Read Conversations With the Fat Girl Online
Authors: Liza Palmer
?I'm not eating today.?I say ?I had this vision of the wedding
pictures.?Years from now, Olivia sits with her towheaded
children-of-the-corn kids reminiscing about her wedding day She pulls
out the wedding album and the room falls silent. 'Who's that big fat
girl, Mummy??one of her children says in a Dickensian British accent,
pointing at me in the photograph. ?She frightens me, I shall have bad
dreams if we have to keep
81 Conversations with the Fat Girl 75 looking at her.?Olivia closes the
wedding album forever, tousling her child's hair. At that, they all
scamper out to their rose garden to have high tea. ?1 know, huh? Just be
glad you're not the one who has to try on your wedding dress in less
than an hour. I haven't eaten in days,? Olivia says, waving off the
muffin her mom is offering. The bridal shop is an emporium of white
dresses. Dresses saddled with so many hopes and fears, perfect bodies,
perfect weddings, and even more perfect marriages. Olivia has made an
appointment, or rather Mrs. Morten has made this final fitting
appointment. We are led over to our space. This space is my own personal
hell. There are mirrors everywhere: to the side of you, to the hack of
you, to the front of you. Every possible angle. The bride stands on a
small platform in front of everyone and presents herself for inspection.
I catch glimpses of my body from the side, from the hack, and From the
front. Every possible angle. I dry-heave. All I can see is my Area. I
have completely forgotten Olivia is trying on her wedding dress. I have
completely forgotten there is anyone else in the room. ?Maggie??Mrs.
Morten asks. ?Love, can yOU run and get a disposable camera? Adam has
got to see this.?She stands in front of me. Where did she come from? Why
isn't there yet another mirror directly in front of me? ?Sure.? I gather
my purse and take a twenty-dollar bill from her. Olivia is in the
fitting room being pinned and sewn into a size 2. She will be a size 2
for her wedding. Where will I be? Olivia has not spoken to me since we
entered the bridal salon. Part of me knows she still fears this
mirrored, platformed performance space as much as I do. I return with
the disposable camera to find my best friend
82 76 Liza Palmer
standing on a platform looking like a fairy princess. She is stunning.
There is a crowd forming around her. Olivia is magnetic. She is the envy
of everyone around her: the maids of honor who are here for support, the
brides who will try on their dresses for their big day, and the
teary-eyed moms who stand back gazing at their grown-up girls. Olivia is
the perfect bride. I snap a pic.ture. I watch Olivia stand and twirl.
She's staring at herself in the mirror. Is she blown away, too? She's
probably used to looking at her perfect body by now, but all dressed up
in a wedding gown has got to be something of a mind fuck even for her.
Still, somewhere in this process the magnetic Olivia becomes the
barking- orders, condescending Olivia, shooing people away with a royal
flick of her hand. There is a collective sigh of relief from the entire
bridal salon. At least that pretty girl in the size 2 is a bitch. They
wouldn't know how to deal with Olivia if she were friendly and
self-effacing. Instead, she gives everyone in the store exactly what
they want: a common enemy. Mrs. Morten has taken over the role of
photographer. It didn't hold my attention. I have spent the first hour
running around grabbing pins and telling Olivia how the dress looks from
every angle. At one point she asked me at what angle it looked the most
like a size 2. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying The one
staring down at the tag. I'm no longer in on conferences regarding the
dress. I'm reduced to giving thumbs- up or thumbs-down. But no one
really minds one way or the other what my thumb is doing. I could shove
it up my ass for all anyone cares. Mrs. Morten is snapping pictures from
every angle. My new game is avoiding being in the background of any of
the snapshots. After that gets old, I start watching the girl by Olivia.
I noticed her when I came back with the disposable camera. She is
83 Conversations with the Fat Girl
quite heavy and holds it all in her middle. I know Olivia spotted her as
well. It's the reason she's positioned herself four platforms away. Once
again, it's the Fat Entity Theory As in any subculture, there is a
pecking order among the overweight ranks. Those afflicted with the
disease of obesity constantly compare themselves with other overweight
people, the perennial question being whether they are as fat as that
woman or this other unfortunate girl. And being in close proximity with
another of your overweight brethren doesn't bring you comfort. Quite the
contrary It brings shame and backbiting. No one wants to shop in the
second-floor Plus Size department-the proverbial Fat Girl HQ. And once
you no longer have to shop there-like the welfare line or traffic
school-you want to forget you were ever there. This is the club that
Olivia has distanced herself from. She doesn't want to be among the
alumni. She doesn't want the monthly flyer. She wants nothing to do with
the culture of being at anymore. And really, who can blame her? I wear
my membership with shame-covered up with coffeehouse aprons and
untouched by human hands. Today Olivia must do the unthinkable: try on
her wedding dress next to a woman of size without imagining people are
comparing her with the girl on the next platform. The overweight bride's
maid of honor is snapping pictures of her day as well. The maid of honor
is dressed in funky fashions that look thrift store vintage but actually
cost more than new clothes. She and the mother of the bride, who weighs
about a hundred pounds wringing wet and who's ravishing in a
white-and-black Chanel suit, look on and commiserate about the outcome
of this session. They fret about the outcome of this session. What are
they to do? The dress they ordered came in the wrong size and here's
only six weeks until the big day I overhear. They can't order another
dress like this in her size and guarantee it will
84 78 Liza Palmer
arrive on time. The girl stands on the viewing platform and is silent. I
watch her. She is me. Bridal shop workers run to find bigger sizes. When
she emerges from the fitting room, there is no celebration, no
thumbs-up. Just someone to quickly throw a shawl over her shoulders, an
accessory they feel is a must. Sometimes she emerges with her girdle
fully visible in the back because some dresses cant be buttoned at all.
Then the call comes. ?Go get the next size up!?Martine herself cries,
with chiffon wrap in one hand and a tape measure in the other. What
young girl imagines her wedding day as a fat bride? How many months
passed during which she told herself she would lose weight? I identify
with the look of horror on her face as she tries not to act like she's
dying a little each time a dress doesn't fit. I identify while at the
same time distancing myself from her in every way You smile for your mom
and best friend and suck it up. They assure you the dress looks great.
But there's always a beautiful! girl next to you who has the salon
helpers ogling her. The beautiful girl they never once hand a wrap.
85
Most Like a Supermodel
Once in an English class at Cal, the assignment of the day was to write
about your favorite place. I sat there, unable to think of anything. I
looked around at all the smug faces of the other students who couldn't
wait to tell everyone about sitting on a porch in some chair their
grandfather whittled or standing under the great oak where they received
their first kiss. Then it came to me. I was most happy while driving in
my car. What does it say about me that my favorite place is en route to
somewhere else? ?Hey there, Christina, how's everything going??I walk
into work early and find myself in a good mood because of it. I don't
know what it is about Christina. I want so badly to get along with her
to prove to myself that I'm not a skinny- woman hater. Just because
someone has a great body doesn't mean I have to insult her or think her
inferior. Christina Dahl is turning out to be a tough one, however. ?I
applied for this acting school, like, to help my career.?Christina's
?career? consists of some morally questionable fashion
86 80 Liza Palmer shoots on an assortment of chrome-plated vintage cars
where her only direction was to ?look hot.? ?Oh, that's great. When will
you find out if you got in??My voice is high and forced. ?Yeah, I got in
... I said I applied.?Christina stops and puts her hands on the rim of
the sink. ?I don't know why people have to be such bitches sometimes.?
?Are you having problems with someone??You stereo typical tart. ?My best
friend started all these, like, rumors about me. I know it's just
because she thinks I'm jealous of her and her boyfriend.? ?And you're
not??I ask. ?Fuck, no. Her boyfriend is like this hairy guy with
clothes, you know.. ?Yes, people with clothes can be very
disconcerting.? ?It's, like, not even about that, you know. I mean if
she really had something, like, going on that was good, I would be
jealous.?I finish tying my apron around my waist and pull out my
T-shirt. ?But that's hard to find,? she continues in a quiet voice,
whisking her bangs out of her face. I stop. Has Christina Dahl said
something mildly insightful and touching? Can she be one of us
underneath? ?You'd be jealous of a man like that, of a relationship like
that??I ask. ?Who wouldn't? I mean, like, most guys I go out with are
much older, you know? Sometimes I think they think all I'm about is
being sexy I was voted Most Like a Supermodel at my last acting
school.?Christina has told me that nugget of information ten times since
the big election. I have already drafted my letter to the Better
Business Bureau regarding an acting
87 Conversations with the Fat Girl 81 school that has elections with
categories such as this priceless example. I only have seconds before
Cole notices I am gone and about thirty minutes before Domenic comes in
for his shift. To be seen back here chatting up Christina Dahl would
definitely be something. Maybe I can learn from The John Sheridan. I am
doing charity work. I will look at my relationship with Christina as a
bit of mentoring volunteer work. Wouldn't it. be great if she turned out
to be a girl who isn't all caught up in her looks, who believed herself
to be intelligent and good at other things rather than showing off her
midriff and ass crack at the drop of a hat . . . a hat, a spoon, a leaf
from an autumn tree . . hell, at the drop of a mention from some frat
boy wanting to see some ass. Enough. I am not jealous. I will find the
good in Christina Dab 1. Underneath that tiny, barely clothed figure
there is a girl who just wants to be accepted and loved, to have
somebody hold her hand as she lies dying. I will find our common ground.
?I'd better get on out there. You know Cole.? Maybe later. That common
ground will still be common tomorrow. Christina begins to get the mop
bucket out of the bathroom. She has to make the back room look perfect
before Domenic arrives. Once again, she has fallen behind. She looks
hesitant. I get a sudden wave of energy to start my mentoring right now,
so I stop a second before I walk out. ?Your best friend sounds like she
may be a little jealous of you,?I say ?She knows you disapprove of her
relationship and thinks it's the one thing she's got that you don't.
Just try to understand where she's coming from. Women can be especially
cruel to each other, you know, and jealousy is usually at the root.?
?Well, I know she's jealous of me. I mean Christina trails off and
traces the outline of her figure as proof. ?But that doesn't mean she
has to be a complete bitch about it.?
88 82 Liza Palmer
Fucking conceited ass . . . this is going to be harder than I thought. I
shake my head, push open the door into the coffeehouse, and wonder how
it is that a brainless twit like Christina has such confidence and I, a
worthy candidate for it, have nary a speck. I never think anyone is
jealous of me, except maybe bulimics and anorexics for eating anything I
want and keeping it down. But this girl just walks around knowing people
want to be her. I remember Kate telling me a story about when she
enrolled Emily in ballet class at the Pasadena Athletic Club. Kate was
told to bring Emily to class in full ballet togs so she could hop around
for an hour with a former ballerina named Miss Janie. Upon their
arrival, Kate was horrified to see that all the other little girls were
wearing little black leotards and pink tights. Emily on the other hand,
was in pink from head to toe, including her tutu and sparkling wand.
Kate turned to Emily thinking her daughter would be humiliated.