The Thing About Beauty

It happened only weeks before they had officially become best friends. Best Friends Forever, that is. (Made official by the following exchange: “So should I announce to the others that you’re officially my best friend now?” asked Tiny to Zizi, whose name wasn’t her only revised feature. “Oh my God,” Zizi replied, wholeheartedly, “Ummm…Yeeeaah,”).

In fact, it may have been the very reason they were able to upgrade their friendship to that most esteemed kind. See, as it turns out, Tiny’s sudden weight loss was not a result of strict self-discipline—not hours spent at the gym trading in sanity in the name of vanity that seemed to be the key to everyone else’s trim physique. See, as it turns out, Tiny’s sudden weight loss was the result of a magic power she had obtained, one only a handful of other young women both possessed and learned to command masterfully. And it was the identification of this power which had begged a careful re-evaluation of her worth by her peers—a reconsideration of the value she offered as acquaintance, of the potential she carried as soul mate. It was the diagnosis that finally got her promoted.

---


“So how does it work now?” Zizi asked, indiscreetly leaning over to study her teeth in the compact mirror sitting on her lap. Fucking lipstick, she thought, rubbing it off with her thumb, careful not to smudge more.

“I don’t know—it’s diabetes, haven’t you heard of it?” Tiny replied, looking over top of the pile of lasagna that released clouds of steam like a passing train.

Zizi blew herself a kiss before snapping the mirror shut. Looking up at Tiny with intense, make-up heavy eyes, she nibbled on her thumb like it was something naughtier than just the meatiest of the phalanges. She surveyed the small dining area for potential onlookers, then, content there was nobody worth putting on a show, pointed bluntly at Tiny’s plate. “So then how the hell do you get to eat that? I can feel my ass spreading just looking at it! Yet somehow you’re losing weight...”

“But I don’t think it’s a good thing, necessarily. Like I think I’m losing muscle and bone, or something…”

“Oh my God, Tiny!” Zizi said, shaking her head sadly. “You are so lucky…”

Tiny just stared.

“Really! I mean, that is completely like a gift.” She pursed her lips, scrunched up her forehead. Seemed to be willing a thought. “It’s like going to the mall and spending too much money, but then finding even more money at home than what you started with…”

“So you think I should continue to eat the wrong food?” Tiny asked with hesitation.

“Hell, yes, I think you should eat what you want! Live it up, girl!” she nearly shouted, signaling for the waitress. “Show this girl the dessert cart! Hell yeah!” She cheered, finding herself in her lap again. Watched herself laugh.

“Hell yeah,” Tiny said in a smaller voice, nodding mechanically. She questioned the logic, but found visions of donuts, Bavarian, sprinkled, glazed, and stuffed, invading her thoughts anyway. Then mousse, tarts, and cookies, glorious cookies, sugar, chocolate dipped, even those little swirly ones with the fruity middle… “Zizi, let’s get ourselves some sweet shit,” she said, licking her lips.

“That’s the spirit! That’s the attitude! Live it up, Tiny! Let loose, baby!” Sipped daintily on her water. “I’m not having any though, hon… Still need to drop two and a half pounds by Saturday...”

---


In this way they continued as best friends do, a cluster of gossip (“Joyce is such a bitch.”), secrets (“I do buy my panties from Target, but they’re still really cute.”), beauty tips (“Oh my God, did you know that Preparation H spread evenly over your skin gives the appearance of fewer wrinkles? You better believe I just bought a tub of that shit…”), and emotions (“That totally sucks.”) as they made their way through a year. One year, and Zizi had grown larger in various aspects (at no insignificant cost), while Tiny continued to grow smaller. Zizi became more buoyant, Tiny a tantalizing treat. The two of them combined became an ideal escape plan for a downed boat in shark-infested waters.

Their friendship was intense. So real. Sisters in Sin, they boasted, laughing emphatically as they headed out in microskirts and flimsy tops. Perfect, in fact, until Tiny’s toe felt like it was on fire one morning after a blurry night. She pulled it out from beneath Zizi’s goose-down comforter, Ralph Lauren, $425. Gasped at the sight.

“Zizi!”

Zizi rolled over in bed, a set of eyelashes falling loose from their track. “What is it?” she asked, licking the cottonmouth from her teeth and gums.

“My toe! Jesus, that looks bad!”

---

Zizi flirted with a doctor as they weighed little Tiny in. A buck one. A buck oh one. She had never weighed less than a buck twenty, and she wasn’t sure how it was said.

Zizi had disappeared with the doctor as little Tiny heard the news. “Serious infection. Afraid of it reaching the bloodstream. Can’t do anything about it if it gets away.” Then, “Looks like we’re gonna have to cut it off.”

Not the toe, no. Please, no.

No, not the toe. The leg.

Zizi was back, patting the leg whose days were numbered. “What’s up, girl? That doctor is such a loser… And so completely and utterly rich…”

“They want to take off my leg, Zizi.”

“What?”

“They don’t think I’ll be able to fight the infection. They want to take off my leg.”

Zizi stared at the ridge cresting beneath the sterile sheet. Imagined the sunned thigh, knee, shin, and naked foot.

“Oh my God, Tiny!” she whispered as she leaned into Tiny’s ear. Then her face lit up like Mardi Gras, her voice rising in realization. “That’s gotta be like 25 pounds! You’re gonna be a fuckin’ rockstar!”