Bellies

by Nicola Dinan

Is this a vibe? Maybe it’s just polite eye contact.

Nobody wants to admit that people leave the closet but not the room.

“People act like saying what they want is a bad thing. You see it everywhere, right? Like in movies or TV shows, where the woman’s like, I wanted flowers for my birthday! And the man’s like, you didn’t ask for them. And she’s like, I shouldn’t have to ask! But why shouldn’t you have to ask? Why can’t we just tell people what we want? Why is everyone in the market for a mind reader?”

I wonder when it became so fucking hard just to say thank you.

The picket fence of dick pics is at once both offensive and vile, but I feel a thread of gratification that I am loath to admit, even though it shouldn’t be a crime to say that it feels good to be desired, especially behind the safety of the internet.

I know that beauty isn’t supposed to mean all that much, but sometimes it means a lot.

“I’m speaking the shame away. I’m showing you my belly.” “What?” “It’s this analogy we’re using in therapy,” she said. “There’s a lot of fear in showing it, for some animals. Because you’re at risk of being mauled.” I nodded slowly. “Our insides aren’t worth much to other people, I guess.” “Some people,” she said. “It sounds like hippie bullshit, but I think the risk is worth it. It’s how you learn who cares, and it stops you from punishing yourself so much for being you.”

“He made me feel like my time and presence had value. It sounds simple, but it meant the world.”

They’re little things that fill the day, things that become special because you do them with someone you love.”

When you know someone and you grow together, your shape and form become theirs. And so even though Rob is gone, and there’ll never be another Rob, another friend I’ve known as well or as closely, the impression his life left on me will always be there, and in that sense we haven’t lost him at all.”