Bodily Envy

“Tara,” The host began, “how did you know so quickly that what you created was special? Did you realize you were creating a new reality?”

“Almost instantly. My friend and I, Sophie-Anne, were obsessed with ourselves from the moment we changed. Sometimes I can’t even remember my old life because I feel so new! I couldn’t live one more day as a human, and I honestly don’t know where I would be today without this body.” I rehearsed that line over and over again in the mirror last night. I said it perfectly, even with a swarm of flies buzzing on my exposed kneecap.

“Truly.” The host replied, adjusting her artificial nose back into place. “I don’t understand how there are still humans around. Everyone should have what we have!”

The smile plastered on my face tightens, “Yeah, I mean totally. If they want to. I’m just glad that I get to lead us into a new reality, like you said.”

“Mhm.” She turns back to the camera. “Thanks for joining us for this edition of ‘Good Night, Cruel World’! We’ll see you tomorrow.”’

The director holds up his hand. “aaaAAAND CUT! Good job, everyone.” The crew unfold from their respective chairs and hunched over poses. Bright, hot lights switch off and small purple circles cloud my vision.

Obviously not everyone can be a zombie.

It’s not as easy as it looks.

I work really hard to keep my infections fed!

I walk away from the host before she has the time to offer an outstretched hand. I find my plastic cup of green juice waiting for me on a nearby table, slick with condensation and matching the dewy layer of sweat on my forehead.

“Tara! Some notes??” I can hear Brian calling for me. He’ll find me eventually.

I’m supposed to like Brian. Everyone in the industry has told me how lucky I am to have him as my agent.

“He gets the BEST gigs!” “You’ll never be underpaid – and neither will he.” They told me, all with accompanying winks and shrugs.

“Tara!” He found me, “There you are, is it true you have a new cut on your forehead?”

“Omg really? Is it gushing - ”

He doesn’t let me finish my sentence before poking his pink, dull fingers into my skull, sending a new wave of ooze downward towards my mascara. More injuries mean more views. “Good, we can use this. Make sure you tilt your head downwards so we can really see the scabbing.”

“Duh, you know I’m great with new sores.”

I start to walk back towards the camera, feeling cool blood drip from the tip of my nose, when I hear Brian whisper to his assistant through a stack of papers, “Cancel her for today but offer next week’s gig. No- do NOT tell.”

Her?

Brian didn’t have any other clients, and as far as I know, I’m not scheduled for anything else today. When I got started in the industry, he made a big show of firing all his talent and giving me an exclusive contract. If he’s scheduling other clients, why hasn’t he told me yet?

I used to feel this sensation often in doctors’ offices, waiting in paper gowns for men to tell me my blood results are inconclusive. Back when I felt pain, and lots of it.

I make a face until Brian looks up again, capturing the look on my face but saying nothing in response.

---

It’s been hours since the shoot, and I can’t get over what Brian was whispering about. Who is “her” and why did he have to cancel? I check my phone – at least six articles about my new blood-spewing cut have hit the news cycle. “Good.” I tell myself, tasting a trickle of blood that found its way down my nose.

It’s true that I don’t remember everything from my previous life. Every day I feel memories and personality quirks fall away like leaves in late fall. Names of friends and memories of physical pain are eaten away at the edges. The silver heart necklace I used to wear everyday felt unfamiliar to me just last week. Besides, my skin was beginning to eat through the charm like acid.

The one thing I do remember, and would never forget, is the sandy, shifting landscape I used to walk on. Promises were soft. Friendships (except for Sophie-Anne) were transitory; other teenagers she met in waiting rooms, the rare light-hearted interaction when someone mistook her for a new student. I signed up for six different sports between ages nine to sixteen and was removed from every team because doctors’ visits and days spent in bed guzzling Advil kept me from too many practices and games.

Sophie-Anne is the only one who’s always been there. She kept me up to date in school, talked to me like I wasn’t some sort of anomaly in our class.

Ever since I became a zombie, the ground beneath her felt solid for the first time. This was all going to last – the fame, the friendships, the image I’ve created of myself. The thought of everyone being a zombie, fighting to keep what I had just begun to build, was unthinkable.

The quicksand could never return.

I wouldn’t allow it.

I’m waiting for my makeup artist to arrive when I pick up my phone to scroll Instagram and see her. A blue checkmark next to Sophie-Anne’s name, and a brightly colored post celebrating her accomplishment. She’s holding up a giant cardboard cutout of a blue check, her left shoulder popping out of place under the weight.

I never imagined Sophie-Anne would be my competition. We haven’t talked in weeks, but I figured she was at home with her parents, living a normal zombie-teen life.

I was wrong. Sophie-Anne was in France working on a Dior campaign called “Drop Dead Beauty.” There’s a link to an article.

Q: Sophie-Anne, tell me. How did you break into the zombie influencer industry?

A: First I have to acknowledge my best friend, Tara. Of course you know Tara, *laughs* EVERYONE knows Tara! *Laughs* I was inspired by how quickly she broke into the space. She created it for the rest of us, and I’m just so happy to be forging my own path.

Q: That’s amazing. Have you two always been friends?

A: Absolutely! We’ve been friends since kindergarten. I know everything about her life, living and dead. *pause for droopy eyeball*

Q: Do you think you’d be here, doing this interview, if it weren’t for Tara?

-Long Pause-

A: I mean – yeah, totally. Tara laid the foundation for everyone, and I think I would have found my path. She’s like, super important to me, but we definitely have our own talents.

I can’t believe what I’m reading.

Can’t you? She wants what you have.

Dozens and dozens of twinkling bright images tell the story of Sophie-Anne’s betrayal.

An hour ago, the ground felt like gold-plated bricks. Now I’m shaking, scraping mud from the bottom of my boots as I walk back to Brian.

“BRIAN!” I’m walking as fast and inconspicuous as possible. I see him talking to a group of production assistants.

“Brain!” I start putting real effort in.

“Brian…” Finally caught up and out of breath.

“Tara?” He brushes off the assistants around him. “Everything okay?” I look up, he’s holding his stupid little clipboard that he never writes on. His face tells me please don’t have a real problem, I’d really rather not deal with it but instead he asks in a hushed voice, “Is this about earlier? About your new little … accessory?” He’s pointing to his forehead.

“No! I mean, I thought that was a good thing?” She cut right to the chase, “Were you about to replace me?”

Brian hunched over more, even more clearly uninterested in this conversation.

“Of course not. Who would I even replace you with? There’s literally no one else like you in the world.”

“Yeah, maybe a month ago there wasn’t anyone else!” I take out my phone, “What about her?” I show him the little blue check mark, and the flurry of interviews and campaigns featured on Sophie-Anne’s page. His eyes glaze over, like donuts staring out across the same shop day after day. He’s seen it all before.

Brian got closer and talks soft, “Look. Competition is bound to come up, especially where you least expect it. You have to focus on what makes you different from Sophie. And besides - you built this industry – you can take it anywhere you want.”

“It’s Sophie-Anne. You’re not going to replace me, are you?” My voice cracked at the very end, and I turned her head down to stare at her shoes. In contrast to my peeling skin and scabbed over knee, they looked shiny and out of place.

Was it possible for a shoe to look healthy?

Brian sighed, obviously reaching his limit with this conversation. “Okay, whatever. You have to focus on what makes you different from Sophie-Anne. And no, of course not. Let’s just focus on the shoot tomorrow.”

I purse my lips and nod, unable to go any further.

---

I was lying in bed, listening to news coverage of the outbreak. “Breaking news at the top of the hour. A terrifying outbreak is spreading across the country at breakneck pace. Literally – people are breaking their necks attacking others, spreading the virus rapidly through the community via close, physical contact.” I was only half paying attention to what the news anchors were saying from my curled-up position under the covers, nursing invisible pain.

The eczema, depression, cystic fibroids, and host of other conditions kept me in here most of the time. It always got so much worse on my period. I normally missed two or three days of school a month. Dried calamine lotion makes me sheets feel crunchy, and my abdomen is stretching itself to accommodate the empty, bloated space in my belly. When I finally reached my arm out and grab the phone, I’m shocked to see people with green faces running down familiar streets.

That’s when I notice that my parents are in the living room absolutely LOSING IT. Crying, yelling, throwing suitcases filled with canned beans and long johns down the hall at each other

“WALTER! DON’T FORGET THE TYLENOL!!” My mom yells from down the hall. A bottle of pills hit my door and little red dots bounce under my door. “NOOOO!!!!” she despairs.

“TARA!” she flung open my door, letting a disgusting amount of light into my dimly lit den.

“Haven’t you heard?!” She asked, pointing to the phone in my hand. “They’re coming! They’re coming quickly and we have to go, now!!” She opened up my closet door, throwing my suitcase and the most accessible clothes inside.

There’s no way I’m leaving like this.

It doesn’t look like you have a choice.

Icicles of pain shoot down my legs.

“Mom, I don’t think I can go.” I managed to get a sentence out between my deep breathing.

She spun around, her hair covering her face, “That’s ridiculous. That is ABSOLUTELY ridiculous! I will not have my daughter becoming one of them.” I follow her pointed finger to my window, and to her horror, there are green people walking down the street.

“Get up.” She grabbed my wrists, pulling me from the warm indentations I made in the mattress.

“MOM! LET GO!” My dad bursts into my room.

“I’ve got the car running, let’s go!” He barely registered the scene before him, focused on getting everyone out of the house.

“I can’t” I told him, “I can barely move, dad,”

My parents looked at each other. “Is everyone else in the car?” My dad nodded.

They both look at me, on the floor. Still clutching my abdomen as if they had stabbed me in the belly themselves

My mom left the room, grabbing her last suitcase outside my door.

“Keep this door LOCKED, you understand? We’ll come back.” My dad closed the door and I hear his footsteps race through the house, followed by a loud slam of the door to the garage.

A loud CRASH erupts through the house. I remember when Dad bought that garage door, and how carefully he explained how to use the controller. “Now, you only need to press it once. Pressing it again will not make it go faster, you’ll confuse it!” It sounded like they tore right through it.

I knew that I was alone. Curled up in pain waiting for demonic looking creatures to come into my room and infect me with some sort of disease.

Fine.

Let them.

I was already in pain. Today, yesterday, tomorrow most likely. What’s the difference if I look different, too? It’s not like I’ve ever been too fond of my reflection anyway.

The zombies are breaking down the front door, muffled screams becoming louder. Clearer. Almost sounding like words now. Almost sounding like…

“Tara?” I heard a familiar voice.

“Tara, are you still here? Oh my god please be here, pleeeease.” I swore it sounded like her. It sounded like Sophie-Anne, if someone rubbed sandpaper on her vocal cords.

“Tara? I just saw your crazy-ass mom drive through your garage door. I know you’re in here.” Yes, it’s definitely her.

I felt my lungs bear down against my ribs for a deep breathe, “Soph!”

She ran towards my room but stops short of entering. “Um, Tara? Have you, like, seen the news today?”

“Yeah, duh. Kind of hard to miss at the moment.” More green people were walking down the street. Front doors left open and the scent of burnt rubber hung in the air. I might have been the only one left. Just me and the zombies.

“Well, I just want you to know you can’t trust everything you see on tv. I know we look like awful monsters but honestly this isn’t all that bad. I think you might actually like it.” Blood oozed from Sophie-Anne’s neck, presumably from where she was bitten.

“I can’t imagine ever liking anything about my body.” My forearms started to itch – eczema breakout, right on schedule. “I already feel dead.”

“That’s the best part! I’ll show you.” She reached for the glass nail file on my nightstand.

“NO!” I screamed, but it was too late. Sophie-Anne wore a huge smile on her face while the nail file stuck out of her side.

“See? Nothing! I think you’d feel better like this.” She played with the nail file like a puppy plays with a doorstop.

“Sophie, look, I decided not to go with my mom because I am done with trying to feel better. I don’t even care if you’re telling the truth or not. Just get it over with.” Sophie-Anne took the nail file out of her side and swapped out her playful grin for a malicious curl.

A cramp pinche my insides, twisting me away from her outstretched hands. I felt rotten teeth piercing the flesh on my shoulder, and ice run down my veins.

Everything changed after that. I stayed with Sophie-Anne and her parents and together we watched the world change from the bright glow of our screens. Lots of people left town, like my parents.

We spent days afterwards posting our new bodies on Instagram. Every new mole and scar became a cause for celebration, and trophy to show the world. The new measure of bodily envy.

---

The next morning, I try to take Brian’s advice. I wake up early in the apartment he rented for me and make a double espresso. Usually, the loneliness bothers me in the morning. I can’t help but feel like there should be people around.

This morning, there’s enough activity in my mind to keep me company.

Brian told me not to worry. He’s my agent, I’m the BIGGEST zombie in the world! He can’t afford to lose me.

I’m just the beginning.

The first talent to come out of the new world.

He’s cutting his teeth on my experience, practicing for the next star.

For Sophie-Anne.

The espresso is extra hot, adding to the peeled-skin effect on my lips. Every little bit helps.

Despite my racing thoughts, I managed to calm myself down with a shower and freshly washed cotton sweatshirt. At 10AM I leave the apartment with a lemon water in hand, ready for a full day of curated photoshoots, posing next to racks of clothes no one will ever wear and stacks of books no one will ever read.

Spring in New York is even better than fall. The warmth is new, still shocking to residents who came to expect dirty snow every morning. Rows of yellow tulips line 5th Avenue. A camera set up hailing me towards the first location.

Waving to familiar crew members, I make my way through the crowd of cables to find not one, but two chairs set up for the talent. One says Tara.

The other says Sophie-Anne.

The tumbler of lemon water falls to the ground. The heels of my shoes absorb icy water. Mixed with the heat rising in my chest, I feel jolted from reality. Seeing her name, here, and not on my Instagram feed, feels like going back in time.

“Hi, Tara!” The voice behind me sounds timid. I turn around, not bothering to change my expression.

“Sophie-Anne, what are you doing here?”

Sophie-Anne tilts her head, “We’re doing the campaign together, didn’t Brian tell you?”

I barely hear her, “I thought you were in France. Doing Drop Dead Dior.”

“I mean, I was. But then I got this offer, to work with my best friend!” I nod, searching her face for clues.

“When were you hired?”

“I – um, like maybe a week ago? It’s not like I dropped everything to be here.”

We stand still, assessing each other’s thoughts and motivations. We used to stare at each other like this in classes, communicating about classmates and teachers with only their eyes.

I can’t read her anymore.

“Look who found each other!” Brian spots us, poking out above the crowd like a giraffe eyeing a tree full of leaves. He hands Sophie-Anne a drink. I recognize it as her favorite – tequila with sprite and raspberries. “You two ready for the shoot today?”

“Brian, did you not tell Tara I would be here?” She asks, accepting the drink she clearly expected.

“First of all – you’re welcome. I mixed that myself. Secondly, I tried but Tara seemed pretty upset yesterday so I thought it would be a nice surprise instead.” Sophie-Anne looks annoyed, so we’re at least on the same page.

“That’s not what we agreed on.” She snaps back.

Or, we aren’t?

“Sophie, that’s exactly what I was coming by to tell her. You need to start trusting me if we’re going to keep working together!”

Working together? “Brian, you promised me – “

“I’m just so glad you girls already know each other. Do you know how many people would kill to be famous right next to their best friend? Ha – KILL!” Brian is now busy amusing himself with his own jokes. “Hey Tara, do you ever think about it like that?”

“Like what?”

“That Sophie-Anne murdered you? Huh? How about you, Sophie?”

Sophie-Anne and I look at each other. Not like friends sharing an inside joke, but like the two smartest kids in the class who just found out which one of them has the higher grade.

“No. I don’t think about it like that.”

“Hm. You should come up with a better answer than that. In case you ever get asked in an interview. Hey – by the way, huge party tomorrow night at my house. BOTH of you come by, I’ll text the address. Lots of industry people.”

Briand walks away, leaving Sophie-Anne and I to continue soaking in the dense, awkward fog which has infected our friendship.

Can’t wait for the party.

---

It was three days since my family left town and I was infected.

I hadn’t heard from my parents at all. I had no idea where they were, or if they even made it out of town. I called all our relatives. No one can find them.

At dinner last night, when everyone was learning about their new taste buds, “EW why does it taste like grass?!” all I could think about was my mom, breaking down the garage door to get away as fast as possible. Without me.

Weeks later, I didn’t suspect anything when I heard the front door unlock.

“Sophie-Anne?” I call out. I gave her and her family the remaining keys. “I’m in my room.”

No response.

“…Sophie-Anne? You there?” Small, timid footsteps answered back. Familiar patterns of creaking floorboards and uneven gait recall a specific memory.

A meek sound escaped my throat, “Mom?”

My bedroom door open and there she is – clad in hazmat gear from head to toe, but my mom, nonetheless.

“What happened to you?” She asks, even though she could clearly see my new, green skin and dark, protruding veins. Her eyes scanned my body, taking note of every new lesion and bleeding cut. She looked at me like she used to look at my report card stained with F’s and D’s. The flaws are too much for her.

“Isn’t it obvious, mom? I… got bitten. After you left.” This was the wrong answer. My mom lowered her head and pointed her finger at my chest.

“You mean after I saved our family, and you decided to stay behind. I begged you to come with us!” The concern erased from her face, replaced with a twisted form of disgust.

“I was in pain! I couldn’t do it anymore!”

“Yes, I know! Your PAIN! The excuse for every bad decision you’ve ever made in your life.” Bad decision? No, she meant all the missed days of school. All the team sports I withdrew from. “Now you’ve done something I can’t fix for you.”

I waited for her to tell me she still loved me. After every disappointment, she would remind me that I’m still her only daughter. That she would always be there for me.

“I came back here to check on you. I was hoping...” She choked back tears. My mom never cried, not in front of her kids.

“I was hoping you were dead, instead of this.”

“How could you say that mom? I’m better than I’ve ever been in my life!”

“YOU”RE NOT ALIVE, ANYMORE!” The plastic covering over her face was misty, filled with fog.

“I’m more alive than I ever felt. I wake up in the morning without pain, without reaching for one of the dozens of bottles of pills on my nightstand. I don’t have to fit my life around what my body decides for me. I get to control my own life, for the first time! How can you not be happy for that, if nothing else?”

“I can’t be happy for any of this. Our family is broken, Tara.”

“Your family might be broken. But Sophie-Anne’s family has taken me in.” She couldn’t wipe her face covering from the inside, so it takes an extra minute for her to fumble with the pockets and take out a piece of paper.

“Here’s our phone number.” She handed it to me – a torn out page from her pocket directory. She’s not exactly inclined to technology.

“Why won’t you tell me where everyone is? Dad, all my siblings?!” Are they even asking about me?

“Haven’t you seen the news?! You might be stable now, but one little thing sets you off and next thing you know you’re trying to attack all of us! I can’t risk that, not now. I can’t lose anything else.”

“I’m sorry, mom.” It’s too hard to fight back my own tears. They broke through the rage. “I’m sorry you have to watch the rest of my life from the sidelines.”

The rough outline of her body language told me this was goodbye. The stiff fabric crinkles and crunches as she made her way down the hall, and out the garage door once again.

---

I haven’t slept in two days.

I really don’t want to be here.

Sophie-Anne will be there. People will notice if you’re absent.

Pushing my fatigue and lingering anxieties into their respective corners of my exposed brain, I go to the party anyway.

The air around the house is pulsating. Flashing lights spill from windows, and loud music leaks into the street. There’s a moment, in between streetlights, when I get the flash of a memory.

I used to walk this neighborhood with my mom.

I think it was before I started going to the doctor all the time. We had so much time together. Filling afternoons with walks, gawking at the grossly lavish houses. There’s a faint scent of grape juice.

You’re going to be late.

I know.

The scene inside the house is about what I would have expected. Top shelf liquor and deodorant replace grape juice, and I’m diving between people to find the few I need to see before going back home.

Further back in the house, there are pockets of conversation.

“Now – I heard you people don’t sleep, is that right?”

“When is he going to hurry up and launch?! It’s almost the end of the year.”

“I just think one more broken bone is one too many.”

I finally find her in the kitchen, away from the loudest parts of the party. There’s a small group of people around her, enclosing her like a secret.

“Soph- Sophie-Anne!” I try waving my hand above the heads in front of me, earning myself not much more than a side-eyed glance.

She leans into one of the men closest to her and they leave out the back kitchen door before I can reach them.

Did she just – avoid me?

No. She escaped you.

There’s no way I’m letting her do this to me. Treat me like a pariah in my industry. At a party hosted by MY agent.

She can’t leave like this.

I head for the same door. Hardly anyone is paying attention to me, and no one tries to stop me from opening the door and hearing Sophie-Anne’s ridiculous laughter coming from the garden. There’s a winding brick path lined with small statues. Angels, babies, mythical creatures. Brian clearly enjoys cluttering the garden; it’s more finely decorated than any other room in the house.

“I swear, it was so like her. To wave at me like a little kid.” Sophie-Anne’s voice is clear in the stillness.

“Really? She always looks so unbothered in pictures.”

“Trust me, that is such an act.”

I’m walking towards her before I even know what to say. The last time I saw her she was so happy for me – what happened?

“Are you... laughing at me?”

I thought she would look embarrassed to have been caught. Feel badly, at least. Instead, she rolls her eyes, fiddles with the hem of her dress.

“Tara, I just… It was only a joke, okay?” She shoos away the man with her.

“What is it that’s so funny then?” The look on her face raises the anger in me like boiling water.

“Are you serious? Think about it! One minute you’re this helpless, sad, skinny little nothing. Three months later you’re on magazine covers and you have an AGENT.” She walks forward. I remember how tall she is, and she towers over me.

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to get through to Brian? UGH all I could hear when I saw your stupid face was your pathetic voicemails. ‘Sophie-Anne, can you text me the geometry notes?’ ‘Sophie-Anne, what happened at school today? Did I miss anything?’

“I hate that I was the one to make you into this. I thought if you were cured, you would stop bothering me. Instead, you somehow managed to outshine me!”

Her breath is cold, like the day she bit me.

I thought she wanted to help me.

I’m so sorry…

I don’t realize my face is wet until I speak. “Were we ever friends?” My face quivers, swollen from the tears.

“Come on. I think you know the answer to that.” She looks away for a second and her shoulders relax. “Look – I just felt used, okay? I was always there for you, even though you never asked me if I needed anything. My family took you in! And when you started getting gigs, you just… you forgot about me.”

Is she asking me to apologize?

For what? There’s nothing to be sorry for.

“I had no idea you felt this way.” I can’t muster the apology she wants. It doesn’t feel true.

“Well… you do now. And I should let you know something else.” I can see her confidence returning to her face. The stiff mask she wore just a minute ago. “I talked to Brian tonight. He’s going to make an announcement tomorrow.”

“An announcement about what?”

“His new client.” She points to herself and lets out another round of laughter. She turns to leave me, go back into the house.

“Hope you enjoy some friendly competition!

Competition?

You’ve been battling against yourself for years.

She doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t care.

There’s nothing I can do…

There is.

I grab the stone statue closest to me. A fairy, holding roses in its arms. The head is a mess of curls suspended in time. I slip off my shoes and follow her to the house. She’s stepping lightly, having gotten everything off her chest. I raise the statue over my head. The light from the house makes a halo on her head before I take aim at it. The statue lands on the back of Sophie-Anne’s skull with a wet thud, the stone sticking to the soiled part of her brain. Her body drops to the ground, but her face stares upwards. Her mouth hangs open in surprise.

I – I couldn’t have done this.

Isn’t this what you wanted?

No! No. I don’t think so–

She was going to take everything away from you.

But I lost her.

I’m staring at Sophie-Anne’s big, yellow eyeballs looking up at the sky. Brain bits mixed with bone drip off the statue in my hand, drip… clack… drip.

I always liked her hair.

I walked back into the house with a smile plastered on my face. It’s Sophie-Anne’s smile, not mine, so I make it as wide and open as possible. The hair from her head hangs off in bunches; big clumps held together by drying blood.

Act normal.

This is normal.

What would Sophie-Anne do?

“What would I do?”

There’s a mixing station in the kitchen. No one asks me what I’d like, so I mix it for myself: tequila, raspberries, and Sprite.

I like the raspberries whole; not muddled.

That’s right.

“Hey, can we turn this music up or what?!” I take a large sip, telling everyone, “What happened in here? Who died?”

I start laughing, looking around at the party guests. Finding Brian’s gaze and asking him to laugh with me. He, along with everyone else, refuse, forcing me to laugh harder, harder, until my throat is dry, and the room is empty.

And then I laugh some more.