My ASS was great once. Boys would turn and look at my ASS when I walked by. In my MIND’S EYE, I see the entire scene as a diorama in a shoebox, or a crane shot, starting on my ASS, in tight on my loose booty, then on the boys as they snap their necks trying to see my ASS, and pulling up over the fountain in the center of the community college campus as I go to my class in the library at night school.
It was a great ASS then. All Pow! and out there, shelf-like and round. Very much a Black girl’s ASS. Instead of an average what-is-she-I-think-she’s-Latina-and-stuck-up-and-that’s-why-she-doesn’t-respond-to-Spanish-the-bitch-Hey-Bitch-I’m-talking-at-you ASS.
It was after I lost the weight. My perfect ASS was. Before I lost all of it, and before I gained some back. It came on so suddenly, the first sixty pounds in two months, then two years as a FAT girl, and then it scuttled off almost as fast as I gained it. But for a minute or two, I had an ideal ASS, one that got me noticed from behind.
My ASS doesn’t match my rack any more. I have large BREASTS and when my ASS was perfect, I was like a fucking cartoon character, I swear. Like something Ralph Bashki or John Kricfalusi would draw. If they drew brown girls. They don’t, unless we have BONES in our noses. But for a moment. I swear. In my MIND, I swear that’s how that lost time was, for two whole days, the best ASS ever. Hi-yah! BODY karate.
There is no one to share the mourning of a lost ASS with. There are no votive candles, no Patron Saint of the Lost ASS. No number of Hail Marys. I just feel the ENVY when I see the people, girls and boys both, who have the better badonkadonk than I and know that used to be me. For two days in 2002, that was me.