Chapter 24
Miranda almost felt small, weaving through the corpulent crowd. She fidgeted with her mask, glancing at each of the blank faces she passed.
She was used to feeling too large for any space she occupied. Anything she touched in life she touched because her lovehandles were too wide to fit, because her belly jutted out too far after a satisfying meal, because her hips simply took up too much room. She was accustomed to brushing up against her surroundings. She was not accustomed, however, to her surroundings brushing up against her.
No one in the crowd of locals seemed to realize the extent of their girth and rubbed up against one another with abandon, standing as close to one another as they would have two hundred pounds ago.
Miranda squeezed herself between a pair of flabby derrieres, trying to twist sideways. The gap closed once she had gone, forcing Bridget to wriggle through with a hurried flail.
“Sorry,” Bridget squeaked, ducking.
“Stop apologizing,” Miranda hissed.
“What?”
“We’re trying to fit in. That means pretending not to realize that we, you know, don’t fit.” She slid past a woman wearing only her mask and a pair of cowboy boots. Their stomachs met in greeting. “Come on, I think the motel was this way.”
The aroma of barbecue drifted overhead. Ribs, hot dogs, and burgers were disappearing into the crowd’s oblivious maws and the pavement was littered with discarded Styrofoam plates. A stereo somewhere was blasting the Band’s “The Shape I’m In,” and the rhythmic jostling of flab seen here and there could have been generously called dancing.
“Miranda,” Bridget whispered.
“Stop saying my name.”
“Sorry. It’s just that…uh, your pants are falling down. People can see your butt.”
Miranda winced. “I know. But…”
“Oh, right. Pretending not to know.” She followed Miranda around a rotund man sucking sauce from his fingers. “Should I take my shirt off? I could pretend not to notice.”
“That’s not—oof—” A distended paunch swung round, nearly bowling Miranda over.
She recoiled and braced herself to shove it back, but quickly reminded herself not to react. Swearing under her breath, she glanced up and found herself belly to belly with an enormous cook.
“Morning! Can I tempt you?” he implored through his mask, gesturing to the opulent spread on the grill behind him. “We made sure to include plenty of diet-friendly options.”
Miranda tore her eyes from the sizzling meats. “Oh, no, that’s alright, I’m…” She caught herself. “Just something light, maybe. I’m already down…fifty pounds and wouldn’t want to, uh, throw off all my progress.”
“No, no, of course not. I get it. I used to worry I’d get so big the apron woudn’t tie around me, haha. Not anymore! Here, I’ll get you something guilt-free.” He turned, revealing the unfasted apron strings, and loaded up a plate with a stack of gristly ribs and a pile of potato salad.
“Yeah, thanks. Keep…keep up the good work.” She looked back for Bridget, but was greeted only by the sight of more locals. Miranda spun around, craning her neck and peering between their bulky bodies, but there was no sign of Bridget.
The cook clapped Miranda on the shoulder. She stiffened, but he merely pushed the overloaded plate into her hands. Cheese and barbecue sauce dribbled down.
“Dig in,” he said, biting into a burger of his own. “What an occasion, right? After all these years, I finally get to see the last act.”
Miranda shuffled her feet, eyes darting desperately across the crowd. “Last act?” she asked absently, hoping it sounded conversational.
“Didn’t you hear? They’re doing the whole play, all the way to the end. It’s gonna be huge!”
“Wow, uh, no, I hadn’t heard that. Lucky…us?”
He beamed. “Right? Finally. You always hope, you know, but you never think this would be the generation!”
“Uh-huh. Listen, I…I gotta go find my friend. Gotta…tell her the good news.” An opening had finally appeared in the throng of partiers. Miranda shoved her way in, instinctively clutching her plate.
The forged cautiously through the crowd. It had only grown more tightly packed as more locals had waddled into the square. The milled about with dreamy smiles, their undersized masks pinching against their puffy cheeks. Several carnival-style booths and activities sat ignored as the revelers orbited the cookout area.
Miranda squirmed through any opening she could find, quickly losing all sense of direction. Looking up, she caught sight of a storefront’s awning and desperately forced her way forward.
She emerged, panting, at the base of a porch. Balancing the plate with one hand and pulling up her sweatpants with the other, she climbed the steps and caught her breath.
Turning and resting her weight against the railing, she found that the porch was just high enough to allow her to gaze out across the crowded square.
“Bridget?” she mewled, squinting and scanning the congregation. “Bridget, please…”
Far to her right, she could see the parking lot of the motel. Every spot was taken, but between a pair of minivans Miranda saw what looked like the faded yellow of Bridget’s decrepit pick-up truck.
“Oh my god. We’re so close. So close. Bridget, come on.” Miranda turned back to the crowd. “Come on. All these fat people and I’m looking for the one…skinny little…” Her eyes narrowed. “…bitch.”
Far to her left, at the edge of the crowd, a pair of partiers separated themselves from the others. The unmistakable figure of Bridget bounced into view, pushing up her mask with a coy smirk to kiss her dance partner. After a moment Miranda recognized him as the bearded firefighter, Buck. He pulled Bridget closer, pressing her modest gut against his pot-belly and locked his lips with hers.
“Oh my god.” Miranda pushed her hair back with a quivering hand. “Fuck. Fuck. Bridget…what…fuck.”
The last fanfare of horns faded out as the song ended. Those in the crowd who had been swaying with the music grew still and conversations fell abruptly silent. Bridget and Buck continued their passionate kissing a moment longer and she reached to unfasten her tiny blouse, but they paused just before the last button could be released.
A shadow passed over Miranda, followed by several more, as a flock of crows suddenly sailed overhead. The birds—there seemed to be hundreds of them—circled the town square, crying in their horrible voices, and then flapped away to the west along Kade’s main thoroughfare.
Without a word, the crowd turned to face west. Those on the far side of the square began waddling ponderously down the street. Others fell in to follow in order behind them in a slow, wobbling procession.
Hand in hand, Buck and Bridget joined the parade. Bridget’s diminutive form disappeared behind an apple-shaped matron, but Buck’s tall frame kept his head in view.
Miranda stared. The crows flew on along the road, toward the rise of the Whately farm hill.