Life in the Fat Lane

by Cherie Bennett

Mom leaned over and put her hand on Dad’s. “Hey, how would you like a date with your wife tonight?”

  “Can’t,” Dad said. “I’ve got to catch a plane at six for Philly.”

  “Tonight?” Mom sounded surprised.

  “I told you last week. I guess you forgot,” Dad said. “This could be a big client for us, all the agencies are after him.”

  “Can’t you leave in the morning?” Mom asked.

  “I’m playing golf with their CEO in the morning, Carol,” he said. “I can’t be on a plane and on the golf course at the same time, now, can I?”

  “No, of course not,” she agreed.

  Dad got up and kissed me on the forehead; then he kissed Mom. “I’m going over to the club to play a few sets. Why don’t you meet me there for lunch? Say, twelve?”

  “I’d love—” Mom began.

  But Dad was looking at me. “I hardly ever see you, princess. Between school, piano, your friends, and Jett, you’re one busy girl.”

  Mom’s face reddened with embarrassment, but Dad’s back was to her so he didn’t see.

  “You’re always working, Dad,” I said. “You and Mom should have lunch together.”

  Dad picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it. “How about it, Carol? Can’t have both my girls shoot me down!”

  “Lunch is fine,” Mom said.

  “Great.” Dad took another bite of his apple and winked at me. Then he strode out of the kitchen, picked up his tennis bag, and went out the front door.

  As soon as she heard the front door close, Mom pulled out a cigarette and lit it. She inhaled hungrily.

  “Is he mad at you or something?”

  “Of course not, honey,” she said, her voice as bright as overexposed film. “He’s just preoccupied with work.” She paused. “If you didn’t know me, Lara, how old would you say I was?”

  My stomach rumbled. Maybe I would eat just half a grapefruit. I eyed the other half of Mom’s, sitting wetly on the kitchen counter.

  “I don’t know. Thirty.”

  “Thirty,” Mom repeated with satisfaction.

  She inhaled from her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. Then her eyes focused on me. “Which of my features do you like best?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Half a grapefruit couldn’t be that bad.

  “Come on, which?”

  “Your eyes, I guess.”

  Mom nodded. “Your eyes are nice, too.”

  I really wanted that grapefruit.

  Suddenly my arms started to itch. And I had already taken my prednisone.

  “Your nose is a little short and upturned, a little too cute,” Mom mused, studying me. “Mine is more classic.” She pulled on her cigarette. “You know, if you have a small, upturned nose and you gain weight in your face, it can look kind of piggish.”

  “I’m on a diet,” I said lamely.

  “I know you are, sweetie.” She patted my hand, got up, and kissed me on the top of my head. “And I have the most wonderful, perfect daughter in the whole world.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  I went upstairs and tried to ignore my grumbling stomach. Willpower was the key.

  “Hey, did he leave?” Scott asked, sticking his head out the door of his room.

  “He went to the club.”

  “Great, I can breathe again,” my brother said. “Man, he’s so suffocating that he, like, sucks all the air out of the room.” He sucked air through pursed lips. “The Amazing Vacuum Man!”

  I followed Scott into his totally trashed room.

  “What is it about Dad that bugs you so much?” I asked Scott, leaning against his wall.

  He plopped down on his unmade bed and reached for a Hacky Sack that lay on his pillow. He threw it in the air and caught it, over and over. “He’s a pain in the ass.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “Sure, you don’t think so, princess,” Scott jeered.

  “So what if he calls me princess? I think it’s sweet.”

  “Did Vacuum Man send you in here?” Scott asked warily.

  “Of course not! I just can’t stand to see the two of you fight.”

  “Yeah, it’s bad enough that they fight all the time.”

  “They do not!”

  “They do so. He hates her. He treats her like cold crap.” Scott tossed the Hacky Sack into the air again. I leaned over and caught it before he could.

  “Scott, come on …”

  “ ‘The Ardeche men are really proud of our beauty queen,’ ” Scott said, imitating Dad, his voice deep and mocking. Then he switched to a falsetto. “Uh-uh! ‘Beauty queens!’ ” he said, imitating Mom. “Gimme a major break!”

  “What’s wrong with being a beauty—”

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong!” Scott exploded. “Everyone in this family cares more about how things look than how they really are!”

  “That is totally not true,” I said vehemently.

  “It is true,” Scott said bitterly.

  “That is so stupid—”

  “Just leave me alone. Leave me alone and get out of my room!”

  “Fine,” I replied, “just fine.” I tossed his Hacky Sack at him and walked out. He slammed his door behind me.

  What a brat. No wonder my parents fought.

  It was his fault.

  “ ‘I’ve lost seventy-five pounds and have a new life,’ ” Molly read to me from a magazine.

  It was after lunch; we were back in my home gym. I had just finished forty-five minutes on the StairMaster, up from my usual thirty. It was weird—I was hardly sweating, though my face felt flushed from the exertion. Maybe I was just raising my fitness level. Molly, who had been on the treadmill at the slowest possible setting, had long since gotten off and plopped down on the floor.

  I stepped onto the treadmill and reprogrammed the setting to five miles per hour.

  “Who lost seventy-five pounds?” My legs moved steadily over the treadmill, and I leaned into the front handles.

  “Ms. F. P. Stevens,” Molly read. “F.P. must stand for Former Pig, huh? She says here that the Skinny Strip changed her life.”

  I upped the speed controls. “What’s a Skinny Strip?” I asked, breathing harder.

  “ ‘You will see how the Skinny Strip makes you lose that weight, really lose that weight,’ ” Molly read. “ ‘With no dangerous medication and no tough exercise.’ ”

  I laughed. “Anything that eliminates exercise is for you, right, Mol?”

  She ignored me. “ ‘Skinny Strips are sold all over Europe, but now with this risk-free trial offer, you can try it right here in America.’ ”

  “It’s a scam,” I said, wiping a single bead of sweat from my forehead. “If it were for real, it would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country.”

  “How can it be a scam if it has a guarantee?”

  “I don’t know, but it is.”

  “But what if it isn’t?”

  “Mol-ly,” I groaned.

  “What? I’m a desperate woman!” She stood up and shoved the magazine in my face. “It says that some doctor saw weight loss of as much as thirty-eight pounds in a month. Do you realize that means I could be thin in a month?”

  “While you’re reading that, you could be working out.”

  I raised the speed setting again. I could feel my heart pounding. I felt strong, in control. After having nothing but black coffee for breakfast, I had eaten just half a bagel with the insides scooped out, and a dollop of fat-free cottage cheese for lunch. Molly couldn’t believe it.

  “I’m on a diet,” I’d told her primly.

  “Get out of here,” she’d guffawed.

  “I’m completely serious. I’ve gained ten pounds from the medicine I’m taking. So now I have to lose ten pounds.”

  “Well, color me shocked, boys and girls,” Molly had said. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  “Dieting is just a matter of willpower.”

  “Uh-huh.”
There was a smirk on her face.

  Well, let her smirk. I always accomplished everything I set my mind to. Losing ten pounds was nothing. I loved Molly to death, but frankly, she was lazy.

  I bumped up the speed setting on the treadmill yet again.

  “I’m sending for this strip thing,” Molly decided. She leaned on the handlebars of the treadmill. “I have one eensy little problem, though. I can’t have it delivered to my house.”

  “Why not? Your parents don’t read your mail.”

  “True,” Molly said. “But what if it says Skinny Strip on the return address and my mother picks up the mail? She’ll give birth. So can I have it sent here?”

  “Mol …”

  “Pretty please and I’ll be your best friend forever?” I laughed. “You are a pain in the butt.”

  “No, I’m immensely charming. It’s to compensate for my immense thighs. And thank you for your love and support.”

  “Hey, you two, what’s up?”

  It was Jett, an hour early.

  “You’re not supposed to be here yet,” I scolded him. “Don’t look at me, I’m a mess.”

  “Nah, you look cute like that.” He looked over at Molly, lolling on the floor. “Gee, Mol, strenuous workout?”

  “The Skinny Strip is about to change my life,” she told him solemnly.

  I jumped off the treadmill and wrapped the towel around my neck. “You are seeing me at my total worst.”

  He grabbed both ends of the towel and pulled me to him. “You really think I care?” He kissed me tenderly.

  “How come you’re early, anyway?”

  “I was sketching at Radnor Lake and it started to rain. So I thought I’d see if you wanted to grab a pizza before we study. You too, Mol.”

  “Gotta get home, but thanks,” Molly said.

  “Oh, I already ate,” I told him.

  “So?” Jett asked.

  “I’m just not hungry,” I lied.

  “Ha!” Molly barked. I ignored her.

  “Hey, you’re not going to turn into one of those girls who pretends to eat like a bird, are you?” he asked me. “You love to eat.”

  “As long as it doesn’t show on her hips,” Molly added.

  “That is totally unimportant,” Jett told her.

  “You don’t by any chance have a twin brother who’s been visiting distant relatives, do you?” Molly asked hopefully.

  Jett laughed and turned to me. “Come and watch me eat, okay? I can’t face math with a growling stomach.”

  “Don’t worry. Her stomach is growling, too,” Molly said wickedly.

  “Kindly shut up,” I told her.

  She pretended to zip her mouth shut, her eyes dancing with mirth.

  Okay. I could see the humor. If I was fat and my best friend was thin and had to diet for the very first time, I suppose I’d enjoy it, too. So I decided to forgive her. In fact, I said she could use my address for her Skinny Strip.

  After I showered, we drove Molly home. Then Jett and I headed for Pizza Doctor, the best pizza place in Nashville.

  The fantastic smell of baking pizza assaulted me before we even got out of the car. My stomach felt concave with emptiness.

  “Want to split a medium?” Jett asked as we stood in front of the counter.

  “No, I told you, I already ate.” I salivated. I was so hungry.

  “That’s never stopped you from eating pizza.”

  He ordered a medium with everything and got us both drinks, and we settled into a booth. Over the blaring jukebox, we talked about everything—Jett was so easy to talk to. He showed me the new sketches he had done that day, I told him about piano practice, and for a while I actually forgot how hungry I was.

  Until the waitress brought the pizza to our table.

  “Help yourself,” Jett told me as he lifted a fragrant, steaming slice to his lips.

  “I’m really not hungry,” I lied.

  He wiped his mouth. “Listen, you’re not doing anything stupid like dieting, are you?”

  “Why would it be stupid to diet?” I asked, swallowing the extra saliva in my mouth.

  “Because you don’t need to. Because it’s stupid to think you have to conform to some arbitrary standard of how other people think you should look.” He took a large bite out of his slice. “I mean, it’s pointless. Like, take that girl, the one that sings with the Sex Puppets—the one with the pierced cheek? Didn’t you find her beautiful?”

  “I take it you did,” I said, making sure there was a sweet smile on my face as I said it.

  “I’m just trying to say that there are all different kinds of beauty, that’s all,” Jett said. He reached for another slice.

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to look your best,” I argued.

  Jett shrugged. “Whatever that means.”

  “What? Are you saying you could be attracted to a girl like, say, Molly?”

  “Sure,” Jett said.

  I folded my arms. “I don’t believe you.”

  He took a sip of his drink. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought you did, then.”

  I was so hungry I didn’t think I could stand it. And I had only been dieting for two meals. How was I supposed to last for an entire week? Or an entire month? How long did it take to lose ten pounds, anyway?

  “You’re staring at the pizza,” Jett pointed out.

  “What? Oh, I was just … thinking. So, tell me more about your sketches.”

  He talked, but I didn’t really hear him. I could actually feel a slice in my hand, taste it in my mouth. All I had to do was reach out, and—

  No. I was not going to eat that pizza. I was going to stay on my diet. I knew I could. It couldn’t be that big a deal to lose ten pounds. My friends did it all the time, and I was definitely more disciplined than they were.

  All it would take was willpower. I was sure of it.

  It was three days before Thanksgiving, but I was not filled with the holiday spirit. I had gained eight more pounds in four weeks from the prednisone, and I now weighed 136 pounds.

  I was fat.

  Me. Fat. All because of a stupid drug for some stupid allergies. I stopped taking it and my lips and eyes swelled up. So I took it again, vowing to eat even less. Prednisone was not going to get the best of me.

  It was no use. I got fatter.

  Everyone knew I had gained weight, they just didn’t know how much. Except my mother, who could peg my weight gain to the pound. She was appalled at how I looked and found it impossible to believe that it was just because of prednisone. So she watched every bite I put into my mouth.

  She also called the allergist and demanded an appointment, which was set for the next day, two days before Thanksgiving.

  Dad, away on a long business trip, called often and asked how my weight was. He talked about willpower and positive thinking. I told him I’d try harder to lose.

  And I did try. Only it wasn’t working. I was turning into this fat thing.

  It was a nightmare. Most of my clothes no longer fit. Just today after school I had made a desperate, secret trip to the mall, where I’d used the credit card my grandfather had given me on my last birthday to buy exact copies of many of my clothes, in a larger size. I hoped against hope that no one would realize they were a size nine/ten instead of a five/six.

  And now, as I lay at home in my bed after an hour on the treadmill, two hours of piano, and two more of homework, my stomach growled with emptiness. Breakfast and lunch had both been diet Coke and lettuce. For dinner I had eaten a small, skinless chicken breast, three tomato slices, and half a plain baked potato.

  Here it was midnight, and I was so hungry.

  But no. I wouldn’t eat. Would not. Eat.

  I padded to my door and opened it. Mom wasn’t home yet from the after-theater dessert party she had catered that evening. Scott’s room was quiet.

  I could picture the inside of our refrigerator: fried chicken left over from Scott’s dinner. Half of a co
conut cream pie a neighbor had made. And in the freezer, ice cream. Chocolate Häagen-Dazs, with nuts. Behind it, two jumbo-sized frozen Snickers bars.

  Before I knew it, my feet were carrying me downstairs, into the kitchen. My hand was in the refrigerator. I brought a fried chicken drumstick to my lips, and—

  No. I wouldn’t eat it. Would not. Willpower.

  I put it back and turned to walk out of the kitchen.

  And then someone who was not me went back to the freezer and took out both frozen Snickers bars. That someone ran with them up to her room.

  Whoever she was, she didn’t even turn on her light to eat. She just sat there in the dark, like some fat, feral creature of the night, cracking the frozen chocolate off with her teeth, loving the sensation of rich, sweet, comforting chocolate in her mouth, mixing with her saliva, sliding down her throat.

  The candy wrappers got stuffed behind her bed.

  It wasn’t me.

  “One hundred and thirty-six pounds,” the allergist’s nurse, Mrs. Rankin, said as I stood on the scale in the examining room. She wrote it on my chart. “And you’re five feet, seven inches, right?”

  “I know I’m too fat,” I said quickly, my face burning with embarrassment. “I’m on a diet, but—”

  “Honey, you’re not fat,” the nurse said, chuckling. “All you young girls are so obsessive about your weight. The doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes.” She bustled out the door, her tree-trunk legs rubbing together as she walked.

  I sat there staring at my enemy: the scale.

  The only two people who didn’t seem to care about my weight were Molly and Jett. When dieting didn’t make me lose weight, Molly enjoyed seeing that I was, as she put it, “human after all.”

  As for Jett, he didn’t seem to mind, either. I did, though. I felt so ugly—certain that he felt the roll of fat at my waist every time he held me, disgusted that my thighs were probably bigger than his.

  I glanced over at a wall calendar from some pharmaceutical company and counted the days until New Year’s Eve. In a little over a month Jett and I were going to Amber’s New Year’s Eve party. But I refused to shop for a new dress in a size ten.

  I had to lose weight. I had to.

  “Hello there, young lady,” Dr. Fabrio said, coming into the examining room. He was tall and thin, with a long nose and bloodless lips.