The Fat Girl
“I woke up so frightened I could barely get my arm out from beneath the blanket to flip on the lamp next to my bed. Even with the light on, I could feel it pressing in on me. I knew it was because of Ellen.
The next day I walked her home from school. I talked and this time she listened. It was just before the Christmas break, and the stores and houses that we passed shone with bright ornaments.
“You have to stop talking about killing yourself,” I told her. “You have to think about living....”
She shook her head.
“You have to find ways to enjoy your life,” I insisted. She shook her head again.
“You have to make your life better,” I told her, “and you’re not going to feel better about yourself until you lose some weight.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Why can’t you? Is it something glandular? Is it a physiological thing?”MoreLess
The next day I walked her home from school. I talked and this time she listened. It was just before the Christmas break, and the stores and houses that we passed shone with bright ornaments.
“You have to stop talking about killing yourself,” I told her. “You have to think about living....”
She shook her head.
“You have to find ways to enjoy your life,” I insisted. She shook her head again.
“You have to make your life better,” I told her, “and you’re not going to feel better about yourself until you lose some weight.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Why can’t you? Is it something glandular? Is it a physiological thing?”MoreLess
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