by Alona Jarden
All the fatsos around me remained with their gaze fixed on me and suddenly I was very aware of that. I prayed for Janice to turn the session around, and if not, I prayed for the ground to crack open and swallow me inside it.
I eagerly waited for someone else to draw the attention by sharing their successes or failures of the past day, but none of them did.
Damn it. I went too far.
Everyone was still looking at me and I just wanted to die!
Chapter 2
Don
"Oh, good God!" My mother jumped with hysteria and hurried toward me as I crashed ungracefully onto the floor.
The chair I was sitting on collapsed in the middle of our family Friday dinner, and I swallowed hard as I looked in her eyes and came to terms with the fact that I would never forget her look that evening.
"Okay, that hurt." I dared to move the various limbs of my body, trying to identify if I broke something, but other than that, I avoided any unnecessary movement.
"Don? Are you okay, my sweet baby boy? Are you all right?" She tried to stifle her amusement but was unsuccessful, and hugged me onto her lap, as she burst out laughing.
She's right, you know? It is funny. A chair suddenly breaking into pieces is funny. People falling unexpectedly to the floor is funny, and if they're fat, it's simply hilarious. But that hurt.
The blow, the shame, the self-humor that once protected me. It all suddenly seemed like an unflattering mirror reflection, and I refused to look at. All of it. It all hurt. A lot.
"I'm fine," I said, trying to calm my mother down and maybe possibly myself indirectly. "But I think you're going to need a new chair."
"You think?" She looked at the broken chair parts that were scattered around us. "It actually looks just fine to me. Fine, just like you." She smacked me on the back of my head. "I think you need to make sure you don't break the rest of my house with that big, beautiful ass of yours."
"Great, Mom. That’s just great. You're really in line with your sensitive motherly instincts tonight."
"You know what, honey? I'm in line with my everything tonight. Especially when it comes to you. The problem is that you refuse to hear what's hard for you to accept."
"And this is your way of getting me to listen? You sabotaged the chair, didn’t you?" I pursed my lips in pain and squinted my eyes at her full of suspicion.
"Unfortunately, no." Once again, she burst out laughing. "When I tell you that you exaggerate, you just roll your eyes at me and wave your hand as if my opinion doesn’t count. Well, if you're not listening to me, maybe you'll listen to gravity. It seems to be proving my argument, Don. Listen to it. You went too far!"
I'd never been fat in my life. Maybe that's why it was so hard for me to accept the comments in that matter from those around me and face the fact that it was actually an accurate description of my appearance in recent years.
I knew very well that I had no problem losing the gained weight, if only I wanted to. But I just couldn’t find an efficient way to explain to them that I didn't want to. I honestly didn’t want to.
"What's for dessert?" I asked as I pushed myself back into an upright position.
"What do you think I made for dessert?" She rearranged the hem of the shirt wrapped around my large body and ignored the giggling noises coming out of my father and the remote cousins she had invited for dinner, who were still seated around the table. "Crumb cheesecake."
"Yummy! Did you make it the way I like?"
"Yes, yes." Mom shook her head in disappointment. "Just as you like it," she said before disappearing into the kitchen.
When she returned, she was holding my favorite dessert. A crumbed cheesecake on a plate that's all mine. Just as I liked it! One cake for me and another for the other guests.
That custom originated in one of her attempts to get me out of my house on days when the depression took over me. She bribed me to come for dinner by making one cake that was just for me, but somehow that custom took root and became a necessity for me.
I didn't even care that I was left standing while everyone else was sitting leisurely on their intact chairs. I just kept stabbing my fork into the big cake time after time until crumbs were the only thing left on my plate.
"I think that's enough, sweetie." My mother sat down next to me on the porch, about an hour later, while everyone else was in the midst of some pointless politic argument around the table.
"I'm tired of having this conversation with you, Mom. I can stop eating whenever I want."
"Yes, yes. I've heard that before. You just don't want to, right?"
"Damn right." I smiled at her.
"Well then, I’m asking you to stop because I want you to."
"But that's just it, Mom. I'm not living your life, I'm living mine, and I'll make my own mistakes if only you'll—"
"You know, I won't be here forever." The start of her sentence made my eyes grow wider.
"Are you..." I swallowed hard. "Are you talking about a theoretical possibility or something tangible that you're looking for a way to tell me?"
"Neither, baby boy. I'm just saying that I won't be here forever."
"I know that, Mom. Nobody knows this better than me, but I'm asking if—"
"Don, that's enough," she interrupted me again and went on. "I think you're done hurting yourself, and from now on, you're just hurting those around you." She finished by stroking my most sensitive nerve and left me speechless.
The very last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt someone I loved.
I looked down at the floor, knowing very well what my mom meant to say, and yet, I was surprised that she said it so directly.
"You can keep avoiding eye contact, but that won't change the ways of the world. Did you hear me? I said I won't always be here to stop you from hurting yourself."
"But why are you saying that? Why now?"
"I felt like that's the only way to get you to listen, kiddo. I'm not going to die any time soon, at least I hope I'm not, nor am I currently suffering from some serious illness, but I don’t want to have to get there for you to realize you've eaten enough."
"I know I eat enough." I breathed a sigh of relief and immediately went back to surrounding myself with the defensive walls I had perfected in recent years.
"Right. I remember how these chats of ours go. I say you ate enough, you say you know all about it, and I'm left speechless. Well done, Don. Do you think I don't know what you're doing?"
"Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Mom. What do you want from me?"
"I want you to be all that you can be. You, my child, are the most successful person I have ever met. You know how to take life's toughest situations and turn them into exciting opportunities, but you do it time and again only for others. What about you? What about your missed opportunities?"
"It's too soon, Mom. I... I need more time."
"Too soon? You're thirty-eight, Don. You have to go back to being yourself so you can find a wife, build a happy home with her and make me some grandchildren."
"It's not for you to say that it's time I get over things. That's my prerogative, and I'm sorry to tell you that it's too soon for me."
"Then I will just say that it's getting rather late, for me. My time is running out, Don. Just as the chair broke under the burden of trying to carry your weight, so do I. I love you wholeheartedly, but I too am getting tired. I, too, am getting closer to my breaking point."
"I… Are you suggesting that—"
"For once in my life, I'm not suggesting anything. I'm telling the truth as it is, Don. I can't keep watching you eat yourself away for something bad that happened three years ago. Bad things happen. You're not the first and not the last to lose a great love in his life."
"I'm also not the first or last to find comfort in food, Mom."
"No doubt about that, but it's been three years since your tragedy. I think you can officially declare yourself as comforted, my child. You can consider yourself as in mourning or in comforting, but either way
, you're clearly agitated and scared. So please, Don, I'm begging you to see yourself. Stop looking the other way. Look at you. Look at what you look like."
"Now look who's exaggerating, Mom. You're blowing things way out of proportion. I'm not that fat."
"Oh, sure. You're not fat." She adopted a dramatic countenance. "You're not that fat at all. It's just that the floor is crooked, isn't it? You? You're just a wonderful dancer. And me? I just make my cakes too small. That's the problem, right?"
"You make perfect cakes. Just as I like them."
"But I won't anymore, sweetie," she said concluding the discussion, and my heart started racing inside my chest. "If you're not ready to take the brave step toward yourself, I'll take it for you."
"I don't understand what you want me to do."
"I want you to come back to being my child."
"Have I changed? Please, answer sincerely. Besides my appearance, have I changed, Mom?"
"Yes. You have."
"In what way?"
"In every way. You're more defensive, more sensitive, more aggressive... You know exactly what's changed in you, Don, and you know exactly how to get everything back to the way things were."
"What if I don't want to be who I was? What if I like this new me, and I want to keep me just the way I am?"
"I didn't think about that." She raised an eyebrow at me.
"See? I'm smarter than you!" I used my blunt humor that never failed to save me from dangerous corners of conversations and rushed back to the family dinner table while my mother remained confused and speechless on the porch.
I knew I took it too far.
I've known it for a while.
I was hurt that she felt she needed to state her mind so blatantly, but I loved her for blatantly stating it.
The next morning, I found myself in unfamiliar territory. A weight-loss support group meeting, but by looking at everyone there, I felt it would be better to call it a “Fats, For Now” group meeting. When I saw Janice, the group guide, I actually thought about turning back and running for my life, but she was quick to introduce herself.
"It's very nice to meet you, Don, I'm Janice." She held out her wiggly hand to shake mine and went on trying to make me feel at home. "I know the first meeting comes with a lot of heavy thoughts, but let me assure you that together, we'll get you back to King's way."
"Heavy thought... Pun intended?"
"None." Janice didn’t seem amused. "I'm really happy you're here." She gestured with her oversized arm to some empty chairs and asked me to take my place in one of them.
I did, yet moved uncomfortably in my seat, and the pain didn't let go. I couldn't find an angle where most of my body weight didn't crush the bruise left on my thigh from the fall the night before, if that was even the source of my pain, if not the feelings of shame that came with it.
"Good morning, everyone. Sorry for being so late again," a clear voice of a young woman rang out making me look almost immediately at the door, and my breath snapped when I saw the eyes of the woman who entered.
"As always, that's all right, Michelle. You arrived just in time," Janice replied, and my head began to spin.
I could vaguely hear the conversation that was taking place around me. I recognized that the speaker’s voices changed from time to time, but my eyes remained fixed on Michelle, who had arrived late to that meeting and to my life.
Something about the look in her eyes just made it impossible for me to ignore her. I had never seen her before, and yet, I knew she came there, especially for me.
She sat so relaxed, as if she were the queen of the meeting, listening to the things that were being said around her and her eyes... Damn, I couldn't bear the resemblance between her eyes and the ones that I had lost.
"…And what do you mean by that?" Janice asked her with a firm voice that pulled me out of my thoughts. Wow. She became even more beautiful as a gentle blush colored her face.
"I didn’t… I mean, I did, but I… ahh..." She stammered and made me wonder what the fuss was about, as whispering started to spread everywhere.
"What technique were you talking about?" One of the women firmly insisted that Michelle answer her. I didn’t like her being put on the spot like that. My body instinctively urged me to protect her, but I didn’t know how.
She tried to say something, and for a moment, she stared at me as if begging me to take responsibility for whatever it was she had done. That woman seemed to be filled with rage more than body fat. In one moment, she demanded that Michelle answer her question, but in the next, she stared at her uncompromisingly with her arms crossed and made it clear that she was anything but attentive to her.
"Ahh... yeah... that... That was my intention all along." it seemed as if that wicked woman had accepted Michelle's explanation, but the silence that surrounded us became too awkward for my taste. So, as I do in times of awkwardness, I turned to gallows humor and…
"So... I'm fat!" I read aloud and extended my arms to my sides, pulling everyone's attention to me. "I mean, if it helps anyone here to feel more comfortable with themselves, I thought it would be right to tell you that. Hi all. My name is Don, and I'm fat."
"Um... Welcome to our group, Don. But that is not a word we use." Janice frowned at me in disapproval.
"Oh, really? It's not? I'm sorry." I winked hastily at Michelle's pretty eyes. "So, what word do you use to describe your current situation?" I turned my gaze to Michelle and whispered loudly, "They do know they're fat, right?"
She giggled.
"We don’t use that word, Don." Janice restated.
"Would it be better if I say that I'm Don and I’m a beast? A Mammoth? A horizontally challenged person? An overgrown sweet potato? A walking armchair? One huge pile of—"
"That's enough!" Janice yelled, raising both her hands in the air. "I think this is a great moment for us all to take a short break. Pour yourselves a drink, and we'll go on in five minutes."
I was very skeptical when I came to that meeting. I didn’t, for one second, think that it would be the right place for me. I wasn't sure if I could share the reason why I chose to stuff my face with food. In fact, I knew for sure that the chances of me opening my mouth and explaining how I reached an astonishing two hundred and eighty-six pounds were slim to none, yet surprisingly, as soon as I met Michelle's mesmerizing eyes, I realized that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Three years ago, my lover's eyes closed forever, and I was sentenced to darkness with them. I saw no way or reason to get myself out of it, which is probably why I was so surprised to see her eyes looking at me again, through Michelle's. Those beautiful eyes, which I hoped might be the ones to pull me back into the light.
I watched every move she made from the moment I drew the attention in the room to me. I saw the relief she felt evident on her face. I changed my focus to her smooth long hair, sensual lips, tiny button nose, and then I got lost again in her eyes as she came closer and closer to me.
"Thanks for that," she said the moment she stood right in front of me.
"It was my pleasure. I knew I had a calling in life, and in fact, I'm the one that should be thanking you for helping me realize what it was."
"So is that it? Was this your life's mission? To save me from embarrassment at a support group of the fat and miserable?"
"Oh, believe me, I'm no less surprised by this than you."
"So, what will you do with yourself now? After all, you’ve fulfilled your purpose in life, so what's next?"
"That's a great question. You're Michelle, right?"
"Yes." She smiled and looked down.
"I'm Don."
"Hey, Don."
"But you already knew that, didn’t you? You just wanted to make me introduce myself again."
"You got me." What I got was another addictive smile out of her.
"You don't really like getting any attention, do you? I'm guessing that's why you only answer with short and to-the-point sentences. Should I go on gu
essing more things about you?"
"Yes." She stamped her leg. "I mean, you're welcome to do so." She wrinkled her face and hit her hand on her thigh. "I mean, I did answer your questions in short, but that's only because of the way you phrased yourself. Ugh..." She finished and buried her face in her palms.
"No, no!" I almost lost my breath. "Please don't hide your pretty eyes from me, Michelle." I lowered her hands until I found myself once again gazing at a face I didn't dare forget. "You're right. It was a dirty little trick of mine. I only wanted to make you laugh." And she did. Her laughter was music to my ears.
Those around us went to the dining area, but Michelle and I stayed in the center of the room for a few more minutes. We faced each other and drifted into a heated conversation without anyone interrupting us.
"So... do you come here a lot?"
"I do, actually. Every morning."
"You do?! Really?!"
"Yes. I like to start my day here."
"Why?" It was hard for me to believe anyone would do that to himself, willingly. "I mean… Why?
"I get a lot out of sitting here."
"A lot that makes you…?"
"Feel good about myself?" She answered with doubt in her tone.
"She makes you feel good?" I gestured to Janice, the obese group guide, who didn’t impress me at all. "I'm going to need a better explanation. I'm not convinced at all." I was hoping to understand how she was related to the “Fats, For Now” support group I had no intention of ever returning to.
"I like to sit in and hear that there are people who are in worse shape than me every morning."
"Now there's a logic I can't deny. You finally have my admiration!"
"You're hopeless, huh?" She smiled and looked up at me with her familiar eyes.
"I am, but only when I recognize something I need or want." I winked at her flirtatiously.
"Anyway, I wanted to thank you for attracting everyone's attention to you. I didn't mean to speak out loud that way to Gia so... Thank you."
"Anytime. Hey, if you're willing to be my fellow-in-fat, I promise I’ll always attract the attention away from you. I have such a bubbly personality that all eyes are usually on me, anyway."