Don't Call Me Fat (COMPLETED)

Skinny is a Four Letter Word

It was probably just mild fascination at the k******e mission I just blew up.

That's what it was.

There's no way he was looking at me for any other reason. It would be stupid to think otherwise, right? Yeah. Stupid.

I mean it's not like I'm anything to look at, that's for certain. Not when I'm competing against girls like Bethany, Kelly, Jen, and heck, even Mags.

What was really stupid was how distracted I was the rest of the day. Every time he passed by my desk or by me in the hallway, there I was, reliving the horror of that morning. It brought a fresh new rose color to my cheeks. I kind of gave up hope of concentrating at all at that point.

What i***t sticks their hand out to shake it these days?  Wasn't that reserved for retired men at the golf club? Every time I replayed it I made a physical groaning noise.  I couldn't help it. It just... escaped my lips.  Like my soul was also beyond mortified that THAT was the sentence that came to mind in my time of need.

"Hey, Ophelia, what happened this morning? You would not believe what everyone is saying about some new guy, and you?" I turned to look at Codie. She was the only one who ever seemed to use my full name all the time. Deep breathing in order to correctly retell my harrowing experience, I let the word vomit flow. 

Codie listened intently, only interrupting a couple of different times to ask questions around the events of the morn. When I was finished, and all the motions had been accurately caricatured, she stood very still for the amount of 3 full seconds before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"Codie, it's not that funny." I elbowed her as we walk towards the gym. 

"Of course it's that funny!" She banters back. "Listen, if that had been me, I don't know if I could have handled that kind of pressure like you did. I think you did pretty good, considering, partner." 

Wincing, I shifted the weight of my duffel bag to my bare shoulder to put some space between us. "I don't know. I think I sounded like a moron."

She started lifting her arms, stretching out her lean muscles. "Well, let's find a positive. Maybe he found it endearing, or charming?" Her broad smile was more than I could resist. I had to laugh at myself a little.

"Yeah if your idea of charming is clumsy, overweight, socially awkward and non-interactive nerds. He'll be eating out of my hand our next encounter." I scoffed.

"Well, I mean it worked on me when we first met."  She poked my rib roll, her smile breaking on her face. "You were such a clutzy know-it-all that I just had to be friends with you, remember?" She teased.

Codie Elizabeth Jamison has been one of my closest friends since 7th grade. They had just moved to the area, and my mom was determined to be her mother Jessica Jamison's best friend. 

Jessica, you see, was once listed as one of the "Top Ten Most Powerful Women in the Country," and my mom thought it would be a good idea to invite her over for a luncheon. 

We had never held a luncheon before Jessica Jamison moved to town. 

AND when my mother had heard tell that Jessica had a DAUGHTER, it was like the sky had opened and had dropped the most amazing gift of the universe in her lap. Surely, Ava could win her over with the style and grace that no other 14 year old could boast.

But alas, much to my mothers chagrin--and to my delight--Codie came over and was forced to sit in a room and play with me. It was a slow start to a relationship, mostly because Codie was used to people trying to manipulate her to get close to her mom; but as soon as she found out I was just a normal dork that didn't want to be there either, we were fast friends. 

Following the line of girls in the locker room to dress out for gym, I fiddled with the fray in my blue hoodie sleeve. This was one part of the day that I wish I didn't have to take part. Every girl made their way to a designated locker, doors opening and closing, and clothes being ripped off. 

I usually tried to sneak to the water closets so that I didn't have to change in front of the other girls. In my uniform of boring blue, I felt fine. But standing there for even a couple minutes in my underwear was excruciating. 

It hadn't been that long since Bethany had walked past me and had directed oinking noises at me, saying ugly things like, "Fat back...slob..." and a couple other choice words. The place had erupted with laughter led by the brat doll army as tears had streamed down my face. 

Codie hadn't been in there, since she usually changes early to get a head start on stretching, but ever since she has stuck by my side to make sure that no one else tried again. Everyone holds Codie in a weird place of reverence. She fits in with all the crowds. Popular kids like her, dorks look up to her, fat girls like me consider her their best friend, and no one touches her.

"Hey, I'm headed out to stretch. Are you going to be OK?" Codie asks, already stretching her quads as she spoke. Nervousness fluttered in my heart. "Yeah, girl. I'll be fine. I'm cool." She nodded, asking again before lightly jogging back to the basketball court. 

Snatching up my clothes, I almost tiptoed my way to the water closets, not wanting to draw any undue attention to myself. There are literally so many mirrors in here. Why do they think that we need to see ourselves from a million angles? There's a wall full of mirrors on either side of the dress out room. One wall faces the lockers, one wall is adjacent to the water closets and sinks. I can't escape my reflection in here, which is the last thing I really want to see.

Today though, something feels different. Examining my blonde tight curls that are tied on top of my head, I can't help but wince.  My skin, while clear right now from any pimples, just doesn't seem to glow. My pudge seems to be screaming for attention no matter what I wear. I have love handles, thick thighs, a round tummy and a round face. 

The only nice thing about myself I can say, is that I truly enjoy my lips. My full pink lips are the only genetic thing that I've stolen from my mom. If only I had just been dainty, you know? The girls that have slim hips, and don't have football pads for shoulders, and wear under size 10 shoes. Sometimes I feel like Shrek roaming the halls.

I enter the small room where I've gotten used to dressing, and change clothes with sloth-like precision. Today was almost over. 

Hallelujah. 

Maybe I could volunteer for a couple extra laps today. You know. Get a head start on a crazy idea lurking in the back of my mind.

*****************************

Dropping my pencil onto the kitchen table, a sigh of frustration exits my body. Why do I need to know this stuff if I'm never going to be a mathematician? Observing my obvious distress, my mother rotates to face me. 

"Sweet pea, what's wrong? You haven't been yourself lately." She moves from the stove to join me at the table, gently taking my hand into hers.

I hate when moms ask you questions like that. What are you supposed to say? Spill your guts right there? Maybe it's just me, but I hate expressing stuff like that to my mom. It's like she doesn't really understand, and then she tries to give me a pep talk on how to fix my problem when I really just want her to listen to me. And for her to tell me that it'll be OK.

So trust me, when I blurted this sentence out of my mouth, it shocked not just her, but me too-- 

"I want to lose weight."

Shock is not exactly the word I would use to describe the state of my poor mother's face. 

Her eyes widened. Her nostrils flared, and her hand came up to cover her mouth. 

I don't know how long my mom has been trying to get me to diet or start a weight loss regimen. Probably the first time she mentioned it would have been after I managed to eat 8 cupcakes at my seventh birthday? It was like I couldn't get full. They were delicious, and when I realized how many of them I had eaten, it wasn't a sense of remorse...more of accomplishment.

I remember how my mom tried her hardest not to use the word "skinny" as an adjective when it came to comparing me and my sister. Ava was always "slender," or "petite." And then with me she always used phrases like "big-boned," or "built big." 

We had to pick out clothes from different sides of the department stores. Ava could always fit in the Juniors section, while I was shopping in the Misses, just wishing for once that I could buy something that didn't look like a 43 year-old soccer mom also owned the same shirt.

I looked at my moms face, waiting for her to say something, anything. Regaining her composure, she politely asked, "What's brought this on, baby?" 

Twisting my lips, I knew I couldn't tell her the truth that I was tired of being the fat girl at school that everyone made fun of. 

So, I lied. 

"I just think it's time I took my health into my own hands."

My mother closed her eyes, reveling in the thought of finally having some say in how I live my life. Up 'til now, I've been my father's daughter, off limits to everything girly. He's made me play sports, attend golf retreats with him, and has even taken me to raceway competitions. 

He's always been proud that I've been his baby girl that wasn't afraid to be herself. Except that's the whole thing. 

I haven't felt like myself this whole time. 

Ava, on the other hand, has always been the girl that's done all the girly things. She's been to all the dances while I haven't been to one. She cheers and does pageants and buys makeup and goes shopping with her friends like it's her job. 

My friends and I get together to watch movies and play video games.

"Well, baby. First things first. Let me holler at your sister real quick, and we'll get the ball rolling. You know Ava. She loves helping her baby sister."  Mom made her way to the staircase, yelling at Ava the whole time to, "Come down the stairs! Opie needs to tell you something!"

Awesome. That's exactly what I need. My perfect sister giving me tips on how to live a perfect life. I hear her making her way down the stairs, her footfall so light and airy. She bounces up the table, face mask in place with her hair tied up in a towel. "What's up y'all?"

My mother gives me a pointed look, expecting me to make the first advances in this conversation. I shrug looking at her. "You're the one who called Ava down here, not me." My words kind of come out clipped and I notice the flinch in my mother's face as she turns to address Ava.

"You're sister has decided," she starts, turning to eyeball me with a bit of annoyance her tone, "that she would like to take her health under control, and is considering losing some weight." 

I gulp as mom finishes speaking. What have I done? 

I should have kept this to myself.

Ava turns to me, beaming, "YOU HAVE?"

I try to swallow my contempt for this kind of conversation. Allowing myself to breathe, I look up at her in earnest. "Yeah, A. I think it's time that I try to shed some of the baby weight." 

Ava sucks in her cheeks, and I can see her eyes moving back and forth like she's strategizing the movements 10 different Tetris boards at once. She makes eye contact with me. 

"Fine," she says simply. "I'm going to make you an eating plan, and an exercise plan that you can start doing tomorrow. Mom?" Ava yells over her shoulder. 

"Yes, Ava?" 

Ava stops at the stairs and gives mom a sharp look. "Get out the chicken breasts. We're going to need them."

Mom nods and hops up to go check the freezer. I happen to look at the stove and notice that the pot mom had on the burner is boiling over. Wow. 

Why did I feel like I was now the content of this pot?