Redefining Beautiful

Chapter Two: Fat Girl Problems

If you’re like me, you can observe your world around you much more closely than the average person. Since I don’t talk much, I sit down and wonder and decode and process. I wish I could talk about the things I have discovered, but I have yet to find my voice in this world.

My middle school is a stereotypical place with the preps that wear the same things and act as if they’re royalty. There’s the cool kids that stroll around campus, but you never actually see them in class. There’s the nerds that wear thrift store finds - but not the hipster finds - who travel separately. There’s the goths who crowd in circles and hang their heads. I haven’t quite uncovered their problem, but I’ll assume that’s their way of communicating. Oh, then there’s me. The one that doesn’t quite know where I stand on the social ladder, but I know it’s nowhere high enough to be consider in a certain group.

You might think I’m a freak, but I study bodies a lot while I’m sitting on the bench by the library at break. Mostly because I’m not content with my own, so I scrutinize everyone else’s. In P.E., it’s the toughest because you see all the skinny girls feigning that they can’t run because they’re “fat” and I scan them from head to toe, not seeing an ounce of fat clinging to their bones. It’s not the easiest thing in the world to see people with great bodies and it’s even harder that the image of yourself takes over to the point you can’t even look people in the eye and talk to them.

That’s why I need Destiny to be there because she always knows what to say. Last semester, Destiny and I were walking home when we spotted Rustin McDarment exiting Emery High School’s field. Destiny urged me to say hi, but I couldn’t bring myself to it. She had rolled her eyes and waved Rustin down.

“Hey you,” she had said flirtatiously, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. Rustin had smiled politely, glanced at me, and I panicked. Suddenly, every inch of my insecurities were screaming.

“What were you doing at the field?” Destiny had then taken over the conversation because I clearly wasn’t ready to say something. When I was, I shakily said, “Oh...yeah. Remember when-when we used to come to the field all the time?” And Rustin had nodded, holding a smile. “That was great.” I had added.

“Well,” Rustin shrugged. “If you want to start playin’ again just hit me up.”

“Yeah, I’ll do-definitely I’ll do that.” I said. And when Rustin had taken off with a couple of his buddies, Destiny had praised me for finally speaking. She had said, “At this rate, you could find a boyfriend”. And I remembered I was so happy that something was finally changing for me.

Fast forward to the present and I am still stuck in the puppy dog phase in my relationship with Rustin. I stare at him and just admire his full lips and his milky brown eyes from a safe distance. That’s as close as I’ll ever get to the Rustin McDarment.

If you’re like me, you avoid all eye contact with billboards, magazines, pictures, anything with someone better looking than you. I was at the grocery store with my mom when I passed by the magazine rack on our way to the cash register. There was something that caught my eye on this magazine. It was one of those health and fitness ones: how to lose weight in just thirty days! The woman on the cover was toned and tanned, only wearing a yellow string bikini. Next to her current look was a snapshot of her before she lost weight. The results were unbelievable in just thirty days.

“Mom,” I called, but she was busy stacking cans on the conveyor belt, so her response to me was a soft hum. I plucked the magazine out of the rack and sidled up to my mother. “Look,” I said. “I want to look like this.”

She glanced at it, then shook her head saying, “Honey, those people are airbrushed.”

“I’m not saying look at her flawless complexion, I’m saying her body, mom. I want to be thin like this.” I clarified.

“Then you”--she looked me in the eyes--“have to work for it. A fit body doesn’t happen overnight.”

“What about thirty days?” I asked, setting the magazine back on the rack.

“Try it and see.” My mom dug through the pockets in her wallet for cash to pay the cashier. I started transferring filled bags from the hooks to the basket. I wasn’t particularly motivated to try and see. Don’t ask why.

When we arrived home from the grocery store, I didn’t want to get out of the car. My favorite song was playing on my iPod, and I enjoyed listening to music and staring out the window dramatically as if I was in a movie because it felt like an escape. An escape from-

“Charlie, honey, can you grab the groceries from the back?” My mom stumbled out of the driver’s seat with her purse and water bottle. Her voice is strong enough to hear through my earbuds.

“Yeah, sure.” I jerked the handle and pushed open my car door. That’s when the sunray hit, almost blinding me. A glimpse of a Greek God in the dense grass - which has been sitting untreated since it’s previous owners ditched the house three years ago - caught my eye. Well, the house was vacant now; the decaying For Sale sign was no longer buried in the grass, a U-Haul truck was parked in the driveway, and a boy was mowing the front lawn. A shirtlessboy. A hot, shirtless boy. The sun was reflecting off his flawless, tan skin.

One thing was for sure: I needed to hide. I retreated back into my mom’s car, slammed the door shut, and just as I was about to hop out of the opposite car door, I heard my mom pipe, “Well, good afternoon neighbors”. Freeze.

She was greeting the hot boy’s mom now. I didn’t dare look, but I heard another woman’s voice, matching the thrilled tone of my mother’s, so I had concluded that it wasn’t the Greek God I just discovered.

Think. Think. Think.

Okay, so I cautiously - avoiding all sounds possible - slid down the back seat, pulled back the handle to the car door closest to the front door of my house...It’s locked. Hastily, I switched the lock only to spark the car alarm. Startled, I flopped back and rolled onto the car floor. “Damn it.” I muttered.

“Oh, my...” I heard the woman gasp.

“Sorry, one second.” I heard the jingling of my mother’s keys as she dug for them in her purse. She pressed the button on the car remote, and the alarm immediately discontinued. “It must be my daughter.” My mom said nervously.

That comment wasn’t necessary, mother.

“I have a son!” The woman chirped.

Obviously.

“What age is your daughter?” She asked. While my mother conversed with the young sounding woman, I took this as an opportunity to sneak out of the car and into the house. I would return for the groceries later...when nobody is around...and when it’s dark.

I didn’t even pass the hood of my mom’s car when she yelled, “Charlie, dear, come meet our sweet new neighbors!” There was no way I was going to let the Greek God of California see me in soiled, foul smelling sweats and pit-stained sweatshirt.

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” I shouted, sprinting towards the front door. “Nice to meet you! Come again! Okay, bye!” I slammed the front door shut. Sliding by back against the door, I panted. I hoped he didn’t see me. I prayed he didn’t see me.

I guess it’s a sixth sense. Some people just witness something and get this crazy feeling that  it was the answer to their prayers. It could be a coincidence, but how does the hottest boy in Central California moving next door to you and you’re the only one who knows of his existence sound? Definitely not a coincidence.