She was so famous, girls dressed like her for Halloween. Then she got older, hungrier. Her body wouldn’t hold. Directors poked her belly. She left Hollywood and graduated with a PhD in geology.
Now, she crawls, bare-faced and wide-bottomed, inside craters, her hands full of ancient dirt.
A colleague asks her to autograph an old poster of herself.
He smiles, “This used to be taped over my bed.”
“I used to eat nothing but Chapstick,” she says.
He stares at the poster, tongue-lolled, like she isn’t even there, like she isn’t the same as every mineral--hard enough to scratch itself.