Story by Rachel Bai // @rachelbaii // [she/her]
Design by Lily Myers
Alfie didn’t notice her double chin until she took the fifth selfie and didn’t mind it until she scrolled through her Instagram feed.
She frowned, pinching her screen to zoom in on the part of the flesh that didn’t belong. What gave birth to this monstrosity? And why did it choose this location specifically, nestled between her chin and neck?
Pulling up Safari, Alfie searched up ways to get rid of double chins. Jaw exercise tools: they were too expensive. Double chin exercises: they required patience. She had neither the money nor the time to wait for only a miniscule centimeter of change. No, she needed a faster method, something that would-
“Ready to go to class?”
Her thoughts screeched to a halt.
Alfie’s roommate was her saving grace: she decided, picking up her backpack. Only two seconds have passed, but she had that time to reflect on her dangerous process of reasoning.
I shouldn’t find unhealthy ways to lose fat, she thought as she left her apartment complex.
Besides, everything else is still perfect, she reassured herself as she crossed the street.
I’m not losing my shape. She put a hand against her stomach, satisfied at its flatness.
Three weeks passed. Alfie was shopping at Forever 21, turning around in the fitting room to see if a pair of jeans flattered her body, when she screeched to a stop. The jeans seemed to be hugging her thighs, fabric flush against skin. It would’ve been a good thing, if the jeans weren’t a size bigger than what she usually wore.
Alfie checked the tag. “Size 8” stared back at her.
Before she and her friends had started shopping at Forever 21, they had each enjoyed an Auntie Anne’s pretzel. In hindsight, she should’ve realized that an almond sugar pretzel was close to four hundred calories, about one fifth of the total calories recommended per day. It didn’t seem like a lot ten minutes ago. Funny how a short amount of time could change so much.
Bummer, Alfie thought, ignoring the way her heart was sinking faster than rock in water. It might’ve been too late to save her thighs, but the rest of her body still had hope. She whirled around to the racks and picked up a heart-shaped top. Her breast and stomach looked cute in the blouse, and it was the only fact that mattered.
“Try touching your toes with your hands,” Alfie’s friend said a month later, bending over so that her upper body was parallel to her stretched out legs.
“That’s impossible,” Alfie laughed, but she copied her friend, bending her neck so she was staring down. She struggled to do it, emitted a long “ugh”, before giving up and looking up at the ceiling. Anywhere but down.
She didn’t successfully reach her toes, but she did notice the rolls on her stomach.
When Alfie went home, she searched up what made up a stomach. Women have reproductive organs, so more fat was natural for extra padding and protection. That was what the website said. That was also what she believed in, until she stepped out of the shower and looked at the mirror. She spotted that natural fat, but then she saw some extra rolls sitting on top of it. Maybe it was the fog giving her a distorted view. Maybe it was her eyes playing tricks on her. Maybe she needed to stop-
No use delving on this, she interrupted herself, applying lotion on her skin.
Alfie thought about exercising as she put on her pajamas, but immediately dismissed that idea. She found no joy in exercising. No, the simple act was only a reminder that she wasn’t strong enough to lift more than fifty pounds, run a mile under seven minutes or complete ten push-ups in one sitting. College was already hard; she didn’t need another activity causing her more stress.
Worst case, I can always hide it. Easy peasy.
At this point, Alfie only had her collarbone left.
Sad, if she really thought about it. Her calves were always a bit too big, though, jutting out in weird angles like pigeon wings; her arms were hopelessly boring, with no shape or structure; her jawline was there, but they weren’t sharp enough to cut diamonds.
“It’s fine,” Alfie whispered.
“I’m fine,” she said when her friends asked.
She woke up, went to class, hung out with friends, did homework, slept, and repeated the cycle. Days turned into weeks, which turned into a month. Before long, the semester had ended and summer was beginning.
The red bikini hanging on her door was the prettiest and most daring piece of clothing she had chosen to wear in a long time. It would hide nothing, but the pool was small and only her friends would be there. She could do it. Maybe her stomach and legs weren’t at their best, but she still had her coll-
Was her collarbone less prominent than before?
Her lungs suddenly couldn’t draw enough air.
It was the last place she expected to have a problem with. She couldn’t help it, though, as her reflection’s eyebrows furrowed. The bone was less structured than the last time she checked. Or was it in her imagination? She hunched her shoulders, trying to get her collarbones to stick out.
Her collarbone was her pride and joy. What happened now? She felt like she was hanging off a cliff, desperately trying to pull herself up with nothing but a wobbly rock. Where was her rope? Her climbing shoes? Her hooks?
I started my period, sorry, she texted.
That was the end of her story.
Except, of course, it wasn’t.
Her life went on, even if her body was in shambles. She went to work with a smile, knowing it was her last shield. She went to restaurants with stories to tell, knowing they distracted her from the calories on the plate.
On the first day of next semester, Alfie walked into class with nothing. Her legs worked, her arms pulled open the door, and her shoulders carried her backpack. Yet, they performed those actions separate from who she was, as if she was a ghost observing from above.
Two days into the semester, Alfie walked into her anatomy class.
“Welcome to class,” her professor beamed below a PowerPoint slide of an open human body. “In this class, you’re going to be learning about all your body parts.”
Alfie blinked. As she stared at the diagram, she realized she knew most of the body parts. Clavicle, she thought, eyes darting to the collarbones. “Gastrocnemius and soleus,” she mouthed, unconsciously touching her calves. She had spent the summer obsessing over her own body. Every imperfection led to a search on Google. Every search led to a deep dive into what constituted a body and whether it was her fault or not. Every indecisiveness on why she looked different led to defeat and eventual decision to move onto the next perfect part.
She had been playing those dress-up games, except with her own body, and it never ended.
That night, Alfie opened her Anatomy textbook, flipping to the table of contents: the body deconstructed. The last chapter, though, was the whole body, each part reunited with the others, all working together to produce results.
She didn’t exactly know where to start. Her body still wasn’t whole. She needed to regain the trust of her legs, stomach, and arms. She needed to follow the Golden Rule and treat her collarbones with respect. She needed to be open to different perspectives: maybe food wasn’t her enemy, maybe exercise just wanted a second chance.
Alfie had a long journey ahead of her, but she knew one thing for sure. It was time to leave anatomy in her classrooms. After all, nobody walked around with arrows pointing to their clavicles and abdomen.
