She’d stay up all night looking at magazines; Vanity Fair, Glamour, Cosmopolitan. The middle aged lady didn’t read any of the articles, she just looked at the pictures; some in color, others in black and white. All of em models and famous people; she liked the ads the most. Took her off to another world. Made her dream of being a size six, having perfect breasts, long legs. She looked at the pictures longingly. Just her. All alone. A cup of tea and a yellow hue from the lamp next to her. Seated on an old broken in couch with the periodicals stacked next to her. It’s how she spent her evenings.
During the day she worked at Wal-Mart as a stocker. A big girl who never watched her diet, she drank 32 oz. orange fountain drinks along with her foot longs from Subway each day for lunch; her favorite was the chicken teriyaki on white. She’d sit by herself in the back of the store and look at People magazine. Day dream ’bout being Mrs. Clooney or Mrs. Pitt. Sometimes you could catch her talking to herself as she looked at the photos. Saying things like, I love you George. I love you Brad, real soft like. One could barely make out what she was saying.
The blonde haired lady took the bus home every night. Sat next to no-one. She’d look around at the mental health patients getting off and on at the free clinics, the homeboys listening to rap on their phones, older riders talking gibberish about when the world would end. She sat in silence, peering out windows at rust, golden, and brown trees along the streets. Looking at front yards with kids playing in piles of leaves, houses well maintained, and cars in driveways. She never wished she had that life, but then again, she wasn’t opposed to it neither.
Her’s was a simple life. She paid rent on time, had some tv dinners in the fridge, and never missed a day of work. When she did sleep, she dreamt of having someone next to her. The plump woman had never had that before. She’d have men ask her out before only to find they were after one thing only. And, sometimes out of sheer lonliness, the old girl would give into their whims of desire only never to be called on again. That’s when she decided she was better off with her magazines and imagination. It was safer that way.
And so, she kept on dreaming. Dreams kept her alive. And, she kept talking to herself and the pictures in magazines.