At the DQ
by Rachel Kuhnle
One afternoon
I was with friends outside a Dairy Queen when the
conversation turned to the topic of our internal
organs.
As we sat and
took inventory and swapped stories of hiccups and
heart palpitations, it was revealed that one
friend, Seth, a tall, skinny boy we all knew to
have various health problems, was born without a
stomach. It was the result of some sort of
chemical exposure, he said, while in utero.
What is it
like to know you weren’t meant for this
world? one friend asked. He looked a bit
uncomfortable so a friend, Kate, offered,
what’s it like to be a miracle? At this he
smiled weakly.
In Seth’s
absence, more supposing continued:
Was
he shriveled as a baby?
Will
his children have no stomachs?
Does
this mean he has no soul?
How
is he alive?
Thinking
herself to be more sensitive than the rest of us,
Kate hushed the supposing to merely a few shared
looks at lunch time and some illustrations I kept
for the longest time in a shoebox under my bed.
Kate was a
real fat ass, by the way. I haven’t yet
established that. It was most unfortunate
for her. She had all kinds of other things going
for her, primarily her family was loaded. But
instead of bearing her midriff and driving around
in a BMW around like any other rich bitch, she
was trying weight loss program after program and
failing.
When she told
us her plans, the next day, at the DQ… it
caused quite a stir.
Now I was not
the first to think it but still everyone was
shocked when I suggested she donate her stomach
to Seth. It makes sense! I said. He was born
without a stomach and it’s made his life
hard. It’s not fair that she can just throw
hers away, I said. It’s like wearing glasses
for fun or shaving your head bald ’cause you
can!
An argument
arose questioning the morality of the whole thing.
I would starve myself, a friend said, before I
threw away my stomach. The passion behind her
argument was that she wanted to have children
very badly, and without a stomach Kate would
likely never be able to nurture a growing fetus.
I told her that was horrible talk, starving
yourself was horrible, but I appreciated her
support.
Seth got upset
and left, and Kate, in turning to go comfort him,
hushed all our arguments by saying: “My body
is mine. His body is his. And it’s none of
your business.”
I felt
passionate at the time but now I suppose I was
just hungry. I hadn’t eaten all day that day
and my stomach was growling.
I think that
means it was eating itself.
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