My body looked hot in that turquoise dress and I had good eyes. At least
that's what some drunk guy told me. Right before he turned his head to
do a closed-mouth burp and put a thick hand around my waist. I peeled
him off with a tight smile and walked away. I could feel my eyes dulling.
Looking out across the torn up frat house, it was clear it was getting late.
Newfound couples had trickled out the side doors and the boys who hadn't
closed the deal were getting desperate.
Another vulture walked over, “Hey, what house are you in?”
”Zeta Chi.”
”Sweet. You know Sarah?”
We both looked over at Sarah. She was dancing like a stripper on a phony
Greek pillar. It had been sexy earlier, but with the floor clearing out, now it
was just sad.
“Yeah. Actually, she's my roommate.”
“Seriously? That is so hot. You guys should make out.”
“Yeah, because that's what college needs. More fake lesbians.”
He laughed, a little too hard.
I sighed, “Tell you what, I'm gonna go check on my friend.”
“Oh, all right, you need a drink?”
“No, I'm set.”
Looking over it all, from a balcony with broken railing and a banner draping
down reading “AEO”, it felt like I wasn't there at all. Like I was just floating
over this sea of unnatural spawning, of half-attempted failed fertilizations.
Their greased words were so absurdly calculated to me now. Please, like I
was supposed to spread my legs for that. To think, I used to be ignored
by these insects. I had actually wasted an entire summer running and
tanning to stand there feeling like a piñata dangling from the ceiling, and I
was not about to let some staggering drunk crack me open.
If I wanted my college paid for, I had to join my mother's blessed sorority.
They had to take me, I was a “legacy”, meaning my mom used to be a
sister. Ah, the dreaded legacy. Unless you are missing your front teeth or
steaming with body odor, legacy status means a sorority must accept you.
To keep things fair, it is often not made public among the sorority as to
who are the legacies and who are the real pledges. As a result, it is thrown
around as an insult. Say something embarrassing, wear something ugly
and expect the cutting whisper and snicker, “legacy.”
And me, I didn't keep anyone guessing because I had the most jarring
marker of all: I was fat.
The part that really made the girls discuss me late night was that I didn't
seem to care. That was the real crime. When I laughed and made jokes
about my thighs, the older girls cringed. I might as well have been flaunting
a stab wound.
None of this seemed to dent me too much. I like to think I was undentable
until Josh came along. Josh: better known as the guy who slept with the
fat girl. Josh lived down the hall from me in Langston's dorm. If it weren't
for the acne, he could have been one of those shirtless guys in an
Abercrombie ad. Or rather, it seemed like he had serious aspirations of
becoming part of an Abercrombie ad. He was pledging a frat that year.
There was something about the open hostility of frats that I liked. It
seemed more honest. He spent a lot of time getting called douche bag,
cleaning a house he didn't live in and getting force fed drinks, but he
usually made time to hang out.
He didn’t make a move for most of the year. That didn’t happen until the
St. Patrick’s Day date party (where he took another nameless girl who was
not me). Afterwards, he stumbled to my room. I was still awake.
He pounded on my door and whispered loud, “Jennnn, open up.” I opened
the door and he tried to focus on me with his intoxicated puppy eyes.
He was wearing a shirt that read “Kiss me I’m Irish.” He squinted one eye
and was able to fix on my raised eyebrow. He pointed at his chest, “C’mon
man, read the shirt.”
”Go to bed, Josh.”
”Jen, c’mon, I loooove you.”
”That’s cute, really. Now, go to bed.”
He knocked on my door the next morning. Through the peephole, he
scrunched his brow at me and smiled. I sighed and opened the door. He
took a seat on my bed and let his fingers graze through my CDs. He
pulled one out, “AC/DC? Are you serious?”
"Yeah, I was serious," I said, folding my arms, “You know, in that I think I’
m a rocker even though I’m fourteen and live in the suburbs kind of way.”
“Hmmm. I could see that,” he smiled from the corner of his mouth, “I’m
sorry about last night…I was pretty drunk.”
I sat down at the edge of the bed, “Yeah, I know.”
He scratched the nape of his neck and turned his head to peer at me,
“Remember that time you saved me from the RA and hid me in your
closet?”
I looked at him and smiled, “Yeah, cause it was like last week.”
Then he took his other hand and pulled me towards him. “I liked that,” he
said close to my mouth. Then he kissed me.
“Smooth” I mumbled through the kiss, “Real smooth.”
“Shhhh.”
“Don’t shhh me,” I said and pushed him back on the bed. I went down
with him and kissed his smirking lips back.
His frat brother saw us leave my room later that afternoon. Josh jerked a
little when he saw him. Then he started talking fast and laughing at things
that weren’t funny. Nothing was officially said between them, but by the
end of the day, his whole frat knew what happened. This provided a new
source for the constant mockery. I overheard one guy ask him if he
planned to bring Chewbacca to the next date party. I didn’t listen for his
response. I was big, but I was not furry. Next time I saw Josh, I greeted
him with “Rawwrrrrrr.” He paused and touched my arm, “Those guys are
idiots,” he said.
Before summer break, Josh and I spent every day studying in the
arboretum for finals. He wasn’t exactly acing his classes and so I was glad
to see him study. The day before his chemistry final, as he rummaged
through his wind-blown papers, he looked up at me and said ”Man, I don’t
want to go to the house tonight.”
“Don’t,” I said, “I’m sure they’ll understand.”
He shrugged, “I gotta. If I don’t, they’ll just haze me worse later.”
“So, what? They’ll put three brooms up your ass instead of one?”
“I don’t even know, I heard its bad.”
He came to my room the next afternoon with stale alcohol oozing from his
pores, “I missed my exam.”
”Shit.”
”Yeah.”
Josh took me to the last date party of the year. Most of the older girls
from my house were there. They saw me and smiled the way a princess
might look at the peasantry. They probably whispered about whether or
not this was a charity ball. Later on, he danced with me and kissed me, in
front of everyone—the older girls, his frat brothers. As far as I was
concerned, it might as well have been the President of the United States,
which would have been weird, but no less monumental.
It was only three days later that I saw Lauren, a senior in the house,
standing on the porch of AEO on a messy Saturday morning with Josh.
She was kissing him and gripping her hand on his ass like the man she
was. She was one of those gorgeous, man-in-a-woman's body types that
strangely made the rest of us women question our own womanhood. There
was no hope for me.
That same day, I got a ride home for the summer. I didn't call or try to see
him before I left, but I did leave a post-it note message on his door that
read “Screw Off”. It was true that I didn't start out the year quite this fat.
Maybe it was the drinking, the not exercising, it was hard to tell. When I
walked up the steps to meet my mom and she hugged me, I could feel her
gripping my fat rolls, weighing them in her hands. “Oh, Jen, you got bigger,
didn't you?” she said, pulling back and looking at me with pursed lips. I
gritted my jaw and carried my stuff to my old room. A room plastered with
pictures of thirty-pounds-less me.
Before school ended, the other Jennifer in our hall, the one I heard people
call “Skinny Jenny” to differentiate us, had asked if I wanted to run a
marathon with her. She handed me a packet she printed from the Internet
and squeezed my arm with her tanned painted fingers,
“C'mon, it'll be fun.”
“Can you believe that?” I said to Josh later, “You think this is one of Skinny
Jen's do-gooder projects? Making Jennies everywhere skinny? Sick.”
He watched my furrowed brow and said nothing.
next page
that's what some drunk guy told me. Right before he turned his head to
do a closed-mouth burp and put a thick hand around my waist. I peeled
him off with a tight smile and walked away. I could feel my eyes dulling.
Looking out across the torn up frat house, it was clear it was getting late.
Newfound couples had trickled out the side doors and the boys who hadn't
closed the deal were getting desperate.
Another vulture walked over, “Hey, what house are you in?”
”Zeta Chi.”
”Sweet. You know Sarah?”
We both looked over at Sarah. She was dancing like a stripper on a phony
Greek pillar. It had been sexy earlier, but with the floor clearing out, now it
was just sad.
“Yeah. Actually, she's my roommate.”
“Seriously? That is so hot. You guys should make out.”
“Yeah, because that's what college needs. More fake lesbians.”
He laughed, a little too hard.
I sighed, “Tell you what, I'm gonna go check on my friend.”
“Oh, all right, you need a drink?”
“No, I'm set.”
Looking over it all, from a balcony with broken railing and a banner draping
down reading “AEO”, it felt like I wasn't there at all. Like I was just floating
over this sea of unnatural spawning, of half-attempted failed fertilizations.
Their greased words were so absurdly calculated to me now. Please, like I
was supposed to spread my legs for that. To think, I used to be ignored
by these insects. I had actually wasted an entire summer running and
tanning to stand there feeling like a piñata dangling from the ceiling, and I
was not about to let some staggering drunk crack me open.
If I wanted my college paid for, I had to join my mother's blessed sorority.
They had to take me, I was a “legacy”, meaning my mom used to be a
sister. Ah, the dreaded legacy. Unless you are missing your front teeth or
steaming with body odor, legacy status means a sorority must accept you.
To keep things fair, it is often not made public among the sorority as to
who are the legacies and who are the real pledges. As a result, it is thrown
around as an insult. Say something embarrassing, wear something ugly
and expect the cutting whisper and snicker, “legacy.”
And me, I didn't keep anyone guessing because I had the most jarring
marker of all: I was fat.
The part that really made the girls discuss me late night was that I didn't
seem to care. That was the real crime. When I laughed and made jokes
about my thighs, the older girls cringed. I might as well have been flaunting
a stab wound.
None of this seemed to dent me too much. I like to think I was undentable
until Josh came along. Josh: better known as the guy who slept with the
fat girl. Josh lived down the hall from me in Langston's dorm. If it weren't
for the acne, he could have been one of those shirtless guys in an
Abercrombie ad. Or rather, it seemed like he had serious aspirations of
becoming part of an Abercrombie ad. He was pledging a frat that year.
There was something about the open hostility of frats that I liked. It
seemed more honest. He spent a lot of time getting called douche bag,
cleaning a house he didn't live in and getting force fed drinks, but he
usually made time to hang out.
He didn’t make a move for most of the year. That didn’t happen until the
St. Patrick’s Day date party (where he took another nameless girl who was
not me). Afterwards, he stumbled to my room. I was still awake.
He pounded on my door and whispered loud, “Jennnn, open up.” I opened
the door and he tried to focus on me with his intoxicated puppy eyes.
He was wearing a shirt that read “Kiss me I’m Irish.” He squinted one eye
and was able to fix on my raised eyebrow. He pointed at his chest, “C’mon
man, read the shirt.”
”Go to bed, Josh.”
”Jen, c’mon, I loooove you.”
”That’s cute, really. Now, go to bed.”
He knocked on my door the next morning. Through the peephole, he
scrunched his brow at me and smiled. I sighed and opened the door. He
took a seat on my bed and let his fingers graze through my CDs. He
pulled one out, “AC/DC? Are you serious?”
"Yeah, I was serious," I said, folding my arms, “You know, in that I think I’
m a rocker even though I’m fourteen and live in the suburbs kind of way.”
“Hmmm. I could see that,” he smiled from the corner of his mouth, “I’m
sorry about last night…I was pretty drunk.”
I sat down at the edge of the bed, “Yeah, I know.”
He scratched the nape of his neck and turned his head to peer at me,
“Remember that time you saved me from the RA and hid me in your
closet?”
I looked at him and smiled, “Yeah, cause it was like last week.”
Then he took his other hand and pulled me towards him. “I liked that,” he
said close to my mouth. Then he kissed me.
“Smooth” I mumbled through the kiss, “Real smooth.”
“Shhhh.”
“Don’t shhh me,” I said and pushed him back on the bed. I went down
with him and kissed his smirking lips back.
His frat brother saw us leave my room later that afternoon. Josh jerked a
little when he saw him. Then he started talking fast and laughing at things
that weren’t funny. Nothing was officially said between them, but by the
end of the day, his whole frat knew what happened. This provided a new
source for the constant mockery. I overheard one guy ask him if he
planned to bring Chewbacca to the next date party. I didn’t listen for his
response. I was big, but I was not furry. Next time I saw Josh, I greeted
him with “Rawwrrrrrr.” He paused and touched my arm, “Those guys are
idiots,” he said.
Before summer break, Josh and I spent every day studying in the
arboretum for finals. He wasn’t exactly acing his classes and so I was glad
to see him study. The day before his chemistry final, as he rummaged
through his wind-blown papers, he looked up at me and said ”Man, I don’t
want to go to the house tonight.”
“Don’t,” I said, “I’m sure they’ll understand.”
He shrugged, “I gotta. If I don’t, they’ll just haze me worse later.”
“So, what? They’ll put three brooms up your ass instead of one?”
“I don’t even know, I heard its bad.”
He came to my room the next afternoon with stale alcohol oozing from his
pores, “I missed my exam.”
”Shit.”
”Yeah.”
Josh took me to the last date party of the year. Most of the older girls
from my house were there. They saw me and smiled the way a princess
might look at the peasantry. They probably whispered about whether or
not this was a charity ball. Later on, he danced with me and kissed me, in
front of everyone—the older girls, his frat brothers. As far as I was
concerned, it might as well have been the President of the United States,
which would have been weird, but no less monumental.
It was only three days later that I saw Lauren, a senior in the house,
standing on the porch of AEO on a messy Saturday morning with Josh.
She was kissing him and gripping her hand on his ass like the man she
was. She was one of those gorgeous, man-in-a-woman's body types that
strangely made the rest of us women question our own womanhood. There
was no hope for me.
That same day, I got a ride home for the summer. I didn't call or try to see
him before I left, but I did leave a post-it note message on his door that
read “Screw Off”. It was true that I didn't start out the year quite this fat.
Maybe it was the drinking, the not exercising, it was hard to tell. When I
walked up the steps to meet my mom and she hugged me, I could feel her
gripping my fat rolls, weighing them in her hands. “Oh, Jen, you got bigger,
didn't you?” she said, pulling back and looking at me with pursed lips. I
gritted my jaw and carried my stuff to my old room. A room plastered with
pictures of thirty-pounds-less me.
Before school ended, the other Jennifer in our hall, the one I heard people
call “Skinny Jenny” to differentiate us, had asked if I wanted to run a
marathon with her. She handed me a packet she printed from the Internet
and squeezed my arm with her tanned painted fingers,
“C'mon, it'll be fun.”
“Can you believe that?” I said to Josh later, “You think this is one of Skinny
Jen's do-gooder projects? Making Jennies everywhere skinny? Sick.”
He watched my furrowed brow and said nothing.
next page
| A Doll for You by Emily Waters r.kv.r.y summer-fall 2007 fiction |
Sculpture, The Maiden
by Stephanie Alice Rogers
14" H 2006
by Stephanie Alice Rogers
14" H 2006