Super Skilled Me

(17)

          Hey, son. It's your father. Your mother and I are very concerned about you. Where have you been? The last three home games of the season you were nowhere to be found. We even looked on the bench during the timeouts and couldn't find you. Please let us know what's going on. Are you still injured? We'd like to hear from you ASAP. Also, I have some rather unfortunate news. Your mother and I will have to stay two more months in England to pay off our debts. We are deeply sorry, and hope everything is okay. Please call or let us have a FaceTime. Love, dad.

          And that's the email I woke up to this morning, as it's clear that no matter what excuse I make, my parents are catching on more and more to my lies and bullshit. It's eating me away internally that I haven't confessed the truth, but just the thought of them knowing that I've thrown away my entire life is just too much to bear. I know I keep saying it, but I just can't imagine the disappointment they'd experience, knowing that their son is now nothing more than a fat, overweight bum who has nothing left to give to the sport he once cherished so deeply.

          Speaking of being a bum, I'm now 287 pounds. I gained so much weight throughout the final quarter of the basketball season it's downright terrifying. If I keep going at this rate, I can only imagine the damage I'm doing to my health, both physically and psychologically. But no matter what I do, I simply cannot stop eating. I used to think that people who use drugs are weak mentally, but really this is no different. I'm simply stuck in the deep, dark roots of addiction, and it's a very lonely, anxiety-provoking place to be. I now realize that whatever the cause may be, drugs, eating, self-harm—addiction is truly one of the darkest places any human can be.

          And if you thought my life was pathetic before, I've taken it to a whole other level. Since I've continued to gain even more weight, I'm now doing something that you only see seniors and people with disabilities do—and that's to sit and drive around in a little electric scooter, everywhere I go. Yes, you heard that right. A once-unstoppable athlete in his late teens who was in physical shape that the majority of people cannot reach, is now too lazy to simply walk down the sidewalk like 99% of the rest of humanity.

          I'm so tired everywhere I go, that I couldn't help but resist the temptation to rent one when I saw it in stores. The scooter is red with a small basket in front, and only goes a few miles per hour, slower than a turtle in a rabbit race. But it's "worth it" so I don't start panting from walking up small hills and other obstacles that now cause me great difficulty. Everywhere I go, I slowly drive around in that thing, embarrassed beyond belief that my once incredible life has come to this.

          And here I go, sitting and driving in my scooter as a twenty-year-old kid, my massive gut hanging down over my waist beside my flabby arms. I make a turn as I come around a corner, driving past a group of seniors, the ones who should be in my position, but the roles are sadly reversed. They look at me strangely, despite my extreme weight, wondering as to how a kid my age could be doing such a thing, when they are still trying their best to make it on their own.

          Attempting to not let my face go red from the embarrassment, I keep going, lowering my head in shame. I'm on my way to Dairy Queen to buy myself an ice cream blizzard. As I made clear earlier, after being kicked off the basketball team and quitting, I have truly convinced myself that I have nothing left to live for except eating. Food is my single reason for getting out of bed in the morning. If I couldn't keep eating, I'd lay in bed all day long, depressed and crying as to how I could possibly let my life come to this.

          I press the handicap button on the door to the Dairy Queen, too lazy and unbothered to get up and open it physically. Upon entering I feel a slight chill, the store needing to keep cold to maintain the frozen products. I see plenty of young people my age, particularly a pretty girl I notice sitting over by the window licking her ice cream cone with friends. I make brief eye contact with her. I remember the days when so many girls would give me flirty looks and smiles. Oh, she's looking at me alright...but now for all the wrong reasons.

          Forcing away the painful emotions that arise inside of me, I slowly drive in my scooter up to the line of people. Trying my best to not gain any more attention to myself than I already have, almost everyone in the store looking at me and giving bizarre expressions, I glance up to the menu and see what I'd like to order. I'm deeply craving a Midnight Truffle Blizzard, a chocolate ice cream mix filled with fudge and brownies. Just the anticipation gives me a microscopic hint of hope, but know I'll crash after I finish and regret it instantly. Still, I can't muster up the courage inside me to not go through and order it.

          As I sit in my scooter amongst the lineup of people, I overhear two guys behind me gossiping over the fact of how fucking lazy I am. I close my eyes, doing everything I possibly can to tune them out.

          "How old do you think this guy is?" one of them whispers, chuckling.

          "I don't know," his presumed friend replies, he too laughing. "Twenty-two? Not even."

          "The fuck is he doing riding around in one of those things?"

          "No idea. Last time I checked those were for people with mental disabilities or old folks with chronic pain."

          "What a sad life," the original guy says. "Just remember, when you think you're having a bad day, remind yourself of this guy."

          The two of them laugh again.

          Once again doing everything I can to ignore them, I gradually drive up to the counter, as it's now my turn to order.

          "Hi," I say awkwardly to the man working behind the counter, he also looking at me strangely, just like everybody else does these days. "Can I please have an extra-large Midnight Truffle?"

          He gives me another awkward glance, as if trying to tell me I'm the very last person who needs that many calories, but he can't stop me at the same time. I watch as he prepares the one thing that's keeping me going in life, my body practically shaking I'm so excited to devour this dessert. By the time he finishes, I grab it out of his hands, paying and driving my way over to a free table. I park myself off to the side so I can finally enjoy a few minutes of my miserable day.

          Just like always, as I feel the chocolate ice cream enter my mouth, it's like I'm making passionate love with Dian again. Speaking of that bitch, as I mentioned I had to delete my social media from all the people harassing me—due to the article that pussy William Chandler from the University's writing centre wrote about my downfall—I saw that Dian has already moved on and met someone new. Unfortunately, as I took down my Instagram account, this time permanently due to all the horrible people bullying me, I was exposed to a picture of her and another guy smiling and taking a selfie together. The caption wrote that she'd never met a guy like him before in her entire life, with two purple heart emojis.

           When I saw it, I wanted to strangle that girl until she couldn't even talk properly. I know it sounds fucked up, but I guess that's what "love" does to you. Even though I'm the one to blame for the relationship ending, I truly, truly envisioned spending the rest of my existence with her, us travelling the world with our kids from all the money I'd make from playing professional basketball. Even though it's been nearly two months since she dumped me, not once hearing from her a single time since then, I'll never forget the final, cold words she had for me.

          Fat...lazy...a bum.

          And then, of course, there's Tony, who also I haven't heard once from. I keep beating myself up. I can't get the thought out of my head when I personally approached Meldrum two years ago and told him all the good things about Tony, and why he should be allowed to come off the bench for us. I should have let that fucker rot in loneliness and never tried getting him on the team. If I was a genie and could've looked into a crystal ball to predict the future, I would have ended that friendship quicker than a weed growing in between the pavement. Tony is the definition of a fake friend, and people were right about him being nothing more than my yes-man just to get playing time on the team.

          Thinking about all the horrible memories makes me eat more and more, aggressively chowing down on my chocolate blizzard. The truffles and fudge let me temporarily escape into a fantasy world of hedonistic pleasure. It nearly brings me to tears that this is all I have left to live for. I've finally realized that no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I won't be able to wake up tomorrow and resist the temptation to eat more food, as my parents worry about me halfway across the globe.

          I don't even care if I die anymore.