Nip Tuck

The message is everywhere: loose weight, bulk up, look tight, shave this, nip that, and your boyfriend will love you.

"So you're on a diet?" I asked my friend as we casually waited in line for 'Capote' last night.
"Yeah, I haven't had dinner," he replied.
"Starvation is not a diet you know." I quipped.
"I know...been busy. I do try to eat healthier though. Today at lunch I had a chicken breast, some sunflower seeds, carrots, and a small salad. Those damn sunflower seeds got husks or something, 'cause they stick to my teeth..." said my friend in his trademark Southern drawl.
"That's practically bird food for you." I snickered, looking at this 6 feet tall, stockily built, lumberjack of a man.
"Yeah well...I'm really hungry now. Was at the gym for like an hour." He conceded.
I waffled and waxed on some nutritional knowledge I learned in medical school, namely, that skipping meals was not a good idea. He seemed genuinely interested.

The movie ended. All we could talk about was food. We settled on Rock Bottom for its easy decor, proximity to the T station, and most importantly, a kitchen that wasn't closed.
"I'm so hungry right now my brain ain't workin' straight. I'm gonna get a nice, juicy steak,” proclaimed my friend. From a distance, he looked like a blond version of the Brawny Man on TV, husky, hirsute, a man’s man, practically oozing confidence. I felt safe around him.

A very late dinner ensued. I asked him about his recent motivation to diet. Twenty minutes later:
"He called me fat."
"What?" I shouted, raising my eyebrows, flabbergasted. "That's low. "
"Yeah. Totally. He was drunk, and he said that the reason we didn't have chemistry or whatever, was because I was fat. He was trying to let me down gently." Said my friend, disgusted, slightly hurt.
"You're not fat." I tell him. He doesn't believe me; I see it in his eyes, but I continued. "You're stocky. It's your build. Nothing wrong with that."
"No, no I know. It's also been something I've been meaning to change about myself. You know, be more healthy, eat right, exercise, lose a couple of pounds here and there." He retreated to the rational.
"Those are all good reasons. I just hope that you're doing it for yourself. What that boy said was an impetus, I'm sure, but..."I was interrupted.
"No. Yes, it's an impetus.” He quickly recaptured what I meant to say. “But it's not like all that important..."

"So deep down there isn't a part of you that said 'had I been thinner things would have worked out’?" I inquired honestly.
"No. Of course not." His voice had a resolute tone that declared the topic was over. I sensed the confidence in his blood rising, in time with his vodka tonic. We toyed with news of his other prospects, 'in the pipeline' as he called it. My friend had been busy, not letting the previous rejection curve his enthusiasm.

It was late. The last train was leaving.

"All right. Well, I hope you feel better." I spoke reassuringly as he wrapped me in his bone cracking, but friendly, embrace.
"What do you mean--feel better? You mean about my impending cold?" He questioned, fully knowing my answer.
"No, not just that. About everything." I smiled, walking away, the dim glitter of the city to my back.