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My poor regard for my own body couldn’t withstand the kind of hulking that a relationship with Toby would have required. I couldn’t be larger than a man in bed, or at the movies or at a dinner table or, honestly, even on the phone. I didn’t want to feel big and graceless and a thousand pounds of just lumbering; I didn’t want to have to contend with that every time his hand reached under my shirt.
Being at the hospital was like being inside the future, but as it was imagined by science fiction films in the last part of the twentieth century, not the actual future we ended up with, where everything just turned out being smaller and flimsier than it used to be.
