in the freezing morning rain.

"Pretty Butt, Pretty Butt, Pretty Butt," the guy was calling after her. She dashed past the man preaching outside the door.

"Behold, they are all vanity, their works are nothing; their molten images are wind and confusion..."

She hurried back down the street in the direction from where she had come. A blast of music hurled toward her as someone flung open the door of Chi Chi's.

"Hey Honey Baby, wait up!" he called

She propelled herself faster.

"Weweeee Mama! Looka' that ass."

She was panting. The theatre was just up ahead. Finally, breathless and dripping, she shot through the main door.

There was a hush. It was startling. It was as though the lobby, through its padding and its mute, lavish splendor whispered hello.

"Thank God," she whispered to herself, wiping some of the water from her face with a bare hand. She remembered the softness of the cushion had abandoned only a short time ago. She hoped it would still be warm,. She parted the lush, vermilion curtain and let herself be swallowed by the dark.

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