Dying to be Thin - Part 1

Sweat ran in fat beads down my forehead as I hovered over the toilet, staring at what remained of my lunch. What I'd just done wasn't a heroic thing, but I thought it might be my last chance to get respect from these people, as well as catch the eye of my dream boy, Cameron Mather. I was crying; tears burned as they mingled with the perspiration masking my face. Everything hurt – my stomach, my head, my throat, but most of all, my heart.

There was a deep pain in my heart that didn't match the pain spread throughout the rest of my body. I collapsed against the stall door, weakly reaching to flush the toilet. Biting down hard on my lower lip, I struggled to hold in my cry. If there was one thing I had to keep secret, it was this. I remembered last summer at camp when this one girl told me about a crush she'd had. Within days, I'd blabbed it to almost the entire camp. She never spoke to me again, and, by the time school was back in session, everybody in school knew not to tell secrets to me.

But now, I had a dreadful secret of my own. It was the first time I'd ever made myself vomit like that. Some part of me felt terrible for having done that, but the deeper, darker part of me was glad. What choice did I have in the matter? Especially if I was going to win Cameron Mather?

Earlier that morning, I'd been getting a drink from the bubbler in between classes when I heard the familiar laughter of popular, handsome Cameron Mather as he chattered easily with the most popular girls in school. The Barbies, as I referred to them. They were clustered in a small group outside the gymnasium, laughing at something he'd said. I couldn't blame them for being charmed by his movie-star looks. He was about six feet tall with a slender, firm figure, topped by a wavy mass of shoulder-length blond hair. Narrow blue eyes were set in a face with a strong jaw and a thin, firm mouth with white, straight teeth. I wanted him so bad it hurt, even though he didn't know I existed.

"So, Cameron, do you like fat girls?" Ashley Harper asked, her eyes sliding over to meet mine. I was struggling not to gawk at Cameron like a lot of other idiot girls did, but he was the magnet, my eyes the iron shavings. I couldn't help but look!

Cameron laughed at her question. "Do I like fat girls? Heck, no! They disgust me!" In my peripheral vision, I saw him turn his head over his shoulder. "Speaking of fat, Charity Logan is the perfect example of a girl who has been eating one too many Big Macs."

Ashley and her friends cut up at that remark, giggling and pinning their mascara-framed eyes at me. I sucked in my breath, watching the water bubble into the drain. My legs felt as though they'd disappeared from the knees down as my heart began to thud. I thought I would, for sure, be sick. Maybe I should go to the nurse's office?

I didn't look at Cameron again that morning.

I grabbed a fistful of toilet paper and wiped at my mouth, my running nose, and the tears spurting from my eyes. I couldn't let his words get to me. Once I lost this weight, he'd eat his words, one by one, and he would fall all over himself to ask me out. And he would definitely be mine.

Using the toilet paper dispenser for support, I staggered to my feet and stepped out of the bathroom stall, hoping I didn't look too disgusting for my last few after-lunch classes. I couldn't bear it if Cameron saw me in my sweaty, miserable glory.

I glanced at myself in the mirror above the sink to see what was so terrible about me that would make the men in my school turn away with disgust? I was a size fourteen, yes, but that was the size of the average American woman, right? I couldn't help it I wasn't five foot ten and seventy-five pounds! My mother, before her death, used to tell me there was nothing wrong with being short, and that I was pretty no matter what.

"You have a beautiful face, Charity. You have to smile more and people will see that you are a good person," she'd said on her death bed.

"I don't know, Mama. They all laugh at me…they call me Fat, Lard butt…horrible names. Sometimes I think I'd be better off if I just got liposuction," I moaned, clutching her hand tightly as tears streamed down my face.

"Ignore them, Sweetie. They're jealous, that's all."

What would the Barbies be jealous of? I was fat and miserable and they were slender, beautiful, and popular. There was no way they'd be jealous of a whale like me.

"They're not jealous, Mama." I shook my head, my shoulder-length brown hair swinging around to hit me lightly in the face.

Her fingers massaged the back of my hand. "I assure you…they are. Now cheer up." She smiled weakly. "I need all the cheer I can get." Her voice was raspy as she spoke. One might think she had a cold, but all these machines brought home reality that she didn't have a simple cold. She was extremely ill with a blood condition and she could easily die any day. I prayed it wouldn't be for a long time.

But my prayers weren't answered. Mama died a few days later in the middle of the night with Father and me holding her hand. She was buried a few days later in the Great Faith cemetery, a ten minute walk down the road from our house. I visited her whenever I was so overwhelmed with sadness, I thought I'd like to die.

Father locked himself up in his room for days, refusing to talk to me about Mama's death and the effect it had on him. He was always so busy with his photography store that he didn't have time for me. Always, he was rushing off to do business for this or that townsperson, leaving me alone with only the cat and reality television for company.

Then he brought home Janine.

I remember my first meeting with that woman as though it were yesterday. Right away, when I saw her teased blond hair, articulate makeup, and designer clothes, I knew she was from a family of wealth. Indeed she was. Her father owned the Jarrett Mills Dairy farm. Other farmers in the area delivered their milk to his farm, where he'd process it and bottle it under the Jarrett Mills label. The proletariat slaved for him. And, to make matters worse, this whole town was named after the Jarrett family – Jarrett Mills, like the dairy label said.

Janine Jarrett reminded me of a blond version of Katy Segal, only she looked as if she had an eating disorder and dressed classier. When I first met her, she was wearing an expensive pink pantsuit that must have cost more than my entire wardrobe put together. She smiled at me, her lips straining as if the force of smiling would make her face crack in little pieces.

"Ooohhh! So this must be Charity!" she squealed, brushing back the straight strands of my hair with her long fingernails. "What a beautiful young lady!" She beamed at my father. "You and Jilly certainly made a lovely daughter, Bill."

"Yeah." Father ran his hand over his thinning hair, his cheeks reddening. "Charity is a straight-A student, never gives me trouble. I never had to set a curfew for her, never had to worry about her breaking rules, or having a messy room. I actually told her not to study so hard once," he said with a small laugh.

She swung her eyes toward my father. "That's good. All teenagers should be this way these days. Seems to me they do nothing but take drugs, lose their virginity, and disrespect their elders."

Darn right, I thought, my mind reverting to the Barbies. We spoke for a little bit before Father and her left for dinner. I wasn't sure what I felt about her. Her voice tore at me; it was high, reedy, and shrill so that it set my teeth on edge. I hoped she would only be a fling and not a permanent addition in my life. I didn't need a stepmother right now. All I needed was to be accepted and to stop grieving.

The memories faded, pulling me into reality. No, there really wasn't anything terrible about the way I looked. Once I lost weight, I was sure I'd be gorgeous, but right now, I just looked like a pretty, but plump girl. I sighed and rushed out of the bathroom, swinging my backpack over my shoulder. Five minutes passed. Shoot! I'm going to be late for class!

A figure stepped out of the office and I ran smack into him.

"Whoa, Charity." Grant Larter grinned at me. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"I'm going to be late for class," I said, smiling to cover up my discomfort. I stuffed my hand into my pocket, fishing for the box of tic-tacs. I shook one out into my hand, offered Grant one. I didn't want him to smell the vomit on me.

"Thanks," he said. "What class are you going to be late for?"

"Oh, it's just math." I shrugged nonchalantly, heading in the direction of the class.

"I'll walk with you," he offered.

I'd known Grant since kindergarten from when he and some of his friends used to chase us girls on the playground. I remembered the first day of school when the teacher told us we were having recess. Right away, he thought we were getting candy, and when he found out we weren't, he'd burst into tears. Ever since, we'd been close friends, though whenever I felt in a mood to tease him, I'd bring up the story about recess.

"Don't bring that up," he'd say with a laugh whenever I remembered it.

He wasn't bad-looking, either. Like Cameron, he was tall, but he wasn't muscular. Instead, he was slender and looked as if he couldn't control his six feet very well. His black hair was trimmed in a crew-cut so that it made his dark eyes look even larger. I liked his smile. It was white and made his whole face light up.

"I just got one of my poems accepted in the Jarrett Mills Literary Journal," Grant said with pride as we walked down the hall.

"Really? That's great, Grant. You're a good poet," I said, smiling at him.

"It will develop my career as a poet further. Plus I'll have a few publishing credits to my name if I ever decide to send a book of poetry out to a publishing house."

"Oh, I know you'll go far." I winked at him.

"You think so?"

"I'm positive. You have a marvelous gift with words. That last poem you wrote for the journal brought tears to my eyes."

He blushed. "Oh, Charity. Hearing you say that means so…much to me," he said.

"Don't get so sentimental." I giggled. "Let's hurry before I'm really in trouble."

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