Chapter 4 - section 4

Back outside, in the parking lot packed door-to-door with cars, the morning chill has since fled, blasted away by a sudden tropical heat which has come down unannounced. They walk wordlessly across hot bitumen towards Ruby's car. Pretty soon, yours truly is working up a sweat under her marshmallowy transit parka, a thin coat of perspiration clinging to her chest and back, sliming up her underarms. Any hotter and she'll overheat like a broken down car. She can already feel her head clouding up. Her thoughts begin to drag their feet, refusing to connect.

Ruby reaches for the zipper and fondles it indecisively. She wants to keep her parka on, but it's just not something she can do any longer. She walks on the thin line of an impasse between overheating on one hand, or showing her belly on the other.

Well there's the car, just ahead. Not long now. She bears the last few steps of oven-like heat. Cool, conditioned air, soon. Coldness on hot cooling skin.

But when she unlocks the car, and they slide into their respective seats, and it's even hotter inside this hotbox than it was outside, and she twists key in the ignition to boot up the fans, they don't. Ruby hesitates, then tries again. The air conditioner gives a pathetic electric whine of dying nnyyeeeeeeeeeeeei...

She turns the dial off and on again, baring her teeth. Frisking it side to side, on-off, on-off, off-on, off-on-off, on-on-off, on-off-on, about to break it, she growls and slams her palm on the plasticy dashboard.

Georgia seems to find this amusing, in savage laughter, tipping her head backwards to hee-haw at the roof.

Ruby sighs down her nose and winds the window down, sticking her head out to suck in fresh (but only slightly cooler) air. Face angled out the window, she cranes her neck to look back at Georgia. 'Wind your window down or I'll die in here,' she demands.

Amused, Georgia reaches down the side and pumps her arm, winding, winding, window lowering. A front of mildly cooler air comes in from the left. Heat runs away. But not enough of it. 'Oh man my skin's gonna melt off in a sec,' Ruby gasps.

Georgia eyes her friend and huffs out her nose. 'Well the parka doesn't help.'

Ruby just ignores her, checking the rearview mirror instead, suffering savage heat.

Georgia squints at her. 'Someone's in a mood.'

Ruby stalls any further observations by saying, 'Hold on. Gotta reverse,' and pretending to be in this big fluster of concentration as she reverses the car.

Not even five minutes later, each bygone minute layering more sweat on her skin than the last, they sit waiting at red lights. Although she can sense they are about turn green, Ruby needs more time to decide whether... No time to decide, though... About to turn green... So...

So she decides, right now, to remove her transit parka at last.

Assassin-like, she slides the zipper down, parka sides parting. Her eyes on the tail lights of the car ahead, she unhooks her shoulder from the seatbelt and slowly shimmies it out, then leans aside to shimmy the other out. She glances now and again at Georgia, but it seems she's taken no notice, so far. She's too busy bobbing her head to the radio and mumbling half-remembered lyrics in a half-assed voice. Before it's all too late, Ruby slips the parka down. To pull it out from behind her back, she has to lean forward. And there it is, the sensation of her underbelly pressing down, slopping over her waistband, flesh oversized. She turns around just briefly to discard the thing into the back seat, then sits straight once more. A glance at Georgia. The girl is still singing to herself, but louder this time. As the lights go green, Ruby wonders what feels cold against her stomach, but then the lights go green, and her thought is killed off. All her attention on swapping lanes, the worry wisps from her mind.

Lucky.

Maybe.

It doesn't take long for Georgia to glance over at Ruby and start chatting away, and even less time to notice she has her parka off. There's something different about the shape of her friend. She can't place it. A curve in the wrong place. Something like that. A bulge where there shouldn't be...

Georgia's eyes widen when she finally notices the shocking problem; and thank God Ruby never saw her surprise: is Ruby getting fat?

Georgia peers closer to inspect. She sees how Ruby's orange shirt is tucked firm into her waistband - but above it, swelling out like a full sail, is a belly bulge.

Hang on. Since when? Fat? Pregnant? Pregnant-fat? What? Georgia freaks. Ruby doesn't have a belly, right? Surely. Unless Georgia never noticed. But how long has she known Ruby for, now? The better part of her life. Long enough to know she doesn't have a belly... Never did. Until, what ... just now? All of a sudden, just like that? Since when?

Georgia cannot look away. Ruby is staring ahead at the road oblivious. Suddenly, her friend's profile seems so absurd that Georgia lets out this weird hybrid of a laugh and a gasp. And... oh god. Georgia peers closer. Is that extra flesh, a faint double chin, between the tip of her chin and the front of her throat? - no way - a faint swell. Ruby is starting to get a double chin. A quick sting of second-hand embarrassment freezes Georgia. Poor Ruby. Then disgust comes in from the sidelines to smack sympathy aside. Gross. Fatness. Sloppiness. There's something evolutionarily unappealing about that look, isn't there? For a moment, Georgia just sits there, staring dumb, wondering what the hell to feel. Embarrassment and disgust fight inside her, tangling into something unsettling. Then, writhing with discomfort, Georgia finds herself laughing instead.

Ruby frowns and turns her head to Georgia, eyes staying on the road. 'What?' she asks.

'Nothing,' Georgia lies. 'Just remembered something funny.'

Ruby resumes driving and Georgia resumes staring at her potbelly. Things like these are great for a morbid fascination, aren't they. You've gotta wonder how something like that feels. Surely. Looks so soft ... Just how soft is it? ... How soft is soft? Softer than soft.

Suddenly, it's as if Georgia's arms aren't hers; she reaches over, silently snickering, and pushes her forefinger into Ruby's side where the flesh swells deepest. Her finger sinks in.

So that's what it feels like.

Ruby recoils. 'What are you doing?' Swiping her friend's hand away, she scowls, her shoulders hunching defensively. She glances at Georgia, back to the road, back to Georgia, down at herself, then back to the road. But says nothing. She drives on in silence.

Georgia watches her friend in silence. Is she too embarrassed to say anything? Does she realize what state she's in? Does she know how she looks? Or does she know, and not care? Have I offended her? ... She never gets offended at anything ... But ...

She looks away.

But it simply demands too much attention; Georgia's gaze falls once more. So this is where all their food's been going. The shape fascinates her. Fabric clings to the ballooned form of a once vertical abdomen, now swelled softly outwards. It was earned by overeating, the consequences of deep-winter gorging. Must have been what Ruby was doing all that time Georgia was away. Now that she's been staring for so long, she can see how her belly bounces with every bump or dip in the road. And there, look at that, the concave, faint impression of a deep navel, and at its peak the miniscule bump of her ring. How deep does a belly button have to get to become so obvious?

Georgia snickers. Curious once more, she sneaks a hand over. She makes sure Ruby doesn't noticed. Then, hand rising like a snake posing slowly for the kill, she snatches the shirt and rips it out from underneath - it snags under the fold of her stomach then slips away. A pale potbelly plops over Ruby's lap, flesh jiggling freely swollen. Ruby yelps, jerks the steeringwheel in fright, swerves at a signpost and tenses. Righting the wheel, she uses one hand to tugs her shirt back down. Her cheeks are hot pink, almost red. Immediately she goes on the defensive. Pissed, vaguely Asian eyes spear Georgia with hate between periodic glances at the road. 'What the hell was that!' she said. 'I nearly crashed!'

Truth is, all Georgia saw was a flash-image, but in spite of that, all can do is laugh at Ruby, whose cheeks are so flushed that they're starting to moist her eyes. Georgia is incredulous, 'You've got a belly! Like, an actual belly!' Giggling. 'So that's where our food's been going.' Still giggling. 'I wondered what the hell was going on-'

'Shut up!' Ruby flushes dark, sucking in and covering herself with a spare hand. It doesn't hide much. Even under the folds of fabric, the impression of rounded flesh remains.

So Ruby does know. Georgia watches her friend glare at the road, all broody-like. Well okay. Okay, then. Fair enough, time to stop.

Full of mirth, Georgia faces forwards in her seat and relaxes, leaving the matter to simmer down. She can still see the flash-image of Ruby's muffin top in her mind. She can't unsee. It's an overexposed image, burned onto her retina like a sun splotch. That's why there's this oppressive elephant-in-the-room type silence lingering between the two, despite the blaring radio music. Reaching for the volume dial, Georgia turns it up a little to sing along, just for something to do. But all the way home, she can't help but sneak amused glances at her friend's shirt-covered paunch. Even sucked in, she can see a lower roll protruding.

Forcing her eyes away, Georgia looks out the window to watch shopfronts and pedestrian crossings glide by.

Oh well. Things might not be so alarming, right? Ruby has never been like this - she's always been slender. She'll work it all off without too much trouble.