"There's not one man in this world who finds me attractive," Sweety mumbled as she trained with her 5lb weights in the wellness center at her job. This declaration came moments after she realized that the engorged fat cells in her belly had formed a united front of resistance against her attempts to destroy them. Annabelle, a coworker who had lost a significant portion of herself in less than 4 months, finished her ab exercises, yanked out her earphones and told Sweety she was calling it an evening. "Girl, I wish I could work out with weights, my arm strength is crap." Sweety, always the jokester, made a pained expression and pretended to struggle to lift one of the weights to her shoulder. Annabelle shook her head in amusement and left to retrieve her things from a locker. Sweety held onto the weights long enough for her workout buddy to say a final goodbye, then dropped them to the floor in defeat. As her sweat-drenched frame approached the staff parking garage, her stomach sent a signal that it was in need of food--but this was impossible, as two hours earlier she'd eaten a thick turkey sandwich and two bananas. That's the thing about cravings, in the absence of your mind having anything else to look forward to, those cravings are always there to offer their company. Her slow pace to the car was due in part for cooling down, but mostly in dread of having to join the aggressive rude drivers on 395 N.
To make matters worse for Sweety, it was Valentine's Day. Stubborn belly fat; no emails or calls from a former, current, or aspiring lover (the latter two didn't exist); and a bed that hadn't served a romantic purpose in two years, all conspired to make the sweaty, chubby, and now hungry publications editor feel like ending this night as soon as possible. A glass of wine and a sugary doughnut had proved to be a potent sleep aid, guaranteed to have her nearly comatose within a hour of consumption. Yes, that's what she'd do. No need in torturing herself with her nightmares of dates' past. No need to go over for the hundredth time that week alone, why she'd never heard back from Knowledge the God, a beautiful man with "knowledge of self" who had approached her in a bookstore a month earlier. Because men never made the first move, his appearance in her life was a good sign, she thought. He exposed her to an underground culture she didn't know existed in her city.
And then, he just stopped calling. Sweety left a few messages, sent some emails, even stopped by a few of the hangouts she knew he frequented. Tonight she was supposed to be with him. Tonight was the night he'd reveal some type of feeling for her, something to reignite her fantasies that she'd put away. But, as had been decided by some cruel mystical force, he had joined the many others who had just vanished. No explanation provided, no closure granted. She'd asked one disappearing act if he could please tell her what she'd done--that there would be no hard feelings and that she wouldn't even bother him after that. Given this "hassle-free" opportunity to fill a clueless Sweety in on what, if anything, she was doing to turn off every single man that crossed her path, Disappearing Act replied "um, not sure how to answer that. you're so sensitive, it doesn't matter what i say, your feelings will be still be hurt. move on, i have."
Sweety paid for her bottle of 2006 chardonnay and small box of chocolate doughnuts (they weren't sold separately) and wished the cashier a goodnight even though the teenage girl had not spoken or made any eye contact with her during the transaction. As she passed by the security guard on her way out, he said very softly "Happy Valentine's Day." Sweety smiled. He seemed like a nice guy, young though, probably not even thirty. For a moment, she contemplated inquiring if after his quitting time would he be interested in walking up the street to her home, showering, then slipping into bed beside her to hold her. His kind face told her that he'd possibly agree.
But her mind warned her that it was all an illusion. That the "yes" that would form in his mind, would change to a "no" by the time it made its way to his mouth. It was just something about her that turned men off. What else could she think? It's not like anyone had told her otherwise.
"Thank you, you too," she said quickly, hot tears preparing to erupt. "Have a good evening."
-J.S.
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