The Fat Girl Chronicles

Prologue

The changing room was small and cramped. The dingy light above me flickered relentlessly, making my situation seem even more depressing and the clothes discarded in a lazy pile even more disappointing.

I heard my mum behind the curtain. "Ashley, are you going to show us anything you've tried on yet? You've been in there for a while."

I remain silent, I solitary tear going down my face. Please go away.

I hear a loud sigh before the curtain in front of me partially opens, revealing my mum. "Why didn't you show me any of them?" A crease appears on her forehead. She looks disappointed.

I hug my knees tighter to my chest. "They don't fit." I whisper, scared the rest of the world will hear me.

"What?! They don't fit!"

I'm too fat.

When I don't answer she prompts me again, this time in a quieter tone. "They should fit, I got you a size up in everything."

Tell that to my fat rolls.

"Well, they don't. I've grown."

Her face lights up in a misguided understanding. "See! I was telling you you'd have a growth spurt soon."

You didn't. I haven't.

My mum beams at me. "I'll just go ask the shop assistant for a bigger size - you're growing up so fast!"

She leaves, disappearing behind the curtain. I panic. "Wait, mum! I'm not - "

Growing in that way.

I realise she's already gone.

Shortly after, she returns with the sales assistant. The blonde girl looks me over, pasting on a fake smile. "Yeah darl, we're gonna need at least two sizes up. I'll just fetch them for you."

The sales girl - "Mindy" it said on her badge, soon returned with an armful of clothes. I gulped. My mum thanked her and she walked off, leaving the smell of her overly sweet perfume lingering in the air.

"Okay Ashley, you try these on then tell me when you're done." She closed the curtain, giving me the privacy to let my smile fade and rot into a frown.

The first thing I tried on was a dark green figure-hugging dress that flared out slightly above the knee. It looked hideous. All my bulges and flab that I'd worked so hard to hide were clearly on display, in fact, it emphasised them in the most unflattering way possible. The cap sleeves squeezed my arm, giving me a rare form of arm muffin top.

There's no way I'm ever letting anyone see me in this dress.

The curtain railed screeched a warning, as mum poked her head in once again. "Hey Ash, I just found this other top that I think would look really nice on you...." Her words trailed out as she finally noticed me. She swallowed, letting an uneasy grin slide onto her face and linger like an ugly bruise.

"Sweetie! You look nice...." She trailed off.

Sure, and I'm Kim Kardashian.

Tears welled up in my eyes, chin quivering in an effort not to let the tears fall. The truth left my lips in a careless whisper that seemed to echo in the confines of the change room.

"I'm fat, mum."

I wasn't really trying to state a fact. It was a question, a search for comfort. I was looking for someone to deny what was right in front of them. For someone to take me by the hand and lead me into believing that I was perfect. That was a mother's job. To build up their child into something great.

"You look fantastic," I wanted her to say.

"Oh honey, you're gorgeous."

Or even a reassuring,"Don't worry, it's just a chubby stage. I went through the same when I was your age."

But she didn't. There was nothing to comfort me. Instead, my mother looked at me and drew me into a hug. "I'm so sorry honey."

I didn't get what her apology meant to me. It was useless. It's something you'd say to a person who lost a relative, or had been diagnosed with an illness. Not to your 13 year old daughter who was insecure about her weight.

Mum straightened up, focusing her concerned dark brown eyes on me. "I can get an even bigger size if you want, plus there's still heaps of other clothes you haven't tried on."

My lip quivered. "Mum, I just want to go home."

I was sick of sizes. Sick of standing in front of that mirror judging myself. I'd had enough.

Mum nodded, and we left the store without a word, me feeling slightly guilty about the massive pile of clothes I'd left on the floor of the changing room. Heading out of the shopping centre, we passed a shop window with so many pairs of Doc Martens. I stopped to ogle at the shiny leather, at the many colours and prints that were available.

"Do you want to go in?" Mum asked.

I nodded, entranced.

Together we went in and got a shop assistant to get my foot size in the black Docs - the only size I wasn't self-conscious of. As she lifted the boots out of the box, I got a whiff of leather and looked at the gleaming, sturdy boots in awe.

I was officially in love.

After trying them on and getting a perfect size, I risked a sneak at the price tag.... $260?! My hopes deflated. I slouched in my seat. Tears of defeat threatened to prickle my eyes. Hearing delicate footsteps, I breathe in the familiar scent of Mum's Chanel No.5 perfume to calm myself. No use crying over boots. I don't really need them any-

"-So, should I go pay for the shoes now?"

My head shot up so fast that I'm surprised my neck didn't snap. "Wait, what?!" I spluttered out,"I'm getting these?!"

Mum gave me a genuine smile. "Well, it is your 13th birthday soon. And since you haven't got anything else today...." She grimaced. I gave a wobbly smile, not wanting to think about the change room fiasco.

20 minutes later, we were out the door and on our way home. No longer sad, I clutched the shoebox in my pudgy arms. I couldn't wait to wear them.

Once home, mum recounted the afternoon of shopping with the family (well, when she could get a word past my chatterbox brother), tactfully brushing over the part where I was too fat to actually fit into any of the clothes.

It was only when I was climbing the stairs to turn in for the night that I heard it.

Mum was crying.

"John, it was so bad. She couldn't fit into any clothes today." She sniffles and dad rubs her back, making soothing sounds. "I just feel like I failed as a parent."

Dad sighs. "It's probably just a chubby stage."

"I never went through a stage."

"Well, you're both different people honey. I went through one - it's normal."

"Oh, so it's your fault." Mum teases him. He laughs and lightly smacks her on the bum.

"Oi, don't pin this all on me." He grins at her and she laughs again.

I don't laugh. I feel positively sick. So sick in fact, that I almost miss the next words she utters, falling more serious now.

"I'm just worried she's always going to be that fat girl."

Tears trickling down my cheeks, I started to creep back to my room numbly. I remember the damp feeling of my pillow before I fell into a restless sleep, my mum's words echoing around in my head like little shards of poison.

"She's always going to be that fat girl."

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