Jay Goldman

Tara’s a weigher. Her internal balance beam analyzes life and assigns importance: physical, emotional, spiritual calculations performed in snap, permanent judgements.

Tara boards the bus. She eyes up the driver as she drops her fare. Heavy, balding, runny eyes. Not to be trusted. She abandons the deposited change — “Oh! Wrong bus. Silly me!” — and waits in the cold for the next one.

Tara visits her man. Groceries poke forth from her bag. Video rental nestled in her purse. He’s in a dense, foul mood, pulled down by his day and his thoughts of his fleeting mortality. She leaves food in the fridge, leaves movie by the TV, and leaves through the door.

Tara accompanies her ailing mother to church. Smell of mothballs, sound of candy wrappers, hard pew edge on her thigh. The priest is droning about our obligations and sins, about the thickness of the ties that keep us bound to each other. She excuses herself, begging the restroom but seeking fresh air and light.

Tara inevitably ends up alone, her own inescapable avoirdupois the deciding factor in any would be romance. She’s not bothered by it, seeing not an emptiness but a lack of encumbrance. She sleeps in a single bed, shops for single servings, prefers solitary activities. No longer a weigher, she becomes lighter. She becomes buoyant, airy, thin. One day she wakes a few inches over her bed, the next day she’s gone.

Avoirdupois : (av-ur-duh-POIZ, -PWA) noun: Heaviness or weight of a person.

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