The Woman in the Peach Dress

by Lu Chekowsky

 

The thicker my braid, the more fertile I will appear to the people who need to view me as fertile, which, by my estimation, is everyone. My braid is as thick as a Coke can. I don’t drink Coke. I do drink La Croix. My hair is the only thick thing about me. I am slim because I know the secret to eating; small plates, small bites, plenty of sips of ice water between swallows. My thick hair sprouts from the health I have accomplished via Pilates and squash. My wrists are small. I wear my bones like a necklace around my neck. My neck is tall but my posture takes work. My mother told me once to stand up straight if I wanted boys to like me. Of course I wanted boys to like me so I always imagine a pole in my back. I wish there was a doctor to put a pole in my back. It’s summer, so I dress from the summer closet. I wore this peach dress to a polo match once. Prince Charles was there; he winked at me. I ride horses, admire horses, own horses. I want my hair to shine like a well-groomed horse. I hold my arms like a Barbie, square at the corners. I’m always rushing somewhere, carrying something light; ready to model a new dress, a new bag, a new me. My lips curl up at the corners; glisten with pink gloss. I am the most gracious when seething. I ask the woman who works behind the counter about the taste of their pastry because I want to appear relaxed about pastry, but I am not relaxed about pastry. I hear women eat pastry, but I don’t know any personally. Another woman behind me – who has no business at all eating a burrito – is eating a burrito. I could definitely tell you how much all the women around me weigh. I always know how much smaller I am than everyone else. It’s helpful. I don’t want much, just to pretend to eat crustless egg salad sandwiches at parties, to dab my lips with a linen napkin. I want to provide my weekend houseguests with soft sheets, ice cold tea, a version of me that they can tell people about while smiling. I want to fluff pillows and to laugh effortlessly. I want to be thought of as effortless. I order a black coffee. It will erase my hunger. I leave, the bells on the door jingling, my braid swaying left to right, right to left as I trot. My mind is buzzing with to-do’s. I will volunteer at a banquet. I will carry a wicker basket with a ribbon laced in the handle. I will buy art at an auction; something modern – like me. I will delight in my bones. I will post a photo of myself smiling.

 

Chekowsky is an Emmy-winning writer and creative director who built a successful career in media through gut, intuition, and addiction to approval. Lu’s essays and poems have appeared in journals including: The Rumpus, Pigeon Pages, The Maine Review. Her work has been supported by Mass MoCA, Tin House, SPACE on Ryder Farm. She is a 2023 New York State Council on the Arts/New York Foundation for the Arts Fellow in Nonfiction Literature.

 

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Upcoming

01/13 • Edward Thomas-Herrera
01/20 • Zero Laforga
01/27 • Jack Bedell
02/03 • TBD
02/10 • Gaurav Bhalla
02/17 • Callie Dean
02/24 • TBD