I’m in a coffee shop alone sitting at a table on my own. I brought my homework with me, but I knew last night after restless hour number three that today would be a Hungry Day, and coffee shops, with their muted murmurs, burnt smell, and rhythmic action, have a way of keeping Hungry Days at bay, if only for a few hours. To my right sits To Kill a Mockingbird, tattered, torn, and unopened.  To my left, a Grande black coffee, slightly warm, and almost empty. And in front of me, a girl sits reading with a furious concentration that intrigued me from the moment I sat down.     

 

She’s about 5’7”, 135 pounds, BMI: 21.1, if I had to guess. Blonde, athletic build, sharp face. Probably has a boyfriend. Probably has two boyfriends. Must do well in school. Cleary loved by her family. Probably a star athlete.  Naturally popular. Maybe Homecoming Queen. And must be meeting her friends after this.  It’s only as she stands to leave that I realize I’ve been staring at her for over an hour, envisioning what it must feel like to be beautiful, to be thin. I feel anxious, nervous, and worthless sitting near this girl. Fat.

 

So, I stand to leave.