Post 186: Girls See Him

Ugh..! Randi left her phone on her desk...again! Cynthia “CiCi” Carlisle seethed, in silent frustration to herself as her co-worker’s text alert - that stupid giggle noise -  went off for the third time in three minutes. She’d been trying to get some work done this Wednesday but It’s so stupid noisy - don’t these women ever stop talking??

Cynthia was a hard worker. She always had been, and she knew it. Did anyone else ever notice? Probably not. These new girls cared more about what outfit they were wearing tomorrow or what the best new lipstick was than whether they were doing a good job, Cynthia thought, tucking some blond hair behind her ear. And Randi? Randi was the worst. Chosen by her friend Melissa the Office Manager, when SallyAnn left, to be the new supervisor here at the scheduling desk - even though she had, like, no experience at all and I've been here for four years and eight months next Tuesday - Randi had also been given the “Social Media” director title or something. Ugh!!!

There it is again!! Cynthia raged, as another titter of a giggle came from the phone. She furrowed her brow, pushed up her glasses, and tried to concentrate on the recall list she’d been working on, patients that needed a call from her to book their yearly exams. Cross off the dead ones, she reminded herself. Still, even with the task at hand, she was frustrated. These new girls get so much attention, she grumbled silently, and here I am trying to keep this practice seeing patients, working so hard. No one appreciates me…

Alive. Alive. Alive. Dead.

Her thoughts, as she worked cross-referencing her list with the obituary report, drifted to him. Maybe he appreciates me, she hoped, maybe he noticed how good a job she did, day-in and day-out here, scheduling his patients. And…maybe he was starting to notice other things about me too, she thought, feeling herself warm between the thighs, feeling again how tight this new blouse from the budget rack at McCrory’s seemed, just with the id-

<hee hee hee hee hee!>

Arggggh!!! The phone again.

That’s it!!!

As Randi’s phone, in its stupid glittery case, buzzed and giggled again, CiCi stood abruptly up from her chair, sending it careening backwards with surprising violence to crash into the metal filing cabinet behind her. Things like that had been happening with her recently, though this time she paid it no mind. CiCi was intent on - I dunno!! Doing something!! - quieting the unattended phone.

What are they talking about anyway? she fumed, seeing that the phone’s screen was still alight, that she could see the most recent posts in Randi’s conversation with “The Boss Girls” - ugh I hate that too...

CiCi sneered. So, what’s that? she mused, not impressed, four inches or so, in six months? She picked up the unattended phone. I’ve grown more than that in 8 weeks. The thing seemed small in her hand, delicate. And it’s like I’m growing faster every day.

It was true. Cynthia had miraculously sprouted from a frumpy 5’3” to nearly 5’9” in the past two months, most of it in recent weeks. Her breasts had grown, her legs had lengthened. The fat around her belly had been melting away, her skin clearing and she barely even needed these glasses anymore. Not one day at the gym, either, or any other real lifestyle changes at all. She was just getting…better. Bigger. And, she thought, a little shyly, prettier.

Not that anyone’s noticed.

Cynthia smoothed the front of her sensible skirt and looked again at the phone in her hand. Another text came through, from new girl Josie to the others: “I hope I get to be six feet haha”

Six feet?? CiCi boiled, feeling her body tensing, the rage which she’d been struggling with more and more these past few weeks starting to churn, Six feet’ll be nothing. In her darkest thoughts, in the darkest moments of these dark days, Cynthia Carlisle had found herself secretly fantasizing about what could come to pass if she kept growing through pants, bursting through bras, ripping through her orthopedic shoes like she’d been doing. She’d privately imagined herself growing, growing, growing so big, past six feet, past seven. She’d surprised herself how good it felt to imagine herself getting bigger still, growing huge, strong, tearing herself out of the sad little room she rented from her aunt and thundering down the street, bare of foot but still bigger than anything else, bigger than buildings, stomping her way to…

…him.

He should want me, she told herself, I’ve grown more than anybody, I can be his woman. She’d listened to the news, read the articles, and found the secret forums. She’d followed the accounts and researched all she could on these politicians, these movements, what was happening in the world. It was behind the scenes now, so much of it beneath the surface, but it was building. Some people thought it was all just conspiracy theories, the rantings of feminist radicals, but she knew otherwise. It was going to happen soon. He was going to need someone, someone to protect him. His rights, all their little rights, were going to disappear, quickly, if these women had their way. Good. Men would need women like they never had before and for him, she knew, it should be her.

Because she would be the biggest.

I can feel it, Cynthia thought, quiet now to herself in this strange confidence she’d been feeling, I’m going to get bigger than her, bigger than all of them. She looked at the phone in her hand, Randi’s glittery, new-model iPhone with its adorable little pop-socket. She regarded it, thinking of all the people in the world that ignored her, dismissed her, laughed at her behind her back. It was like she could feel herself swelling, growing, her big white bra and sensible skirt seeming tighter on her even now. The strength in her arms, her legs, back and shoulders boiled, and suddenly she wanted to crush something. I’m going to get bigger than all of them put together, she thought…

…and the little phone splintered to pieces in her hand.