Imposters

The young girl weeps silently after being torn apart by the cruelty of her environment. With her back against the cold and baron wall, she quietly escapes to a place of nothingness. “Kill me and start ova,” she calls to the heavens begging for another chance at life.   “No one cares anyway.”

 Made to be different and special to only a few, the young girl’s heart is broken beyond repair.  “They say I’m hopeless,” she continues to cry.  The surrounding air is pungent from the still damp basement furniture.  “They say I’m hopeless,” she repeats quieter this time.

 Careful not to alarm the ‘imposters’ her fragile body rocks back and forth, harboring every inch of her disappointment.  The tears speak for the mounds of anger and frustration she harvests.  “One day…” she assures, believing that she’s be better off falsifying her interpretation of reality.

 The phone rings. She listens as footsteps from one of the imposters glides across the floor.

 “Hello,” a woman’s voice answers as if everything was okay. “Yes, we’ve found her. She was hiding in the bushes.”

 The girl wishes that she can somehow reach out to the person on the other end of the phone and clarify that she wasn’t hiding; she was preparing for her escape.

 After the woman hangs up the phone, the young girl focuses on the screechy floorboard as the sound gets closer to the basement door.

 “Bring your fat ass up here.” The woman calls not seconds before she finishes opening the basement door.

 Motionless, the girl closes her eyes and imagines invading Alice in Wonderland’s secret hideout.  Pointless, the sound of turkey meat hitting the ground frightens the young girl.

 “Eat that since you want to stay down there.” The woman yells again. Creaking sounds from the other side of the room move toward the basement door also.  The steps aren’t so smooth.  The male imposter holds a cane and isn’t as mean. 

 Finally it’s his turn to speak. “Come upstairs baby.” He says.  If the girl didn’t know any better she would’ve believed that he actually knew who she was.  But the fact that her father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s last year made it very difficult.  And the fact that he allowed the care-giver talk to his daughter any ol’ kinda way only reassured her suspicions.

 “Go sit down,” the angry woman demanded as she pushed the older man to the side. “Your dinner is coming old man.”

 With blurred vision and a drenched face, the young girl silently prays to her mother.

 “Mom, if you can hear me, hold me.”  Just as gentle as she spoke the words, she felt a light breeze pass by her.  It was a sign that her mother was near and all would be well.  And even though the young girl remained in the basement, safe from the imposters, she felt comfort and love that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

 For those brief moments, the world she escaped to was much better than the one she knew nothing about.

Skinny Jeans

I remember when I was a size 2.   My friends would compliment my figure and curse God for not giving it to them too. I didn’t think anything of it. In fact, I wished that one day God would grant me fuller hips and thighs. I never thought that day would come.

It wasn’t until the birth of my first born that I finally got what I asked for. Then, a size 8 I enjoyed the hour glass figure for a few months after my pregnancy.  I noticed that more men flocked to me than they did before.  Yes, it took for me to gain weight for them to notice me.  Either way I enjoyed the attention. As a a new mom, it reassured me that I still had it.

It wasn’t until the birth of my second child, two years later that I wished God stop messing with my body. Now a size 16 I find that I’m more insecure than I was at a size 2. It’s much more uncomfortable too. Jesus take these thighs back to the repair shop, did I purchase or rent this new image?

A trip to the doctor revealed that I was obese and at risk for diabetes and all sorts of diseases. I’m really nervous that I will never see that size 2 again. No matter how many skinny jeans I buy, I’ll never be able to trick anyone to believing that I’m skinny. 

Now I sit looking at the pictures from before my first pregnancy.  Who is that girl, and why did she ever want to become me?

Cookie Jar Fever

“Who stole a cookie from the cookie jar?”  That’s the question I’d always ask myself after grabbing a handful of cookies from the pantry.  Most times I’d eaten half of the chocolately dough by the time I could comprehend that I was actually…sneaking cookies. 

It wasn’t unusual for Michael to be outside the house when I found the “urge” to help myself to a treat.  And when he returned, I felt a sense of guilt but I pushed it under the rug.

The sluggish feeling didn’t bother me because my method of regaining energy was to steal a sugar rush from another cookie.  Michael was usually home by then.  And my “pick-me-ups” didn’t seem to bother him. On occasion he’d comment, “watch out – those things will make you fat.”  Too focused on the present, I never entertained what could come of it.

About a year ago, Michael and I hit a financial rut, and we had to cut down our expenses significantly.  In order to live comfortably, we agreed to cut back our leisure spending to $100 per month.  This included entertainment, eating out, and making unnecessary purchases. Not once did I count the sweet treats that stacked my pantry a leisure item.  In my mind, I had to have the cookies.  And to back it up, I’d convince Michael that if I didn’t have them, I’d get cranky and moody.  On occasion he witnessed the effects of me going hours without having the cookies, and…well…let’s just say that before the night ended, he ran to the store and purchased a pack.

It wasn’t three months in to our financial management plan that I noticed the amount of money I was spending on the chocolate chunks exceeded more than my cable bill!  A shame that Michael noticed it before I did.  Apparently he was secretly watching the daily ritual of grabbing what he thought was my first handful of cookies in the afternoons.  He compared that to the amount of times per week he noticed a receipt from the grocery store with the only single item – Grandma’s Baked Cookies next to the $4.99 dollar sign. How embarrassing. I don’t want to be seen as the cookie monster – literally.  Starting tomorrow I’ll be careful to monitor my intake.

Lord help me!

Girl In The Mirror

Undressing her in his mind is perfectly okay. It’s the actual part of undressing that makes her uncomfortable.  She runs from his embrace. Scared that the double rolls of fat will disrupt the flow he’s trying to create with his fingers.  Somehow feeling that the way he envisions her in his mind will be distorted.

“Come closer,” he says wrapping his arms around her.  They kiss and she wishes really hard that he doesn’t try to make his way to third base. 

She imagined this day would come just as much as he did. But I’m sure that her perspective wasn’t as blissful.  Her body trembles as his hands make their way down.  One lump, two lump, three lump, four.  Her ass catches his palm and she takes a deep breath.

“Please just stop there.” she says to herself over and over in her mind. The last thing she wants is for him to run his fingers over hilltops created by secret indulgence.  Grabbing his arms gently and kissing him seductively, she tries to distract him from going any further.

“Don’t stop me now.” He warns.  Nervously she smiles, knowing that no matter how much she wanted to deny it, he was going for the gold. Tonight was his night to explore every fantasy he had about the two of them. And up until this point, she managed to keep him at a comfortable distance. 

Suddenly last night’s promises of a “better tomorrow” didn’t seem so smart.

“Strip.” He demands.

Her knees buckle.  Why did he want her to reveal secrets to him like that? She sighs…

“Turn the lights off,” she replies.

“No,” he continues.  “I want to see every inch of you.”

Her eyes roll in the back of her head.  Did he mean every mile of her?

“I’m very uncomfortable.” She admits.

“Don’t be,” he assures.  “There’s nothing that will surprise me.”

Just as he asked, she took off her clothes, starting with the bottom part first. Careful to suck in her stomach as best she could, her level of comfort increased with each passing second.

One eye closed and the other eye on him…waiting for a reaction, he smiles a big beautiful smile.  And his eyes are filled with such purity as he watches. “Girl, you are so beautiful and don’t even know it.”

She sighs. But this time, she’s overwhelmed with relief.

“Great…I made it!” She tells herself.

He walks her over to the mirror, stands behind her and wraps his arms around her.

“You see that woman?” He points to the nervously insecure woman standing in front of him.  As he points, she’s hesitant to face her.

“Do you see her?” He repeats.

She looks up at him and kisses his chin. “Yes, I see her.”   Turning back to the mirror and facing the both of them standing there.

“She has to learn her worth, inside and out.” He whispers.

His words pierced through the layers of fat that incubate her soul.  She’ll never forget that day.

Momma’s Touch

Fat girls need love too – at least that’s what momma told me once. I watched her waddle her weight around the yard picking roses as she sobbed over Mr. Freeman, the next door neighbor. Their affair lasted for two years after Mr. Freeman divorced his wife. Of course, momma was much smaller then.  I’m not one to pry in grown folk business but when it comes to my momma, I can’t help but to pry just a little, even if I really don’t want to.

As I walked around the yard picking roses with her, tears ran down her cheeks. “Don’t you ever let a man tell you that you aren’t good enough.” She said, more so to convince herself than speaking to me. But I took her advice for what it was and held it close to my heart. I didn’t want momma to hurt, so I wished that maybe somehow if I listened it would comfort her.

 Closer and closer to Mr. Freeman’s yard – I watched my momma pick her roses, her mind clearly in another place.

 BAM – Mr. Freeman’s door slams and he walks outside. Beside him stood a woman much smaller than momma.  The tension in the air turned so thick that I could’ve choked.

 “Hmph.” Momma snarled as she watched the two of them walk to his car. By no means was this woman more beautiful than my momma. She was just skinny. Her hair, in a ponytail, and her face boldly kissing the air. Momma however always dressed her face with the most expensive make-up. She even kept her hair nice too. Momma was the prettiest big woman I know, even though I really didn’t like to think of her as fat.

I gaze up at momma with one eye so that she doesn’t notice me watching her. If she did, she’d probably tell me to go in the house. Her movements became slow and her face frowned. It was as if all of that convincing that she’d done about fat woman needing love had gone in vain. Momma was hurting.

After Mr. Freeman and his skinny woman drove off, momma and I went inside with her dozen roses. I helped her cut the stems and place them in a vase. I understood why she picked her roses today. I remembered back to when dad died. She said that she didn’t want another man to show her love, and that sometimes we need to love ourselves.

 Silent we stood, but our hearts touched. I didn’t quite understand what momma was going through but I was glad she kept me close.

 After putting the roses in a vase, momma sat on the couch and turned on the television.

 ”Hand me my cheese puffs and a soda,” she asked just before I too made myself comfortable. 

 With no questions asked, I went and grabbed her cheese puffs and soda.

Years later, I had no idea that I would follow the same pattern just to feel close to momma. To this day, I feel her warmth as I sit on the couch eating cheese puffs and soda. I guess this is the beginning of my fat girl confessions.