Starfish

Part 1

                             FOR JUST A WHILE

I step into the pool.
The water is bath water warm
but feels cool
compared to the blistering hot air.
Kick. Gliiiiide.
Stroke. Gliiiiide.
Side to side
and back again.
Dive under the surface.
Soar to the top.
Arch my back.
Flip. Flop.

As soon as I slip into the pool,
I am weightless.
Limitless.
For just a while.

                                 NAME-CALLING

Ellani Elizabeth White.
That's my name.

My bestie, Viv,
and my parents call me
Ella or El.

But most people call me Splash

or some synonym for whale.

Cannonball into a pool,
drenching everyone,
and wear a whale swimsuit
to your Under the Sea birthday party
when your a chubby kid
who grows up to be a fat tween
and no one will ever let you live down to it.

Ever.

                               SPLASH IS BORN

Now whenever I swim,
I use the steps to ease into the water,
careful not to make waves,
because the memory
of my pool party plays
in my head like a video on a loop.

It was my fifth birthday.
I wanted to be the first one in, so
i ran to the edge and
leapt info the air and
tucked my knees into my chest.

Water sprayed up
as i sank down.
I bobbed to the surface,
expecting cheers for
the splashiest cannonball ever.

That didn't happen.

"Splash spawned a tsunami!"
my sister Anaïs, shouted.
"She almost emptied the pool,"
my brother Liam, chimed in.
I dove under,
drowning my tears.

I wish i could tell everyone
how they made me feel that day  —
humiliated,
angry,
deeply sad.
But every time i try to stand up for myself,
the words get stuck in my throat
like a giant glob of peanut butter.

Besides, if they even listened,
they'd just snap back,
"if you don't like being teasted,
lose weight."

                               FAT GIRL RULES

Some girls my age fill
diaries with dreams and
private thoughts.

Mine has a list of
Fat Girl Rules.

You find out
what these unspoken rules are
when you break them —
and suffer
the consequences.

Fat Girl Rules
I learned
at five:
No cannonballs.
No splashing.
No making waves.

You don't deserve
to be seen or heard,
to take up room,
to be noticed.

Make yourself small.

               WHAT, WHY, WHO, HOW, WHEN

The first Fat Girl Rule
you learn hurts the most,
a startling, scorpion-stringing soul slap.

Something's changed, but you don't know
what.
You replay the moment in your mind from
every possible angle, trying to understand
why.
Why the rules exist and
who.
Who came up with them and
how.
How does anyone have the right to tell you
how to live just because of your weight?

Mostly,  you remember the smack of
the change.
One minute you were like
everybody else, playing around, enjoying life,
and then,
with the flip of an unseen cosmic switch,
you're the fat girl,
stumbling,
trying to regain your balance.
Acting as if you know what you're doing, like
when
you used to play dress-up
and tried to walk
in high-heeled shoes.