Perfectly Thin, page 16
“We are going to...” She points a finger at me, as if I should know what we’re going to do. “We’re going to go to Target, and by the time we’re done there, Presley should be finished with work and you’ll be hungry, and we’ll all sit down to have a late lunch.”
Right. Back to the food thing, again. “Awesome.” How am I supposed to get out of eating when it’ll be late in the day? Emma and I head into Target, and I find some plain t-shirts, and hold them up against me. Emma’s face says it all. She thinks they’re hideous. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s a t-shirt. It’s plain,” she answers candidly.
“Yeah, but it’ll hide my massive hips.”
“Which you don’t have.”
“I know you’re my best friend, but you don’t have to lie to me. I know what I look like, and I’m far from pretty, or skinny or any other attractive adjective you can think of.”
“Well, I think you’re perfect. But anyway, what would I know?” She turns, and holds up a pair of jeans. “These are nice, what do you think?”
I’m not sure how to react. They’re definitely cute, but they’ve got small rips going up the leg, kinda similar to the ones she gave me at her birthday. People will be able to see my fat, white legs beneath them. “I like them, but I don’t think they’ll suit me.”
“Okay. Is it the rips or the color?”
“The rips,” I reply. She shoots me a questioning look. “They’re more ripped then the ones you gave me.”
“No rips, but the color is good?” I nod. “Okay then. What size?”
“Sixteen, obviously.”
“Try on a fourteen, see if they fit.”
“Fourteen? Really?”
“Hey, I gave you a size ten in that shirt and it was too big, but these are jeans, and cut differently. So just try them on. The worst thing is if they’re too big and we have to get you a smaller pair.”
She has high hopes. Size fourteen is absurd. I can only wish I was a fourteen, I mean, if I was a fourteen, at least I’d know I was going in the right direction. “Sure, let’s try a fourteen.” I feel like laughing in Emma’s face, but I know that’s not the nice thing to do. I’ll let her see how ludicrous her suggestion actually is.
“Change rooms are over there.” She walks ahead of me toward the back of the store.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll call you in to see how they look.”
“Sure.”
I go into the room, close the door, and try to not look at the ugly fat girl in the mirror. God, I hate mirrors. They really emphasize every flaw a person has; there’s no hiding anything when you’re forced to confront yourself by looking in the mirror.
Taking off my leggings, I slide the jeans up over my thunder thighs, then up over my beefy hips. The jeans fall to the top of my hips, where they sag like a limp, wet towel. “Ugh,” I groan. “Emma?”
“Yeah?”
“They don’t fit.”
“Of course not, because we got you the wrong size.”
I roll my eyes. Yeah right. More like these are mis-sized. “I think I need a smaller pair.”
“Let me look,” she insists from the other side of the door.
Great, she’s going to laugh at me, and tell me how ridiculous I look. I open the door, and stand in front of Emma. Her eyes travel the length of my body. “See.”
“Ahhh, Jane, I hate to tell you, but they are unbelievably large. You have to see that, right?”
Yeah, because they sewed the wrong size on them. “Well, yeah, these are too big.”
“Change out of them, and I’ll go get another size, okay?” Emma has a giant smile on her face, she looks happy again. Before I get a chance to reply, she’s already fast-walked out of the change rooms to get me another pair.
I close the door, take the jeans off and stand in just my t-shirt and underwear, confronted by the foul beast reflecting in the full-length mirror.
I don’t dare meet its nasty image, it’ll make me cry, and I don’t want to cry not on my birthday.
“Here.” Emma slings a pair of jeans over the door, and I take them and look at the size. Why is she persisting in forcing me to try a size that is so obviously incorrect?
I take a deep breath, and figure, I may as well try them. She’ll see how horrendous they are, because I can’t get them past my chunky thighs, and she’ll finally leave well enough alone.
I slide the jeans up my legs, and close my eyes, feeling sick to my stomach, not wanting to be confronted by the facts of my atrocious body.
“Here goes nothing,” I mumble to myself, knowing these size ten jeans will not fit. I get them past my thighs, then past my hips, button and zip up the jeans.
They might fit, but I look like an over-stuffed sausage, about to explode.
“How do they look?” Emma asks, eagerness bouncing in her voice.
“I look like I’m about to burst, that’s what I look like. They’re super tight, and I can actually see the rolls of my fat on my legs. And I have a camel-toe. So, no.”
“Let me see!”
“What, you want to see my vagina being sliced in two? I don’t think so.”
“You always look at yourself in the worst possible way. Let me tell you truthfully how you look.”
I open the door, and place my right hand on my hip. “I see myself fairly accurately.”
Emma’s mouth falls open as her lips draw up into a huge smile. “Oh my God. These look so, so, so great on you.”
“Look.” I bend slightly, and grab the roll of fat above the knee on the side of my thigh. “Can you not see these?”
“You are quite literally grabbing at the material. You’ve lost weight, and look phenomenal, please trust me, you look ah-maze-ing.”
“I don’t feel comfortable in these.”
“Look, buy them, and wear them tonight to your birthday party, and watch your entire family tell you how good you look. Hell, I don’t think I could fit in them.”
“Yeah, right. You’re like freaking gorgeous. You and Presley, and I’m the frumpy, fat, ugly friend.” I close the door, and take the jeans off. I don’t want to hear what Emma thinks of me, because she’s trying to make me out to be something I’m not.
I’ll never be thin, or beautiful. I suppose, I have to learn to live with it.
I pull my leggings up, and my heart drops into my stomach. I know I’ll never be anything to look at, but will anyone ever think of me as a someone, and not a something?
“Now, you have to act surprised like you had no idea this was going on,” Presley says as we get out of Mark’s car.
“I’ll grab the shopping bags.” Mark closes the driver’s door and heads to the trunk.
“Told you you’d rock those jeans,” Emma says.
“They look so good on you, Jane,” Presley says as she puts her arm around my shoulder and hugs me close to her body.
Why are they trying to make me feel better? I suppose that’s what friends do. But really, they don’t have to pretend I’m anything but who I am. I’ve come to terms with it. They should too.
“Do you guys know who’ll be here?” I ask. I hope Mom hasn’t gone and invited half my grade, I really don’t want anyone here but the people who are around me now, and my family.
“No idea, she just said to get you out of the house,” Emma replies.
My entire body shivers as an unsettled feeling washes over me. I find myself nervously biting on my thumb nail. My mouth is dry, and I feel like running away.
I open the front door, and I’m met with silence.
Please, please, please, let this be a quiet family dinner. Please, I’m begging, I don’t want anyone else from school.
“Mom, Dad?” I call as I walk in. It’s just after five, and it’s still daylight, so I know they’ve got to be somewhere.
I hear something from out in the back near Yiayia and Papou’s granny flat. I inhale deeply, close my eyes for a moment, and exhale. Might as well get this over and done with.
“Mom, Dad?”
The quiet before the storm.
Suddenly, though not out of nowhere, I’m startled by the loudest, most joyful, yell of “Surprise!”.
Of course, I knew what was going on, but I have to pretend like I didn’t. “Oh my!” I exclaim as I lift both hands to cover my mouth in fake shock.
I’m truly grateful that it’s just my immediate family, and my best friends. Both Daphne and Cleo are here, but there’s someone I don’t know. He’s hugging Cleo from behind, and has a huge smile on his face. Who is he? Obvious he’s her boyfriend, and of course, I’m the last to hear about him. Why would Cleo say anything to me? It’s not like we’re sisters or anything.
Oh my God, the smell of lamb on the spit is making my mouth water. I see the lamb slowly turning, and I’m tempted to run over and start eating the meat straight off the spit, without even cutting it.
“Hey!! Here’s the birthday girl!” Dad says as he walks over first, gives me a hug and a kiss. Thankfully, he distracts me from my own gluttonous thoughts of shoving all that lamb into my face.
“χρόνια πολλά,” Papou says next, embracing me, and peppering a ton of kisses on my face.
“Thank you,” I say at Papou’s birthday wishes. Everyone takes turns kissing and hugging me.
Cleo walks up, holding hands with the guy she’s with. “Happy birthday, sis.” She leans in and gives me a cold, quick hug. She pulls away, and with a huge smile, and a glint in her eyes, she says, “This is Josh. He’s my boyfriend.” She lifts her shoulders in pride.
“Nice to meet you,” I say to him as I extend my hand to shake his.
“Cleo’s told me a lot about you,” he says as he shakes my hand.
For some reason, I find that quite hard to believe. “Good things I hope?”
“Jane, you’ve lost even more weight. You look like a skeleton. Eat something, will you?” Cleo snaps at me.
My shoulders drop, and my eyes fall to the ground. I find myself wringing my hands together.
“Leave her alone, Cleo,” Daphne says as she stands beside me and gives me a hug.
“I’m just saying, she needs to eat. She’s way too skinny.”
I hold a breath in, hoping this nightmare will be over quicker than it started. “She looks great, and you have to stop being so hard on everyone,” Daphne bites back.
Cleo’s mouth opens, and she rolls her eyes. “If she can’t take it, she should grow a backbone. And you don’t need to defend her all the time.”
“Babe, come on,” Josh says, trying to calm her bitchiness down.
“What? It’s true. She looks terrible. And she should eat a burger and fatten up.”
I can’t take Cleo’s shit anymore. She’s pushed me without even knowing. Or maybe she’s well aware of her horrible attitude. “For whatever reason, Cleo, you’ve always been a bitch to me. And I don’t even know why. Maybe you should leave.” I half smile. I despise confrontation, but I can’t take her crap anymore.
“What?” Cleo asks, her voice small and hurt.
“You’re forever putting me down. It’s obvious you don’t want to be here, so go. If that’s what you want, I can’t force you to stay.”
“Jane?” Daphne looks at me.
I turn to look at Daphne and offer her some kindness. “Well, it’s true. She’s self-absorbed and doesn’t give a rat’s ass what she says. So, now I don’t give a rat’s ass what I say.” I turn back to Cleo and Josh. “It was nice meeting you Josh.” I leave to go give Papou a hug.
“I can’t believe you, Cleo,” Daphne says as I walk away.
“What? You’re acting like it’s my fault. You saw her, she verbally attacked me for no reason.”
I don’t bother listening anymore. Instead, I see Papou talking with Dad. “Papou, what’s happening?”
“Look.” He proudly points to the lamb as it turns slowly on the spit. The lamb crackles as the fire below shoots up when some fat burns and drips down. “Your father and I are cooking it.”
“Ahhh, and this is why you needed me out of the house all day. The spit has been going. Who seasoned it?” Please don’t be Papou. Please don’t be Papou. He makes a blend of spices so perfect, it could turn a vegan into a lamb-eating maniac.
“I did,” Papou says with the biggest smile as his chest puffs out.
Damn it! Why? I swear the universe is out to get me. And this, ladies and gentlemen is why I’m the size of a house. Because all the food that comes out of the kitchen of my parents, or grandparents is so good, you can’t help but go back for seconds, and thirds, and sometimes fourths.
But I’m disciplined, so I’m not going to eat a single bite of anything. Or I won’t stop, then I’ll feel worse, and I’ll do something drastic.
I can’t do this to myself. I have at least another twenty-eight pounds to lose, and that’s only if the scales aren’t broken (which I know they totally are). I know it’s more like forty pounds. So, I’m going to zip my mouth, and not eat.
“It smells amazing, Papou. I think you’ve outdone yourself.”
“Yeah? Here. I cut you some. You are the birthday girl.” Papou picks the large, sharp knife, and the big Y-fork, and goes to slice a bit of the lamb off.
“When I come back, I need to go to the bathroom,” I quickly say before he actually slices it.
“We’ll wait.”
I smile, lean in and give Papou a kiss.
I quickly make a bee-line for the bathroom, and lock myself in before anyone can try to get me to eat anything. I lean against the back of the door, and close my eyes. Sliding to the cold tile, I rest my head on my drawn-up knees.
“How am I going to get away with not eating?” I ask myself. A plethora of scenarios starts reeling through my head. I can cut my hand so deeply it’ll need stitches at the hospital. I can say I ate already and I’m not hungry, but Emma’s here, and I know she’ll call me out on that lie. I can pretend I’m not feeling well and go lay down while everyone’s eating. Hell, I can run in front of a car and get hit by it. Anything is better than actually eating.
There’s not one thing I can think of that’s plausible, or do-able. I’m going to have to eat something, or everyone’s going to look at me like I’m a freak.
A fat freak who really shouldn’t be eating, but still, a freak none the less.
“Shit,” I say as I heave my fat ass off the floor. I forgot the damn laxatives. What am I going to do? How am I supposed to eat, and not have at least two laxatives before food to help get rid of it quickly?
Maybe Yiayia might have some. But I can’t really ask. I know, I’ll go to her bathroom, and search her medicine cabinet. She’s like a walking pharmacy, she has so many drugs, if anyone gets sick, we don’t actually need to go to the doctor.
Smiling to myself, every memory of anyone getting sick in our home has Yiayia there with one of her drugs, ready to help. “See, I have something, no use in wasting money going to the doctor,” she always says.
Truthfully, it does come in handy that she’s a bit of a medical hoarder. I’m fairly certain she’d have laxatives in her overfilled medical tubs.
I walk over to wash my hands, and notice just how gross I’m looking. The jeans are horrible, and really spotlight the fatness of my legs. The top is okay, I guess. But I wish it was bigger and not so tight. All my eyes can see is bulges everywhere.
I look away before I puke at my own hideous reflection.
I head out, by-pass Papou and sneak into their granny flat. No one is in here, which means extra time for me to search for some laxatives. No one would suspect me to be in here, so no one will be looking for me either.
I go into the bathroom, and open the doors beneath the basin. Inside are two tubs filled with medical supplies.
One tub has bandages and band-aids, slings, ankle braces, all sorts of weird, yet sometimes useful things.
The other is slightly smaller in size, and is jam-packed with bottles and small cartons of pills in blister packs.
I search through as quietly as I can, trying to find the laxatives. Tylenol, Advil, Gaviscon, Mortrin, Excedrin, Claritin, Rolaids, Cortaid, come on, where are the laxatives?
Yes! An entire packet of Dulcolax with only two taken out of one of the blister sleeves. I take the blister sleeve with two missing, and another and slide them into my back pocket. These will do for a few days, but I really need to buy some myself. I pop two out of another sleeve, swallow them with no water, and place the tub back under the basin, and close the door. I flush the toilet in case anyone is on the other side, listening, and wash my hands.
Opening the door, I half expect everyone to be standing there, with their arms crossed in front of their chests and their feet tapping. But no one is waiting.
I look around relieved that I haven’t been caught stealing my Yiayia’s laxatives. It’s just laxatives, no big deal. It’s not like it’s crystal meth or anything.
Walking out, I notice how everyone is kind of standing together and talking. It’s really kinda nice. I especially like how it’s only us, and no one else from school is here. I’m not a fan of anyone else. I mean I get on with some people, but not all.
“Hey, birthday girl, what are you drinking?” Daphne hollers when she sees me.
“I’ll have a bottle of your top-shelf water. I’ll take it with ice,” I jokingly reply.
Daphne shakes her head, and picks up a bottle of something, pours some into two glasses, and walks over to hand one to me. “Mom and Dad said you can drink. So, you’re drinking.”
I lift it to my nose, and sniff. The drink brings tears to my eyes. “Are you trying to kill me. What is this?”
“Tequila.” She smiles, and quickly slams back the one she has in her glass. Thankfully, there’s only a small amount down the bottom of the glass. But it still doesn’t appeal to me. “It’s good,” she says as she screws her face straight after slamming it down.
“Yeah, it looks like it’s awesome.” I hold the glass up, and pretend to sip it. It only touches my lips, and when I lick them, it’s enough to turn me off drinking this crap. No thanks, no tequila for me. “Here.” I hand Daph the glass, and shake my head. She silently questions me. “Yeah, that’s a no from me, thanks.”
