The fitting room mirrors laughed at me as I pulled off my jeans for what felt like the umpteenth time that day and tossed them over the chair in the corner. I stood like that, half-clothed, staring at myself for what must have been a very long time, because a voice from the other side of the door snapped me back from my thoughts.
“Everything okay in there, Abigail?” It was the Avon-lady shop assistant. I had no idea how long I had been staring at my bare legs and butt. Quickly, I pulled off my shirt and yanked the dress off the hanger. The material strained as I pulled it, and I thought it deserved no less.
“Yes, everything is fine,” I called back, hoping the woman would just go away and forget I existed.
The dress fell over my shoulders and rested on my waist, and I immediately hated it. The dress itself was beautiful—when it was on the hanger. I just did not think my body did it justice. As expected, the color did look great with my dark hair, but even that was no longer as glossy as it once had been. Now it hung limply around my shoulders as I tried in vain to adjust the dress to some semblance of decency.
A knock sounded at the door of the fitting room, and I was immediately annoyed. Was it really necessary to badger me like this? Was there a queue of people waiting for the fitting room or something?
“I am coming!” I snapped with more venom than necessary, enunciating each word separately. All the adjustments in the world were not going to make a difference anyway. I sighed and clicked open the door. Jennifer was on the other side, her face clouded again.
She brightened as she saw me. “Abby, you look beautiful!”
Did she really have to speak so loudly? The others chimed in agreeably as I trudged out of the fitting room, barefoot. I knew that I was dragging my feet like a petulant toddler but, at that point, I really did not care anymore.
The shop assistant handed me a pair of sequin-encrusted silver shoes with a small heel, and I reluctantly slipped my feet into them. I walked in front of the large mirror and eyed myself hesitantly, starting at my sequined feet and tracing my way up my body to the bulge around my waist, and eventually my limp and lifeless hair. All around me I could hear the others saying how much they loved the dress, how good it looked on me, and how they could not wait to try the same style on themselves.
I had not known what good liars they all were until today.
Jen was at my side, pinching the material around my waist, and I flinched from her touch. She looked at me quizzically. She had a handful of the dress on one side of my waist as she looked at me. “I guess we could take it in?”
She had to be crazy. Take it in? Clearly this was just a large size, and in reality, I had a long way to go before I could really pull this dress off. Or any dress, for that matter. Heck, even jeans were becoming a challenge.
“We can always make adjustments closer to the time. That is usually better anyway, as you don’t want it to be too big or small on the day,” the shop assistant said hopefully.
Too small would apply to me without a doubt, I thought.
“Yeah, that is better,” I agreed, “I have got some more weight to lose anyway.” My words hung in the air. I turned to go and pull the dress off. I just wanted to be back in my jeans and baggy shirt, but Jen was speaking and keeping me there wearing that dress like a loser. Could she not just let me go?
“Abby, you cannot lose any more weight. Seriously, you have already lost a lot, and you did not even need to lose it in the first place.”
Heat rose in my cheeks, and I knew that my chest was flushed with embarrassment without looking at myself in the mirror. Was she seriously going to discuss this in public? Right here in the middle of the store? Did she have no concern for my privacy? It wasn’t just the shop assistant, Jasmine, and Taylor, but other women had also come into the small store and were browsing over in the corner. They probably thought Jen was as crazy as I did. Too much weight? Was she mad? She had clearly spent too much time on wedding stuff, and she was killing her brain cells off with cake tastings and registries. Here’s hoping her smarts would return after the ceremony, and then she would be able to see me for what I actually was.
I said nothing, just glowered at her, hoping she would get the message.
“Yeah, Abigail,” Jasmine chimed in supporting her friend. “I agree with Jen, that dress would look amazing on you, but if you lose any more weight you won’t be able to wear it.”
I did not reply. I knew that if I did, I would be vicious about it.
The fitting room door slammed behind me, and the freestanding structure swayed slightly. I roughly yanked the dress over my head and put my jeans and shirt back on. I could not believe that Jen would be so cruel as to start discussing my weight around everyone. Was she trying to humiliate me? I didn’t even bother putting the dress back on the hanger.
I slammed my way out of the fitting room, flung it over the top of the rail, and planted myself in a chair as far away from Jennifer as I could get. I really needed to get out of there.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her slowly pick it up, smooth it out, and put it back on the hanger. It reminded me of my mom picking up a toy I had thrown in frustration as a child.
I sat with my arms crossed, staring at the floor, feeling utterly alone despite the buzzing shop activities around me. If I had looked up, I would have seen the others exchanging glances, communicating their confusion and concern wordlessly. Instead, I was locked in my misery, my folded arms a barrier to any empathy. I did not want their concern or suggestions. I knew I was behaving like a child and, in fact, I was embarrassed the moment my butt had hit the chair. I could not help myself, though; it was just too much. The pressure of trying to find the perfect dress when I was so far less than perfect was just compounded by everything else I was feeling right now.
While everyone else was feeling excitement at all of these upcoming changes and new events, I felt complete terror. My world as I knew it was about to come to an end, and I had no idea if I was strong enough to handle that. In fact, I knew very well that I was not strong enough to handle it because here I was, falling to pieces over a dress.
The silence from Jennifer, Jasmine, and Taylor eventually made me look up to see if they had abandoned me in the store. They were still there, though. Jen was across the shop, chatting quietly to the shop assistant, who was nodding agreeably. I could not hear their conversation, but she was probably apologizing for the crazy behavior of her marshmallow-shaped kid sister.
Perhaps the sales lady was asking her not to bring me back there.
“It will be okay, Abby.” Taylor’s statement was so sincere and so kind that I felt tears well up in my eyes. I was not going to humiliate myself anymore by crying in public too, like a blubbering whale. I had to get out of there. I muttered something about needing to go to the restroom, and broke away, almost running to the small customer restroom in the corner of the store. It was thankfully empty, and if it had not been I may have wrestled the occupant out just to get away from the situation I had created.
Inside the cubicle, I sat on the closed toilet lid and dabbed at my eyes with a small piece of toilet paper. I tried not to smear my mascara to avoid looking like a racoon on top of everything else.
A poster on the inside of the cubicle door reminded ladies not to flush foreign objects down the toilet. If I wasn’t so big, I would not mind flushing myself down the toilet at that moment just so that I didn’t have to go back outside and face everyone. So stupid. So, so stupid, Abby.
I took deep gulps of air into my lungs, trying to still my racing heart.
“Hey, Abby.” Jennifer’s soft voice came from outside the cubicle. “We’re ready to go. We’ll see you outside.” Her voice was not filled with venom. She sounded sad, and that was somehow worse. I wished she would just be angry at me. At least then I could shout back at her and get out some of this frustration. Now it just sat in my chest like a clump of food I hadn’t chewed properly or spit out.
I had ruined what should have been a fun da
y for her and her friends. I had to be the worst sister on earth.
“Okay,” I croaked, “I’m almost done.” I stood up and took a deep breath again. My hands were shaking. Dropping the toilet paper into the toilet, I watched it get swept away by a swirl of water.
I avoided the gaze of the shop assistant as I made my way through the store to the door. I really hoped I would never see her again.
Outside on the street, Jasmine and Taylor were cracking jokes, and Jennifer was smiled at me weakly when she noticed me. I was glad that she had them, at least.
My arrival prompted a moment of silence.
“Well, we managed to get through day one of wedding prep.” Jasmine laughed. “We are all alive, and we know what we don’t want, so I’ll say that was a win.” Taylor agreed with a nod, and Jasmine threaded one arm over my shoulders and the other over Jen’s, joining us together whether we liked it or not. “When we’re walking down that aisle in front of Jen, we are going to look back at this and laugh.” She planted a kiss on my tear-stained cheek, and then one on Jen’s.
As I looked at my sister’s disappointed face and recognized how my total lack of control had impacted her, I seriously doubted that could be true. Her wedding day was either going to be a total disaster with me, or I would not be there at all.
Cars zoomed past on the busy Brooklyn main road, and I could not wait to get to Jen’s car so that we could just get out of there. I wanted to be at home, in my room on my own with no one to judge me or give me fake compliments and encouragement. I should probably just tell Jen that she could take me out of the wedding party. It would make things so much easier for her and everyone else. I would just attend as a guest like the rest of the people that would be there.
At that point, I really did not feel like I even deserved the honor of standing by her side on the most important day of her life. She deserved a better sister than the one she had.
2
Hours later, I was in my room. It did not offer the solace I had hoped for. It was funny how things followed you no matter where you went. The house was quiet. I was sure that Mom was most likely on her laptop downstairs catching up on work, and I knew Jen was having dinner with Jacob because I had heard her tell Mom that when she left.
I could just imagine her relaying the day’s events to him with disgust. Jacob would be shaking his head in disbelief. She would be telling him how immaturely I had behaved, maybe complaining that she would never be able to find a bridesmaid’s dress for me. Her marshmallow kid sister. She was possibly wishing she had never asked me to be a bridesmaid at all.
She probably felt like she had no choice. You have to choose your sister as a bridesmaid, don’t you?
Poor Jen.
I had arranged sanitizing wipes, a bottle of antibacterial household cleaner, a damp cloth, and a bottle of Windex on top of my dresser. It was time to create order out of chaos. I had just finished changing my sheets, and I was breathing quite hard from trying to get the duvet inside its cover. Why did they make that so hard, I wondered.
“How many calories does changing sheets burn?” I typed the question into the search engine on my phone and got varying answers. The answer, I thought, is nowhere near enough to make a difference to you, Abigail Hall.
I pulled on the bright yellow cleaning gloves and got ready to tackle my bedside table. I removed my alarm clock, which was set to 5:00 am, and the book I was reading for English class.
I briefly held The Color Purple in my hands. It was a riveting book, there was no doubt about that, but one I had found I could only read in short spurts right now. With everything going on, I just didn’t feel like I could cope with its heavy themes. I was going to have to finish it soon for English class.
My bedside table gleamed back at me. The stained oak finish was still as beautiful as the day my mom proudly purchased it for me, and I had not even laid a hand on it yet. I tugged a sanitizing wipe out of the pack and wiped down the surface. I started in the middle and moved my hand the way I had seen in a YouTube video, up and down movements that don’t cross over so as not to spread germs back onto the spot I had already cleaned. I remembered showing my mom the technique one night when she was wiping down the kitchen counter after dinner, and she had looked at me like I was an alien. She hadn’t used my technique the next time she wiped it down.
I turned the sanitizing wipe over and ran it over the corners of the table, using my fingernail to get into the embossed lines in the wood. I discarded the wipe in my dustbin and started with the furniture spray, spraying and rubbing until the surface was streak-free from every possible angle. I knew this because I checked and double-checked every possible angle to be sure.
A fresh wipe would remove any unseen germs from my alarm clock, in every nook and cranny, and I even wiped the surface of my book, waving it in the air to dry before placing it neatly on the corner of the table.
That looked good, I thought.
Opening the drawer on the table, I removed all of its contents: my diary, some hair clips and ties, my makeup bags, and the neatly folded flyer which I knew announced my senior prom.
I swallowed deeply as I pulled that out of the drawer and unfolded it. When these had been handed out in the beginning of the school year, I’d had no doubt as to who my partner would be.
Now, though, I had no idea.
I briefly considered just not going. I really had no interest in watching happy couples kiss, dance, and flirt while I stood on the sidelines. Plus, I knew one of those couples would be Brandon and Grace, and I was certainly not looking forward to that. I would rather remove a kidney with a rusty screwdriver.
I knew my mom and sister would probably drag me to prom rather than let me skip it. They had called it “a rite of passage,” but it felt more like it would be a rite of torture at this point. Maybe it would not be so bad if Kya, Ryan, and I all went as a group. Comfort in numbers, perhaps? They didn’t have partners either, as far as I knew, although knowing my luck, they would hook up with someone before prom came round.
Of course that would happen. I rolled my eyes at myself.
I pulled off my cleaning gloves and picked up my diary, fanning the pages in a race through time. My handwriting varied only slightly between entries. When I was tired, it seemed to slant a little more to the left, and when I was writing about something that excited me, the characters were round and bold. I always used the same type of pen.
“Jennifer and Jacob are engaged!” I had written a few months before when life was so different and I hadn’t felt quite so overwhelmed. “My big sister is going to be someone’s wife! How weird is that?” I starkly recalled feeling elated for Jen when I was first told. She and Jacob were an amazing couple, and I was really happy for them both. I was glad that Jacob was going to officially be a part of our family. A few days later, the reality had started to sink in, and suddenly it didn’t seem such a great moment anymore.
“We are probably not going to talk as much anymore. She’s going to be all wrapped up in wedding stuff, and then married-person stuff, and then probably babies. Is it dumb that I feel like I’m losing my sister?”
That feeling had only increased in intensity since that day. My panic at these uncontrolled changes had mounted with every dress fitting and bridal magazine she showed me. At today’s dress fitting, I had made myself feel even more isolated by behaving the way I had. It was like I couldn’t help it, considering Jen had just blurted stuff out about my weight in front of everyone. How had she expected me to react? How would anyone react to that?
I had tucked my college acceptance letter into my diary on the day I had received it. I had been so excited to tell Brandon, but the conversation didn’t go the way I had expected it to. That moment too was recorded in my diary in stomach-turning detail.
“So Brandon broke up with me,” I had written, and I noticed some of the words were smeared from tear drops. I was usually not an emotional person, but I hadn’t been expecting what was coming, and it had caught me
off guard. I realized that I had been crying quite a bit as of late. “He says he thinks it’s better that we split up before we go to college because he doesn’t believe in long-distance relationships. I think it’s got more to do with Grace, though. I’ve noticed how she acts around him, all giggly, and tossing that blonde hair when she thinks he’s looking. Well, good luck to them.”
I vividly recalled how I had excitedly run up to Brandon at school that day, the letter from the college flapping around in my hand. He must have been laughing at me in his head. I had gotten the news out of my mouth, but his reaction was not what I had expected. Instead of joining in with my joy, he grunted and then said he had something he wanted to tell me. I had pushed the letter into my pocket after that as he broke my heart, and suddenly college did not seem at all important.
A few days later, my suspicions had been confirmed. “Brandon definitely lied to me. I saw him and Grace together today, and there is no doubt they are a couple. I don’t know why I ever thought I would be right for him anyway. Grace is gorgeous, and her waist is the size of my arm.”
The pages that followed in my diary chronicled my struggle with the breakup and seeing Grace and Brandon at school every day. At first, when I would see Brandon—and inevitably Grace, since they always seemed to be together—it felt like my heart was literally fracturing in two. Slowly, it became easier, but the sight of them still pained me. Over the months, it became more like a dull thud in my chest. In the early days, my mom and Jen had tried to comfort me with all the usual “plenty of fish in the sea” adages and tried to convince me that Brandon was not good enough for me anyway. What a load of hogwash. It was sweet of them to try to make me feel better, but completely fake in my opinion. The pain of the unexpected breakup had made me physically ill.
Not Just a Number: A Young Adult Contemporary Novel Page 2