I wrote this short story after a couple of conversations I had with family, friends and with a lady waiting in a doctors surgery. That chance meeting - fleeting though it may have been, thought provoking most definitely, made me smile and keeps me smiling.
I hope this story does that for you too.
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"Now there are some things you just have to
learn to live with, Esmay my girl!” I told myself as I did a double take at my
reflection in the mirror – I was bemused by my altered shape. A mound of
clothes lay on the bed, I’d tried the whole of my wardrobe on.
The very attractive surgeon had given me perfect poached
egg boobs that suited my hips, and made me look in proportion. I’d taken a bit
of convincing, the double mastectomy wouldn’t make much difference to me really
I had thought. How wrong I was. Clothes flattered my shape now. It was
pleasingly different, and I was glad I had taken his thoughtful advice. Was it
all worth it at the age of sixty though? Soon to be wrinkled up, and too
decrepit to move, let alone strut my stuff. I laugh at my own silliness as I
strike poses in the mirror. Was I sixteen
or sixty, I sometimes wondered.
Was it God or my parent’s genes that had given me fried
eggs as boobs, no it was Mother Nature having a laugh! Nature had a habit of
rubbing salt into sore wounds. I would watch as they filled out when I was
breast feeding to a lovely D cup, I liked Dave’s face when he saw them. I was always
hopeful they would stay that way, but they deflated like balloons afterwards, looking
not dissimilar to tassels on a stripper. For months afterwards I would mope
around and my ego and libido would be as flat as my chest.
Now the artificial ones protruded from my body,
disconnected, and I wondered if they would ever feel part of me. They looked
good though, all dressed up and perky. That salt rubbed a little deeper when I
think how Dave would have liked the look of them too. This new life of having a
body shape I liked, without a husband to show it off to was just plain sad. He
didn’t like the idea of me getting implants, but it’s now one of my life’s biggest
regrets, we could’ve had a lot of fun with them. Now they were just for show, that
sort of fun was a thing of the past for me.
Why had I agreed to go to this blooming dinner party? I
close my eyes before I walk out of my cocooned sanctuary, and taking my resolve
I set out to do battle once again with life and this new reality of mine. Kaz
would not take no for an answer, if I tried to hide she would find me, if I
found a plausible excuse not to attend she would dismiss it, so I might as well
get it over with. She is my closest friend, support and my foundation. Full of
life, fun and a great cook, a goddess, but was that going to be enough I
wondered, as I walked the familiar path.
“It’s just the
normal crowd they’ll help you through it. You’ll be fine.” Her voice popped in
my head. I trusted her judgment, but I didn’t trust myself. I hope I wasn’t
going to let her down. “You won’t let me down” she had earnestly told me. But I’ve
lost the ability to keep my bitter sharp acid to myself, I was sure it would
slip from my thoughts to my lips without any provocation. I had once prided
myself on the empathy I could give, now I felt so sorry for myself, and I
couldn’t endure my condescending attitude to others misfortunes, now that I
understood the meaning of misfortune.
Pulling hard on
my bootstraps I rang her doorbell.
“You look stunning Esmay.” Vincent
was honest and straightforward, so I knew he meant it, it wasn’t just a
pleasantry. I smiled at him as he handed me a large glass of my favourite wine.
He took me by the shoulders and squeezed as his wonderful reassuring eyes gave
me strength, and his gentle kiss gave me warmth.
The familiar
good natured chatter filtered through to the hall and called me to join them. I
hesitated but Vincent, with his supportive hand in the middle of my back guided
me into their kitchen. Kaz was cooking lamb, and an explosion of aromas hit my
taste buds that did a little jig of joy. She floated over with appetizers. A
one arm hug held me with love and I felt drained and just wanted to crumple to
the floor. Vincent topped up my wine, and I ate an olive. They were such an
attractive couple, I smiled as my heart dropped – I had been like that not so
long ago.
People mingled
through the large homely elegant space, and out to the garden. Like feathery
wavelets, they parted and quietly babbled, eyes avoiding me in kindness. Each
dear friends face, trying to control the emotion within. I kissed them,
releasing the confines of empathy to a much easier to breath normality. I joined in the babble, catching up with what
I had missed.
I caught glimpses
of a new face that moved amidst the familiar ones. Questions he was answering
with his caustic politeness pulled at me, compelling me to listen. His voice –
that was mellow and smooth had self depravation lingering in his undertones, a
humour that I warmed to, and understood. Kaz stood in front of me and comically
the striking man bent his head round, so he could keep eye contact with me. I
broke the connection as Kaz offered another olive. I took it and looking past
her, took a bite. He smiled a warm inviting smile, I focused back on Kaz. She
was assessing how I was doing, happy with my progress. She looked over to where
my eyes were being drawn to, we looked into each other, she smiled, winked, and
offered another plump black olive.
Dave would say “offer
Esmay a glass of crisp chilled white wine, with olives and you will see the
lighter, sensual side of her come out to play.” I shook my head at her as our
broadening smiles became mirror images.
“His name is Albie, but don’t hold
that against him.” I roll my eyes
“How could I with a name like
Esmay.” we both giggle, she touches my arm. I notice he’s making his way over
to us. With sheer panic rising I grab Kaz and say a little too loudly
“Sure I’ll give you a hand.” Albie’s
eye’s narrow as I propel Kaz over to the oven.
“You girls ok?” Vincent pours yet
another large glass of wine for me.
“She has clocked Albie, but run out
on him.”
“You two have set me up.” I accuse.
“No we wouldn’t do a thing like that
would we Vinnie.”
Vincent’s deep
chuckle gave the game away. You have to love friends that care and I bit my lip
hard. I roll my eyes and take a large sip, well more of a gulp.
“The starter is ready people, go sit.”
Kaz announces so I wouldn’t have time to retort.
She had sat
Albie and me opposite each other on purpose, no doubt. We could access each
other better that way. I knew how her mind worked, and she knew I would take
full advantage of it. I was in the process of doing just that, when I got
caught out by his penetrating stare. His jaw was resting on his thumb, as his
index finger stroked from ear down to jaw in pondering strokes. It was sensual
and provocative. I decided – or rather the olives and wine had, not to flinch
at his perusal, but to give him the same consideration. I’m glad I did, for his
eyes mellowed, seeping out their secrets, and humour.
Those plump
black olives with their hint of chilli, readied your mouth for the caramelised
goats cheese squares that Kaz had lovingly laid down for us. Albie’s eyes closed
as the flavours devoured him. I found it very pleasing to watch.
I was in trouble
again, he had noticed my intense gaze, and was now just as intently watching
me, making me more aware; if that was possible, of my new appendages. I wasn’t
used to having a cleavage. Every time I looked down all I could see were my boobs
it seemed. My spatial awareness was a little off kilter too, and as I past my
plate, I knocked the knife off with one of them.
I had recovered by
the time the next course was placed in front of me. Nonchalantly I started to
cut the soft succulent slow cooked lamb, the aroma of which danced a pirouette
with the roast potatoes and lush deep gravy. Normally there would be nothing getting in the way when cutting
food either, but the still soar and bigger boobs made lifting the fork to mouth
difficult. Food had to take a different path now, and raised the perplexing
question of – should I go around and over the top, or underneath and through
the middle. Childishly I was amused by the challenge, and I felt the wine take
effect and a giggle escaped.
I let the
conversation skip past me; it seemed to the annoyance of Albie, who obviously
wanted to know who this mad woman was. Without being introduced and across the
table from, he felt decorum didn’t permit him to intrude, which amused me even
more. I shouldn’t have had those naughty olives with the wonderful wine; this
combination always had a frivolous effect on me. Dave was right and Kaz knew
what she was doing. Should I care? “Oh no, we think not!” said the wine and
olives together.
Craig, bless him
thought everyone knew about my circumstances as we were among old friends,
forthright as ever, loudly stated from the other end of the very large table.
“Looking good Esmay”, He made a
schoolboys gesture with his squeezing hands in-front of his chest. “They suit
you!” A sharp kick from his wife, and a held anxiety rippled around the table.
I let out a forgiving giggle, which made the smile come back on Craig’s
loveable face, and with relief let the tension go from everyone.
I really didn’t
blame him, but as I looked at Albie his preconceived ideas stung like a bunch
of nettles given to me as a bouquet. The tangible tension made every eye around
the table go in our direction.
“Men get motorbikes as a midlife
crisis, women it seems get facelifts or new boobs” Albie’s disappointment gave out
a stunned silence that looked sympathetically at me, which I answered in my new
caustic way.
“I thought with my new improved
boobs I’d get a couple of tattoos, I expect you disapprove of them too?”
“Depends what they are I suppose.”
His eyes challenged mine. I waited until he took a good sip of his smooth red
wine, before I answered him.
“Well next week I’ll be getting
tattooed nipples to go with my reconstructed boobs, do they count?” He
spluttered and Kaz gave him a napkin. He was gracious with his reply.
“Beats love ‘n’ hate, which is what
I’ll be getting across my arse for that, I’m sorry I should’ve thought.”
“You’re forgiven. I don’t know why
the surgeon took it upon himself to give me pert poached ones instead of my
flat fried ones. As far as I can see they only get in the way.” An eruption of
laughter went through the dinner party. “He assured me though they would
balance out my hips as nature should’ve intended. He didn’t tell me they take a
bit of getting used to.”
“They do, what I mean is not getting
used to as I wouldn’t know, but balance out your hips” for the first time Albie
smiled his true and honest smile, the one that people have hidden most of the
time. It was glorious and heart warming.
“Are you saying I’ve got big hips?”
feigned upset hit my voice just at the right note.
“Sorry big foot, and even bigger
mouth, I’m not forgiven then?”
You’re forgiven… but I think I
should make you suffer a little. What is so wrong with enhancing them anyhow? I
could’ve done with my D cup when my husband was alive, life would’ve been a lot
more fun.”
“My wife enhanced hers and died of
cancer three years later, that was not fun.”
“My husband died of testicular
cancer without enhancements… at least I don’t think he had any that wasn’t much
fun either, and well look what happened to me. Mother nature is a fickle.”
“Woman.”
“You got me on that one.” Breath
held at our combined misfortunes,the black humoured tête-à-tête suspended our
friend’s faces in contorted silenced laughs, until we released them with our
own. The ripples of which eased the subject matter, unrestricting the concerns
we all felt, and the opinions we all held. Twisting and turning those opinions
altering their course.
“Well Esmay, which do you prefer?”
“Life is such a bitch Craig, what
can I say, I’ve always hated fried eggs, much prefer poached. I made do for
years; much good that did me. Now Dave said he preferred fried, but I wasn’t convinced.
He always asked for two poached eggs on Sunday mornings.” The ironic innuendo
made me laugh “now I’ve got them I don’t know what to do with them, but like
you said they look good.” and I rose my glass in a salute, Albie made it a
toast though.
“Fried or poached, you have to love
them.”
THE END
