The Audacity of Comfort

If you like to read personal entries and short fiction, visit Ama Tuffet’s blog. She doesn’t post much now – unfortunately – , but the old stuff is still there, complete with cool aesthetics and contributions from other writers.

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The Audacity of Comfort

‘Right.’ Zeinab drops her yellow tote on the table, then lowers her rear into the swivel chair. One hand sweeps thick brown tresses from off her face to a vague point behind her ear. Elbows on the table, she links her fingers and props her chin on them, then emits the longsuffering sigh of a busy person confronted with a full diaper. ‘From where I stand – ’

‘You’re sitting,’ Martha says, two wrinkled fingers flipping the page of her weighty hardcover.

‘Well, metaphorically,’ Zeinab says in utmost calm, quelling the words that originally threatened to spill – this is an older woman, after all, and it’s too early in the day to invite curses upon her life. ‘The way I look at it, this case is as cut and dried as they come. She’s guilty. She faces punishment. Now’s a good time to take a vote. I have to go to brunch.’

‘I’d take a moment to, you know, go over the case a little,’ Kim says to her pocket mirror, lips parted as she coats the lower one in cherry lipstick. She claps the mirror closed after puckering her lips at her reflection, then looks up. Her right shoulder rises in a helpless shrug. ‘You know, just for clarity’s sake.’

Josephine gets one hand below her chair and pulls herself closer to the table. ‘What we have,’ she says, in a voice so startlingly deep Martha has to look a second time to remind herself that only women are present in the room, ‘is a woman who has no regard for social conventions, okay? Her very existence mocks everything that being a woman represents!’

‘How?’ Tania asks, her forefinger stroking the neckline of her chic green dress, her eyes not bothering to be polite as they sweep across Jo’s lazy wardrobe of grey sweater and capri pants.

Jo’s nostrils flare. ‘How not? Have you seen her body? She’s overweight!’

‘Obese,’ Zeinab says.

‘What is she, two hundred pounds?’ Tania leans forward. ‘Five-eleven?’

‘Two hundred twenty-three, precious,’ Jo says, only too happy to keep making her point. ‘And she’s not five-foot-eleven. She’s five-foot-ten-point-eight.

‘I’m one-fourteen pounds myself,’ Nancy offers from one end of the table, pulling her mouth away from the straw stuck in her kale smoothie. ‘The girl looks like she swallowed another me!’ There is a chorus of mm-hmm’s from around the room, except from Martha, who reads. ‘From my years of study, any woman under six feet who has a body mass index of over twenty point three is a freaking whale.’

Zeinab, whose body mass index at last check was twenty point four, shoots Nancy a glare.

Tania’s teeth rake her bottom lip. ‘I’m sorry, what exactly is the problem again?’ she asks, arms crossing beneath her barely-there bosom. ‘A woman’s overweight. What’s her crime?’

‘Ignoring everything that exists to help her overcome that!’ An impassioned Josephine slams her fist on the redwood table. A globule of sweat leaps off her skin and drops next to a cringing Kim in an unceremonious splat. ‘How hard could it be? Walk into a gym. Sign unto a programme. Any programme. Pilates. Cardio. Weight training. Lose weight. Look good.’

Tania’s penciled brow arches in suspicion. ‘Because you own a gym?’

Jo purses her lips. ‘Because that’s what’s best for her.’

‘Have you seen the stuff she eats? Goodness!’ Nancy winces at the unpleasant memory. ‘Her Instagram is just disgusting. She’s two-twenty pounds!’

‘You made that point.’

‘How dare she still stuff herself with chips, and sausages? Candied popcorn? What kind of pig is she? If I were her from here on I’d only eat salads and purge my system with juice cleanses.’

Tania gives the nutritionist a onceover. ‘You look like you do that already.’ 

‘And I mean, fine,’ Zeinab says, hoping to regain control of the sitting, especially as the clock continues to tick and her brunch meeting with The Hair Girls will not have itself, ‘let’s pretend, but only pretend, that her weight is not the problem. Look at her hair! Have you seen her hair?’

‘Oh, that calamity!’ Kim says, fishing in her purse for a tissue she proceeds to delicately sniff.

‘What’s wrong with her hair?’ Tania tugs an earring. ‘Dreadlocks are quite attractive.’

Nancy gasps so deeply her straw rises halfway in the cup.

Zeinab’s mouth falls open. ‘Is this girl for real? Wait, you’re just playing, right? You’re just dragging this mess so that I miss my meeting.’

Tania’s lips curl as her eyes narrow. ‘Maybe I am.’

‘The nerve of some people,’ Zeinab says under her breath. ‘Listen to me. No sane woman advises her friend to do dreadlocks, not unless she secretly hates her. Dreadlocks are awful! Unconventional! Rebellious! Hair should be worn straight, relaxed, falling in sheets around your shoulders! Or at the very least, curled, but with actual hair curlers. If your hair doesn’t cut it, wear a weave. A man should have something to play with when you two are together.’

‘And her skin!’ Kimberly half-chuckles, half-snorts. ‘God, have you seen her skin?’

‘It’s the devil’s art, what’s on her skin,’ Martha hisses suddenly. Kim is so stunned to hear her string together more than three words, that she lets Martha have the floor. ‘All those demonic drawings on her arms. And the ring in her nose. Leading children astray, that one!’ With a vehement ‘humph’ she goes back to reading, the face contorted in rage the only indicator that she has an opinion on the matter.

‘Really?’ Tania sneaks a hand into her sleeve to pinch herself, make sure all this is really happening. ‘People decide to get tattoos, and she gets the blame? Not that I’m a moral authority on those things, but if they’re wrong, shouldn’t these kids’ upbringing have anything to do with if they choose to get tats or nah?’

‘No!’ is the echo that greets her.

‘And behind all those tattoos,’ Kimberly resumes, stealing a cautious glance at Martha to be sure she won’t interject this time, ‘she has such weird skin! Have you seen her face? She lets her frigging freckles stand out. Like, why? Hide them. There’s concealer for a reason, sweetie. No one wants to see your obscenely large blackheads and the puberty that won’t leave!’

Nancy sniggers. ‘I have a supplement for that, by the way,’ she says, looking around the room. ‘Well, I have both a meal plan and a supplement to remove acne. You know, just in case anyone wants one. Released last month. I’ll give you the friend discount.’

‘I’m sure Josephine would be pleased,’ Kim says, and goes on despite the other woman’s incensed ‘Hey!’ ‘Back to our case.’ With two fingers she draws air quotes. ‘Her skin is so… dark.’

A deafening silence penetrates the gathering. Even the overhead fan that has whirred with a dizzying ferocity now continues its rotation on mute. The women are tense, unsure if their temporary friendship is enough reason to step unto this sensitive path.

Except Tania. ‘What’s wrong with dark skin?’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ Kim says quickly, one placatory hand lifted. ‘Dark skin is beautiful, yeah. I mean hello, Nubian goddess alert, I, love it.’ The hand goes to her chest and lies there to show that indeed, she, loves it. ‘But you know, the ladies my business tends to – you know I run that makeup line, right? – well, they like their brown skin too. Just, not so… dark. Like, they want their chocolate, but with a little cream in it, you know. So you’re dark but, still kind of, what’s the word, exotic.’

Tania rolls her eyes. ‘You realize exotic is for birds and fruits, not people.’

‘Hey, the lady has a point,’ Jo says, running a hand through her limp hair, before yanking the band from her right wrist and securing the hair in a ponytail. ‘Black is beautiful as long as it’s not too black.’

‘True,’ Zeinab says, keeping herself from stealing another glance at her watch.

‘And there’s only too much damage we can allow to happen. I mean come on!’ The fitness instructor slaps the top of the table again. Nancy jumps. ‘How much longer are we going to let her live and just… go about her darned life like she’s perfect? When she’s obviously not?’

‘Tell me about it!’ Kim says, looking again in her mirror to be sure that her lash hasn’t fallen.

‘How can we let someone as overweight as her feel comfortable in her own skin?’ Jo seems to think she is leading a human rights march, if the growing fervor in her already thick voice is enough to go by. ‘How dare she smile and look so happy, like her feet aren’t carrying the weight of two grown people? Imagine what could happen if we don’t do something. Imagine the influence she could get. She already has two thousand followers. What would happen if she got four thousand? What if she managed to convince people that it’s okay to love yourself the way you look?’

‘And that’s bad?’ Tania laughs. ‘Women loving themselves regardless of how they look?’

It’s Zeinab’s turn to chuckle, and it’s not because she’s amused. ‘You’re from another planet, I’m positive,’ she says, shaking her head at Tania.

‘My chain of high-end clothing stores exists only on Earth, so I’m pretty sure that I’m from this planet,’ Tania says, smiling wide.

‘Then pay closer attention, because you don’t seem to know the tradition.’ Another flick of her hair over her shoulder, and she leans forward on her elbows, eyes on Tania. ‘Women have no business loving themselves regardless of how they look. Women cannot be comfortable with how they look, ever! Have a podgy belly? Go to the gym. It got flat? Get abs. You have abs? Change your hair. Why has it had the same colour since you were born? You switched from brunette to blonde? Empty your wardrobe. Get new clothes. Whatever you do, never stop.’

‘Come on ladies.’ Tania knocks out a sigh at the ceiling. ‘We can’t be so hard on ourselves. Why keep resetting the standard? What’s wrong with just being happy, overweight, black, freckled, whatever?’

‘Because it’s not a woman’s job to be happy,’ Kim says, fanning the fresh coat of blush she applied while the others spoke. ‘A woman’s job is to be pretty.’

‘Imagine if her kind became common on the television,’ says Martha, her eyes enlarging in horror, ‘if other women with horrible body markings and multiple jewelry like hers became the only thing we see!’

Jo sucks in a breath. ‘Imagine if her size got so accepted that people stopped going to the gym altogether! Imagine if girls started to think there’re more important things than getting a thigh gap!’

Nancy lowers her half-empty plastic cup unto the table in quivering hands. ‘Imagine if young and old women alike looked at her disgusting diet and decided to incorporate it in their own. No, no. Scratch that. Imagine if they decided to completely ignore what nutritionists wrote and replace their diets with her own!’

Zeinab buries her face in her hands. Her hair falls over the sides, sheathing her like a blanket. ‘Imagine if people decide it’s okay to let your hair grow as God gave it to you. No weaves, no relaxers, nothing. Imagine if they went as far as twisting their natural curls into permanent locks.’ A ball of lead sits in her stomach at the thought. ‘What would I do with all my products, eat them?’

Kim’s fingers tighten around the blush brush. She doesn’t notice. Her mind reels with endless, sordid possibilities. ‘Imagine if women decided they looked good without makeup. I mean, just, imagine! What would actors do, stop wearing makeup when they go on set? Just leave their freckles to, bleeding show, like they’re some priceless work of art? How would I survive?’

‘Ugh, ladies.’ Tania pinches the skin between her eyes. ‘Listen. This woman is not inspiring a rebellion – look at me, girls.’ Eventually the lowered heads rise, and the hidden faces make a reappearance. Tania sighs again, thanking God she wasn’t born with a gene for drama. ‘Okay. Fine. Let’s not talk about her, for a minute. Let’s talk about us. Have you ever just wanted to be happy?’

Kim pats her temple in the dainty manner of someone who is careful not to ruin her foundation. ‘I told you. It’s not in a woman’s place – ’

‘I heard you the first time,’ Tania says, willing her patience not to wear thin. She blows out a breath through rounded lips. ‘Forget all that for a minute. Have you ever wanted to be happy? You know, just the way you are. Without adornment. Without a scale to validate you. Did you ever just want to be able to roll out of bed, look in a mirror, at all your imperfections, all your spots and freckles, and tell yourself that you look good?’

‘We-ell,’ Kim says, her left hand rubbing the back of her right one, ‘maybe after I’ve just exfoliated with a good scrub – ’

‘Before all that,’ Tania says, crossing her fingers, like it’s one way she can stay sane amidst these people.

‘Look,’ Zeinab says, ‘that is completely beside the point. What I see is rot that has got to be nipped in the bud before all of our industries sink. Ladies, I think we’ve spoken enough. Let’s take it to a vote. On the count of trampling on all accepted beauty protocol. Is she guilty or not guilty?’

‘Oh, goodness, guilty, yes, definitely,’ chirps Kim.

‘Guilty,’ Martha says.

‘As guilty as they come,’ says Josephine.

‘Guilty. So guilty she puts the word to shame,’ Nancy says, shuddering a little.

Five pairs of eyes fix on Tania. ‘Well?’ Zeinab prods, her eyes threatening. ‘It has to be unanimous.’

‘I’m guessing you’re going with guilty too,’ Tania says.

Zeinab smirks. ‘That’s the most accurate you’ve been all morning.’

‘Then what happens? What’s her punishment?’

Kim’s lips stretch into a smile as gleeful as it is evil. ‘She gets roasted.’ A delighted chorus from happy women goes up around the room, except for Martha, who nods her approval.

‘You know what?’ Tania throws up her hands. ‘Let’s stop thinking about it this way, for a minute. Say this isn’t about beauty. This is about…’ she bites her lip, looking for a word. ‘Expression. That’s it. Look at yourselves. You all do it, in your different ways. You’ – she nods in Kim’s direction – ‘in your bold, statement makeup.’ Kim giggles. ‘You’ – she points Jo’s way – ‘in your inhumane fitness regimes. You’ – she looks at Zeinab, speeding on before Jo can convert her scowl into words – ‘through your fancy wigs. Miss Thang here’ – she says of Nancy – ‘through your rabbit diet.’

‘It’s not – ’

‘And you,’ Tania goes on, her uncertain gaze on Martha, ‘in… um… I’m sure you have your ways. Point is, we all do it. So why not let her? So she’s overweight. And a bit of a nonconformist. Who cares? She’s happy. She’s not leading a movement. Let her be. I’m sure all of you’ – her index finger makes a sweeping motion in front of the women around the table – ‘deep down, would like to live free and happy too, and not give a flying hoot what the next person thinks of the way you look.’

Kim opens her mouth, then shuts it. Jo pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, her eyes on her loosely balled hands. Martha pats her book. Nancy halfheartedly shakes what’s left in her cup. Zeinab’s eyes stay on Tania’s, but, and Tania’s but is tentative, the glare has petered out.

Tania gulps. Can it be? Can she have possibly changed their mi –

It’s a jab to each eardrum as the sounds of all their phones buzzing at once cuts through the silence. They reach into their bags – except Martha, whose phone is concealed in a section of her muumuu. ‘Oh, someone commented,’ says Zeinab, her thumb on the screen of her phone.

‘Where?’ asks Kim, who hasn’t reached her phone yet, kind courtesy the tubes of makeup she has to dig through to get to it.

‘Her latest post on the Gram,’ Jo says, a wry smile on her lips. ‘Can you believe it? She still has the nerve to take pictures, like her body is anything to be proud of.’

‘What was the comment?’ Martha asks, squinting at her phone. ‘I can’t see it very well.’

‘ “You’re a beautiful woman,” ’ Nancy reads. She snorts. ‘As if.’

Tania jerks her head closer to her phone, and not because she can’t see the comment. ‘What?’

‘I know right,’ Nancy says, shaking her head. ‘Two hundred twenty-three pounds. How can that be called beautiful?’

‘Not the comment.’ Tania’s frantic fingers knock stray strands behind her left ear. ‘The commenter!’

‘ “Jacob Blay,” ’ Kim reads, now that she’s finally found her phone. ‘Some thirsty dude.’

Tania’s grip on the phone tightens, because the alternative is to hurl it at the white wall. ‘That’s my boyfriend!’

Five tongues cleave to the roof of their respective mouths as the first jolts of shock hit. For a tense minute nobody moves, their gaping eyes pinned on the seething Tania, fury drifting off her like a mist.

‘Ouch,’ Kim whispers.

Zeinab dares to seize her chance. ‘Ladies. You see what she’s doing. It’s not enough that she threatens our jobs. Now she’s threatening our relationships. What’s it gonna be?’ She licks her lips. ‘Guilty? Or definitely guilty?’

When Tania looks up again, her eyes are feral. ‘Roast the witch.’

Zeinab’s lips curve in a triumphant crescent. ‘I knew you’d come around.’

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*insert appropriate closing remarks here*