The Bikini Syndrome | WATTYS2019

» five: fat, fat, go away

"Let's go bikini shopping," Zara, a friend of hers said.

It was at least 97 and humid outside today, and Holly had no intention of going anywhere. She was satisfied sitting on the couch with a bowl of chips (Lay's Barbecue Flavored Potato Chips) in her lap and a popsicle in her mouth, surfing through her Netflix Recommended. It was also Saturday, and she had the day off, and she really didn't want to spend it actually doing something that could be counted as productive.

"No," Holly answered, shaking her head defiantly.

"We haven't hung out for weeks," Zara whined.

"We're hanging out now," she offered.

"It doesn't count because we're not maxing out my credit card."

"You don't have a credit card to max out."

"Well, I'm pretending I do. I'm bored, Holly," her friend said, drawing out the o so it sounded like Hahley.

"That doesn't mean we have to go shopping," she pointed out, and passed the bowl to Zara who was also slouched on the couch next to her.

"Okay, I don't get it," Zara answered, sitting up, face becoming serious. Of course, her grabbing a handful of chips and popping them into her mouth in-between words sort of ruined the effect. "Why are you so against going out shopping? Is it me?"

"No, it's not. That's ridiculous. You're one of my friends, Zara, and I'm not friends with people I don't like."

"Okayyyy," Zara drawled. "But then why the freak not?" She grabbed a handful of chips, then handed the bowl back to Holly.

"I just...don't like to. It makes me feel...fat."

"Every girl feels fat," her friend pointed out, and the sad thing was that it was probably true.

"But I am fat."

"Excuse me?" Zara stood up suddenly and Holly grabbed her chips closer to her, which was probably silly, because a bowl of sliced potatoes really wasn't going to offer any protection against an angry teenage girl. "Holly, you're a size four. That's not fat. Fat is like, girls like Mindy."

Mindy was the school slut, but only because she had the figure to be one, and everyone knew that she was probably as inexperienced as a baby.

"Mindy's not fat," Holly pointed out. "She just has boobs and hips. That's not a crime, and you're not the fat police."

Zara loomed over her and rolled her eyes. She pointed a manicured red nail at Holly, causing her to lean back some more. "Besides the point. The point is that you are not fat. You can wear a bikini just fine."

Holly pulled up her t-shirt and was nearly repulsed at the sight of her stomach. But because she had to prove a point, she kept her shirt up. "No, I can't. Do you see now?" She jabbed the squishy rolls that surrounded her waist to make her point, then quickly yanked her shirt down.

"Holly," Zara said with a sigh. "You have, like, body dysmorphia. It's where girls have perfectly fine bodies, but when they look at the mirror or look at themselves, all they see is flaws, and they see themselves as fatter or shorter or freakier than they actually are. The reality is that they. Are. Perfectly. Fine." Zara enunciated each word with a jab at the air in front of Holly's face with her nail.

"It's not fine!" Holly hissed. She pushed the bowl of chips away from her. She was suddenly really, really disgusted with herself. She said she was fat, and yet she was still shoveling her face with chips, which were definitely fat-promoting.

Zara shook her head and took the bowl from the couch and placed it on the coffee table. "Look, I don't know how to tell you this, because you won't believe me no matter what. But you're not fat."

Then she grabbed her bag and slammed the door on her way out.

Holly stared at the bowl of chips forlornly, and in a sudden act of frustration, picked it up and threw it on the ground. She continued to stomp on them until they were tiny, tiny little fragments, like powder, and they could only be cleaned by a vacuum. She wished that she'd been stomping on her fat, that they would go away as easily as these small fragments, and that she could just clean it all up with a machine.