Page 47 of Friendshipped
15
Lexi
I’m not even in the car a full minute for our commute to work Friday morning when Trevor asks, “What’s that smell?”
I try to think of some witty comeback, but I end up admitting it’s my soup.
“What form of fresh craziness is this?” Trevor asks.
“It’s cabbage soup. I have to eat it for two weeks. If I keep it up, eating only this soup, I should lose at least ten pounds. I started last night after work and I had a serving for breakfast this morning. I’m allowed to eat as much of it as I want.”
Trevor looks at me and raises his eyebrows.
“Judging from the smell, I’m thinking it wouldn’t be that often.”
I look down at my thermos and back at Trevor. He’s right. This soup smells and looks like the gruel overlords would feed the serfs on their land in medieval times. I’m eating like a peasant in the dark ages.
Trevor inhales through his nose.
“I hate to tell you, but I think you’re starting to smell like the soup”
I lift my arm and smell my pits. I’m not sure why, it’s not like the soup smell is going to emerge from under my arms only.
“You’re likely to be a skinny woman who smells like cabbage.”
“Not helping” I tell him. “The stuff tastes like death.”
“Smells like it too,” Trevor says with a chuckle. “I don’t know why you’re trying to lose weight, Lex. You’re beautiful just the way you are.”
“You have to say that. You’re my best friend. It’s not like you’re a guy who notices me in that way.”
Trevor shakes his head. He’s frustrated with me, I can tell. Maybe he’s nauseated by the smell of this soup. I’m sick of the soup, sick of trying to lose weight, sick of men who want women to look like the stick figure from hangman.
We’re entering the freeway. Trevor accelerates to merge into traffic, and I open my window. I barely hear his,Lexi, what are you doing?over the rush of wind.
I open the thermos and let the soup fly as I say, “Take that!” to the diet industry.
Bits of cabbage and the beige broth flutter freely as we zoom forward. I’m staging my own revolution and the thrill of it courses through my veins. Then, I see it. The contents of my soup splatted on the windshield of the car behind us.
“You’re losing it, Lex,” Trevor says as the cabbage-coated car catches up to us.
The red-faced driver gesticulates and yells like some deranged silent movie star with her windshield wipers on full speed trying to remove the remnants of my moment of triumph. I do what any normal, sane person would do in my shoes.
I duck before she gets a good look at me.
I didn’t really think this out. I never meant to coat a car in wilted leaves and murky broth during my declaration of body positivity.
Trevor looks down at me as I hunker below the dash.
“What are you doing!”
His eyes go up to the road and then drift back down to my crumpled form along the floorboard.
My voice comes from between my knees since my head is dangling there while blood rushes toward my brain, “Hiding!”
I tilt my head sideways and I can see Trevor purse his lips and then lightly shake his head as his mouth tips up just the slightest. We ride along like this for a few minutes—him amused, me getting a headrush.
“Is she still there?” I ask, wondering how long the human head can tip upside down before a person passes out.
