Human Trapped Salami
By Diane Sesler
The body isn’t cooperating. The mind is young, but the mirror is rude. Makes me pouty. Temptation is everywhere. Stores are filled with rows of be young-again creams. It makes me believe I could shake a rattle again. I can erase time, so I buy the miracle. I already feel better.
I’m on a roll. I decide to buy a slimming undergarment. I may be bulging at the seams, but this product promises me a “lifting sexy curvy hour glass figure”. I definitely want that. I’m almost hopping like Dorothy to the yellow brick road changing room. I look at the garment. It’s puzzling how I can squeeze into it. It looks like one of my arms can fit into it. The other parts of me may have more difficulty, but they are willing to go for the ride. One leg goes in and the other. The product sits tightly on my thighs as my brain wonders how in the hell can it go past that point. Breathe and relax. I start grunting, and I’m aware that my face is burning red. This is turning into a work out. I give it all I got, and finally pull the “thing” up to its final destination.
It’s so tight. I’m doing some shallow breathing. I put my outfit on top of it to see the miracle. It looks good, but my face doesn’t say the same thing. I look like I’m having a panic attack. The pressure is intense. My head feels like it may pop off from its champagne bottle body. I decide it’s not worth it.
Instructions to take it off should be given to the customer before she enters the dressing room. I can’t get out of it. I’m going through my second workout in the dressing room. It hurts. I look like salami in pain. Beads of sweat are trickling down my face. I’m almost in tears. Panic sets in again as I’m wondering what to do. Should I call a salesperson? That’s embarrassing. I have a vision of them tossing me in the middle of their store. I’m their blue light special of the day. Ladies and gentlemen… Today we have our very own Houdini Salami to entertain you. I sit in the dressing room trying to cope with my fate.
After doing emergency slow me down breathing exercises with extreme concentration, I come out of my casing. I’m exhausted. The looking young again adventure isn’t appealing anymore. As I walk out I imagine eyeballs are staring at me. I’m the beast with the loud grunts that finally came out of the dressing room.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR…
I’ve been telling stories since I was a kid. Characters always danced in my head. People take medication for that. I chose to write it down. I was born in Montreal. I’m a French pea soup girl. I didn’t speak English until I was sixteen. I still can’t pronounce my H’s well – hippopotamus still sounds like eepopotawmus. We moved a lot. The characters in my head became my friends. Art and humor has always been important to my soul. I practiced my stories on my sister. She was my first audience who smiled at my words. I think there’s something wrong with her though. I’m kidding. I worked at jobs that didn’t fit me. It took me a long time to know that art was the only thing that made me happy. I started out selling art in a church basement, which didn’t go well with hand-knitted socks with crosses. This eventually led to art shows, selling to art galleries, museum stores and so forth. My main medium for a very long time has been papier mache. My characters became papier mache sculptures. Friendly little monsters with sharp teeth came to life. Of all my artwork, I must say my monsters were my favorite pieces I have created. Every character had a story. Then, the dormancy years happened. I just stopped making artwork. Don’t know why but it’s ok. Shortly after that, the flood took it all away.
Every piece of artwork or slides of my work was bye bye gone. We lived in a trailer for a year. That’s when I felt creative again. I started to write stories. It made me feel alive and well. The flood was a teacher. It made me rise from the mud like a lotus flower.
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