with green wheels, on the bus to Denver.
I follow her to the bathroom, admire her sideways as I enter the marble stalls. Mentally rewrite the scene in which I ride down the driveway in Kansas City, fall on my ass after two seconds, never climb on top of a skateboard again.
She wore a studded belt low across her skinny hips. On the bus, I was just reading the summer 2008 issue of Ms., the article about body image. I was that skinny once and I wouldn’t mind being that skinny again.
I think of it as a matter of determination, not poor body image. A matter of how many huge salads I can eat before I have to splurge. Can I eat enough raw food to get down to 125 pounds again? Just for the thrill of being back there before I turn 50?
Deprivation is so last century—
it’s what we eat, not how much.