Z is for Body Talk

"So, you're not happy with your body?" The
doctor leaned back in his chair with an air of nonchalance as if he
dealt with this kind of thing every day, which indeed he did. He
studied the clock and then glanced briefly at his patient, a young,
nervous looking woman, not dissimilar to all the other young, nervous
looking women who came to him claiming to be either too fat or too
thin. He knew the type well. They came in all shapes and sizes, but
their look was the same. He gave her five minutes. He wanted his lunch.

"What seems to be the problem?" He asked as a matter
of routine, scratching his beard with more care than he had used to
form the question.

"It talks to me," said the woman,
as simply as she could say such a thing. "Well, it screams
actually."

"What?" The doctor asked, clearly
irritated at the prospect of having to spend more than five minutes
with a patient. The woman had expected such a response and was patient
with him. It was an unusual complaint after all.

"My
body talks to me, and I'm not happy." she said.

It
had started earlier that morning. The woman had been in bed, asleep,
when she was awakened by a scream. At first she thought it was her
husband having a nightmare, but when she looked, he lay, as always,
peacefully by her side, snoring gently. No, the scream came from
elsewhere. In fact, if she listened carefully, it seemed to be coming
from inside of her, getting louder all the time." Help me," it called
to her. "Help me."

"Dan," she said quietly, pulling
her husband's arm. "Dan, wake up."

"Hmmm?" murmured
her husband, trying to turn over.

"Do you hear that
noise?" she whispered.

"Hmmm?" It was no use, Dan
obviously couldn't hear a thing. She dropped his arm and got out of
bed. The screaming was still there when she stood up. She reached for
her dressing gown and went downstairs to fix herself a snack. But even
after she'd eaten, there was still that awful screaming grating against
her insides. As she told the doctor, by lunch time it was so bad that
she'd been forced to make an appointment with him at the expense of her
lunch break.

The doctor
tried to be attentive, listened to the woman in surprised silence, but
afterwards was unable to determine the exact cause of her problem, even
with a brief examination.

" To be honest, I'm not
entirely sure," he told her. "It could just be stress. Or you might be
suffering from a virus of some kind. I'll give you this, and if the
symptoms persist come back in two weeks time." He handed her a
prescription for some harmless placebo tablets. The woman left his
office dissatisfied, and the doctor went to
lunch.

The woman stepped out of the surgery and onto
the street, her body screaming all the while. It was a hot day, and it
seemed to her, as she walked, that the heat was made more oppressive by
the continual wailing of her stomach. Was it her imagination, or did
her body even seem to be screaming in time with the beat of the city?
Car horns, footsteps, shouting, and her screaming stomach. She could no
longer remember a time when there had been
silence.

Lunch was over by the time she got back to
the office block where she worked. There was not even time to grab a
sandwich or a coffee. Slowly and wearily she climbed the stairs to the
third floor. The lift was not working. Again. With each stair, her
stomach screamed louder and louder. "Help me!" So by the time she
reached the office she was almost deafened.

"Lunch
ended five minutes ago. You're late!" Her boss glared at her from
across the room, tapping his watch. She slipped into her seat as
quietly as possible and began sorting through the memos on her desk,
keeping her head down so as not to draw any more attention to herself.
It astounded her that the others couldn't hear the screaming. It had
got louder when she entered the room, rising above the clattering of
the keyboards and the buzzing of the telephones. But no one commented,
or even looked in her direction..

Five o'clock. Time
to go home. But for the first time in years the woman didn't want to.
She'd had such a bad day she couldn't face the chores that awaited her
back at her house. What did she really want to do? She hadn't asked
herself that in a while. She wanted to get away from all this noise.
She wanted to walk in the park?

She sat down on the
bench and admired the view of the flower garden. Here at least it was
almost peaceful. The boisterous kids and worn out mothers who
frequented the park by day had gone home. In this light it was truly
beautiful, an oasis in the barren city. A man sat down next to her, and
seemed to be contemplating her. She ignored him. He was an ordinary man
anyway, slightly boyish looking with his red hair and glasses. No doubt
harmless. With the day she'd had she didn't really care. She shut her
eyes. "Excuse me." The man was talking to her. "Excuse me, you dropped
this back there." She opened her eyes. The man was holding out her
purse, which she had thought was safely inside her coat pocket.

"Oh." It was all she could think of to say. "Thank
you." She took the purse and put it awkwardly back in her
pocket.

"If you don't mind me saying, you look a
little stressed," he said shyly, looking at her intently. "My name's
Tim, what's yours?" It seemed a strange question to ask, but then what
would she know. This wasn't the type of thing she usually did, talk to
strange men in parks after work. By now she was usually half way home,
encompassed in the small metal box she liked to call her car. Or, more
often than not, pushing and shoving along with the rest of them in the
supermarket, thinking of what she could get for dinner that night.
"Steph" she said. "Steph Lloyd ." At the sound of her name, spoken out
loud for the first time that day, the screaming seemed to lessen. It
was still there, but now not so loud. "Well, Steph, are you okay?" She
realised it was the first time that day anyone had asked her that. And
meant it. Her husband had ignored her, the doctor had been less than
concerned and her boss was simply oblivious. She looked at the man,
meeting his gaze steadily for the first time. "I have been having a bad
day, actually?" And as Steph told him all about it, she couldn't help
noticing that the screaming had faded to a dull buzzing tone, barely
audible above the humming of the insects. She took a deep breath and
sat back, savouring the cool breeze and sweet, heady scent of the
flowers. "But it's getting better now, I think."