Throwing Their Weight Around

I was a fat kid. I was a fat teenager. And I was a fat college freshmen. My first summer in college, I lost a tone of weight and went from being a size 40 waist to a slim 32. Jesus, was I happy. Some folks even said I looked anorexic. I realize the inherent danger and concern in such a statement, but to a life-long fat kid, the phrase was dangerously beautiful and empowering.

I have re-gained some weight and now teeter back at 36-38 waist. I realize that I am gaining back those pounds I lost, but I can still feel my hip bones, and to me that is wonderful. Hopefully, I can stay at my current weight and maybe lose a few. We shall see, but losing all that weight was wonderful.

Anyway, here are some musings. These are inherently auto-biographical and the kind of creative non-fiction that I hope to develop in the future. I adore creative writing and would give pretty much almost anything to be a Palahniuk, O'Brien, or, hell, even a Danielle Steel! However, I realize that I am not very good at creative writing. I will never ever quit it, but accept that I would be happy if it all just remained a dream. However, maybe I have a shot at this whole creative non-fiction thing. Let us try.

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Big Fat Kid runs to the bathroom after snack time and scans the row of stalls and sinks.
All clear.
He produces a clear, plastic case with a travel toothbrush the size of an car key. From his other pocket he will slip out a roll of toothpaste and then squeeze a liberal amount onto the frayed brush head. After wetting it with a quick spray of water from the faucet he will duck into the farthest stall, the one under the ventilator, and brush. Brush and brush and brush. He once cut into his gums and spat out a foamy mix the color of new bricks. He never dared to brush out by the sinks where someone could see him. Being fat was enough for the playground.
He swirls the brush head over the crowns of his molars, just as the dentist told him. He presses the brush head down so that the very tips of his teeth feel the plastic of the actual handle.
Once done, he wipes up the foam from the corner's of his mouth with a bit of toilet paper. Big Fat Kid then checks again for the bathroom to be clear.
He is safe, again.
He spits into the sinks and rinses out the rest of the foam from his mouth. He hears footsteps down the hall, but has already sheathed the brush back into its case and the paste back into his pocket.

He does the same after lunch and ever meal at home. His mother worries about the constant trips to the bathroom.
"What if he has to pee a lot?" She asks Father. "Isn't that a sign of diabetes?"
Father does not know, but looks at his son through the corners of his eyes, realizing his wife's concern. He imagines a doctor responding to his wife's question. "Well, we'll need some tests, but considering your son, I would not be surprised."
Father returns to his own work and so does mother, which includes scheduling the appoint to the dentist.

Big Fat Kid likes the dentist's office. There are no scales and the secretary always seems so warm and kind. Of course, her smile is perfect too. Big Fat Kid's has always been perfect. Never a cavity in his life. Up on the dentist's chair, Big Fat Kid opens wide and his cheeks just barely flub up over the bottom of his eyes. The dentist reaches in and she too has a perfect smile.
"You're teeth are in perfect condition young man. I have never heard of a ten-year old boy with teeth like yours." Big Fat Kid looks up, but only sees the powder blue outline of her smock surrounding the headlamp she wears over blond, curly locks. "Perfect," she says again with just some tiny motions in his mouth.
Big Fat Kids looks back up at the light, not trying to close his eyes, and enjoys the word "Perfect." He always likes the dentist. He always insists coming the two times a year recommended by the ADA. He likes his teeth, because he knows they are beautiful.

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After typing this, I realized it became a creative piece. Do'h...err...I mean, good?

When I was fat I hated how I was always off the charts at the pediatrician's office. There weren't spaces on the little graphs he used to tally my heart and weight in my file. While my mom I should be proud that I had to buy pants in the men's section at nine, you could hardly feel proud that you are fat. I understand the inherent ability of appreciating one's self and fucking all that negative body image crap. Skinny people can be, and are, just as un-happy as everybody else. However, unless you yourself have felt it, then you can't begin to appreciate the sheer mind fuck that is losing a ton of weight. I lost it all accidentally too, which I believe heightens the sense of wonder I have for the experience. In May I was fat and in August I was emaciated. Thanks, South Hill!