Her Body is Not Hers by Nana Afadua Ofori-Atta
Photo by Kamaji Ogino for Pexels
TW: Body shaming, panic attack
“Stop fidgeting.”
Annaliese tried not to squirm as the curling iron came close to her ear once more. The stylist twisted the curling iron in a downwards motion then released the section of hair in its clamp. The curl it created was shoulder-length. The stylist moved onto another section of hair; the iron was too hot. Annaliese could see the steam emerging from it. Her hair was getting fried. It was only one day, Annaliese reminded herself, only one day besides this was the most heat her hair had been exposed to in months; it wouldn’t change much. And looking good for Ida’s wedding was important.
Annaliese had never been part of a bridal party and being her sister’s maid of honour seemed to be expected by most, but that wasn’t the tradition in her family. She’d been ecstatic that she’d been chosen, though the feeling withered when the time came for the bridesmaids to be fitted for their dresses. Annaliese had been the biggest one of them. All seven bridesmaids were wearing the same cut; a teal off-the-shoulder ankle length dress. Annaliese hated how her arms looked in the dress; like bat wings. Ida’s friends all had slender arms and their stomachs didn’t stick out in their dresses.
The stylist shook a can of hairspray and doused Annaliese’s hair with it. “Try not to touch your hair too much”, the stylist said with a stern look. Annaliese nodded her approval then rose from the makeshift saloon chair so another bridesmaid could take her place. She had been awake since 4am and the can of Red Bull in her handbag was beginning to feel like the promised land.
Annaliese paused in front of the wall mirror on the way to her handbag and inspected herself. She didn’t look like herself, though that couldn’t be helped; the amount of makeup on her face was enough to morph anyone’s features. She wore minimal jewellery, all silver and they matched glossy bar barrettes which swept Annaliese’s hair to the side. Annaliese smoothed out the teal dress and tried not to pay much attention to her arms. If she didn’t then she could believe she looked great.
She fished the can of Red Bull out of her bag and settled in the corner of the makeshift saloon. She sipped as she went through the notifications on her phone; most of them were from the best man, Kweku. He wanted to know how things were going with her portion of the day’s preparations. They were going slow. Kweku also wanted to know when she would hand over the rings to him. She had forgotten about that.
Annaliese set the can next to her slide-clad feet and pulled her handbag onto her lap. It took a while for her to find the blue velvet box. After she made sure the rings were in the box, she texted Kweku. The groom party was on the floor beneath the makeshift saloon. She told him she would hand the rings now instead of when they were seated for the ceremony.
*
Annaliese was halfway down the stairs of the house they’d rented out for the wedding when she ran into one of her cousins. He was a little older; lanky with sharp features under his brown skin. Mathew looked good in his suit. Annaliese turned the ring box over in her hands.
“You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, you look nice, sort of. Imagine what the other bridesmaids look like. Ida told me Efua Bartels is a bridesmaid? She must look out of this world. At least you did something with your hair, you had those braids how long?”
The thing with Mathew was he never learnt to filter his words. No one ever called him a dick because he couldn’t be that if he was just being honest. Annaliese lifted a hand to touch her hair; the curls had looked so pretty in the mirror. She hated that Mathew could do this. He’d always been able to do this; make her feel like she was the scum of the earth.
“I look fine.”
“Sure, you do,” Mathew replied, condescendingly. “Do act like a lady today.” Annaliese’s chest tightened. There was a pain in the back of her throat. She tried to remind herself she was an adult and her cousin had no right to tell her how to behave. “Today is a special day for your sister.”
Annaliese felt as if the walls were closing in on her as her mind replayed similar conversations she had had with Mathew over the years. She needed to get away from him. She needed to get the rings to Kweku. Her ears were ringing.
“Leave me alone,” Annaliese said, taking a step down. Mathew simply went down further. Couldn’t he go seek out Efua Bartels? She would appreciate his company more than Annaliese did.
“Is that an anklet? What are you now? A fetish priest?”
Annaliese bounced her foot, the one with the beaded anklet. Her eyes stung but she wasn’t going to cry. First, because she didn’t want to give her cousin the satisfaction and second, she hadn’t sat through two hours of makeup application only for the process to be repeated. She gripped the ring box tight, the edges of the box digging into her palm.
“Had it for a while. It’s not my fault you haven’t seen it.”
Blood was rushing to her head. She needed to get away.
“Okay okay,” Mathew said, moving out of the way. “Remember to walk up straight. Don’t go running around like a child,” he added then sprinted up the stairs with a laugh.
“Bastard.”
When Annaliese made it to the first floor, she went in search of the washroom. She locked it behind her and set the rings on the sink. Annaliese let out a scream into her hands then prayed to Our Lady of Star of the Sea that no one heard her. It wasn’t normal, this effect Mathew had on her. Ever since they were children, he could make her doubt herself and the worst part was he knew it. It wasn’t normal for someone’s name to put so much fear in you. Annaliese slumped against the washroom wall and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt so cold.
Her phone vibrated on the sink. The phone calls and messages went unanswered. Annaliese clawed at the walls; she felt as though she had been dropped into a fish bowl. There was a replay of Mathew’s jabs over the years, mocking her and her body. Reminding her of how insignificant she was. Of how unworthy she was. She never understood why he singled her out from the rest of their cousins. Annaliese sobbed; her face was against the washroom floor, her makeup smeared.
Bile rose in Annaliese’s throat.
She ripped the dress as she scrambled to her feet, trying to get to the sink.
Annaliese retched; the vomit got all over the bespoke teal dress.
In her mind she could hear her cousin laughing at her.
*
The woman who sat across from Annaliese in the black leather chair had barely spoken since she introduced herself. Dr Seidu said Annaliese could talk about whatever she wanted. She was going to listen. She said they didn’t have to talk about what happened at Ida’s wedding yet. Annaliese didn’t think she would ever be ready to talk about it. She had ruined her sister’s wedding.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Dr Seidu said. “What do you hope to attain by attending these sessions?”
Annaliese twisted her watch. “I don’t know. I want to feel normal.”
“And what is normal?”
“My body belonging to me.”
Nana Afadua Ofori-Atta (she/her) is a Ghanaian writer and poet who lives in Takoradi. She is an avid tennis fan whose work has appeared in Lolwe, Fantasy Magazine, AFREADA and the Kalahari Review.
She can be found on Twitter @afaduawrites.