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In the Dream / Jodie Simpson
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Katty and I are having lunch, I am telling her about my teeth, hoping to identify with her, that she will have an answer, I tell her about my gums bleeding, my teeth hurting all the time, dingy and unprotected, the enamel fizzed and scrubbed off from stomach acid followed by torturous brushing, pressing hard with the brush, my mouth filling with blood, replacing the bitter taste of bile. Frantic, not to hide the purging fro m others, (everyone knows), but to make it less disgusting to me, ta make me less disgusting.
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Katty laughs and says how bulimia is supposed to be glamorous, the struggle of fashion models and Princess Di. You can even fool yourself sometimessliding your svelte new self into sleek size six pants, still able to eat steak and chocolate while unlucky girlfriends nibble salads and laugh even less than you. The mirage disappeared, my vision hazy like in heat, the first time i wiped the splashed toilet water and vomit from my face and determinedly continued, my finger down my throat until the yellow bile was all that stung my raw cuticle. Katty, the way I saw my mother when I was a child; no problems of her own, able to take mine, get in my skin and make them hers, says soothingly, Jodie, get rid ofyour hard toothbrushes. We need soft ones. We need to be soft with ourselves.
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