Midriff
The first thing that I notice about her is her midriff. It feels like a superficial thing to notice, but my eyes can’t help but be drawn to it, as she stretches and exposes herself the tiniest amount. She’s standing at the water fountain outside of the lecture hall, talking to whoever was filling their water bottle, leaning against the painted-over-brick after stretching. I imagine what it would feel like to stand next to her at the fountain, to touch her, to wrap my arm around her, and loop my fingers into her belt. Maybe I’d whisper something to her. Maybe she’d laugh. All I can manage to say to her is, “I like your jeans!” as I pass her in the hallway, the boldness of even that sentence burns itself onto my face.
I’m in the shower, and I stare down at my midriff. There are black hairs, which grew back faster than I thought they would, leading down my body. The water is so hot that it’s making me sweat, and the last thing that I want to do is exert myself further by shaving. As I stare at my stomach I think of high school sleepovers when my friends would talk about being into a guy’s “happy trail” and pointing out different celebrity men that had it. I know that women can have it too, but I’ve never seen evidence of this. Maybe it’s due to my relative inexperience.
She’s wearing very low waisted jeans today, almost as if she’s purposely punishing me for complimenting her the other day. They’re light wash flare jeans. She wears them well. In my opinion.
My roommate loves to wear a low waisted jean. Everything she wears, she exposes her stomach. Long, pink, flowing skirts. Tight, black, mini skirts. Capri shorts. Low waisted, straight leg jeans. Her belly button is out there for the world to see. When she is in a more professional setting, she covers her midriff, but I can always tell she’s not happy about it. When she’s going out to a party, she likes to wear dainty jewelry that hangs along her hips. She’s not pierced. It’s not like her stomach is a flat plank of wood that she likes to show off. She just likes her stomach to be seen.
I’ve recently started to notice that when I sit down on the toilet, my stomach touches my thighs. I think that it’s a new sensation. I’m pretty sure it’s a new sensation. The fact that I’m so uncomfortable means that it’s probably a new sensation, but I can’t pinpoint the day that this weight change began. I know weight change is a gradual thing. But when did I even start gaining it? When did my stomach grow big enough to rest on my legs?
My friend’s apartment complex has a rooftop pool. I think this is a bit overkill for a college student (my apartment is falling apart at the seams) but it’s a sunny day and I’m reaping the benefits of this ostentatiousness by lounging, so, whatever. My string bikini shows off my curves by hugging the top of my hips. The pool overlooks the rest of the town, the university campus in the distance. The sun is bright and the day is humid and beads of sweat are dripping down my entire body. I feel them trailing around my midriff, as if my sweat was sentient and suggestive. The liquid acts as an adhesive between the bottom of my thighs and the plastic chair, and I pull my legs off with an intense amount of effort. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the girl I’ve been daydreaming about, wearing an oversized t-shirt as a cover up. My heart plunges to my stomach, and I pretend I can’t see her. I honestly feel like I’m 13-years-old. But I can see her, and I watch as she pulls off the shirt in order to lay down and tan.