The Lighter Side of Large (37 page)

When we stop, Jae is as breathless as I am. “I want you in my life. Do you believe me now?”

In reply, I lean forward and kiss him.

•

After a morning walk on a trail and another spin around the sound on the speedboat, we have lunch and pack to head back to Nelson. I have mixed emotions as I pack: Jae and I are definitely an item, but it will take time before I am accepted in his world.

I eagerly anticipate him spending more time with me
and
the kids. I am a package deal but I don’t doubt, considering how much they already like him, that Jae will be a welcome addition to our dinner table and on family outings.

I can’t help worry about the other family in our lives, that of Riyaan and Cat. Now more than ever, both need the support of their friends as they adjust from hostile acquaintances to mother and son.

A knock at my door interrupts my reverie. “Come in,” I say.

Amanda walks through the door. “May I have a word with you?”

I stop packing. After overhearing her conversation with Jae, I have a pretty good idea what she is here for. Taking a deep breath, I wait for the inevitable.

Amanda crosses her arms. “Bella, I know you overheard my conversation with Jae in the barn yesterday.”

Here it comes.

“Jae is a wonderful person. Even though we’re divorced, I still care a great deal for him.”

I nod while she continues.

“And, honestly, you are not the woman I thought he’d find to make him happy.”

I have a choice: I can bristle with resentment and get defensive and upset, or I can rest in myself and all Jae told me and proved to me this weekend. I bite my tongue.

Amanda uncrosses her arms and lays a hand on my arm. “But you do.” She forces a smile. “I can’t say I understand his choice entirely, but I respect him and his decision. I just want you to know that I won’t try to make things hard for you and your relationship with him. It’s his choice.” With that, she walks out the door.

I exhale, realising I have been holding my breath. It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“This world isn’t made for big people. We struggle to fit into ‘normal’ –size chairs, cars, airplanes, and places. Try as we may, it doesn’t always work.”

FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch21 Public Opinion page 2

A BIG FORM OF BIGOTRY BY BELLA WHITE

Throughout the world and throughout time, there have been people who rose up and said “Enough” to discrimination. Discrimination based on gender, race, creed, lifestyle, mental capacity, physical ability, and size unfortunately and unbelievably still exists. Today, I am writing to add my voice to those who say, “Enough.”

One form of discrimination is the prejudice against overweight people. Whether a person merely has a pronounced paunch or can’t get out of bed because of their size, fat people must endure the scorn, even hatred, of others.

Obesity isn’t a twentieth century invention. History records severely overweight people even from Roman times. So, as it turns out, fast food and preservatives and trans fats aren’t entirely to blame for the obesity epidemic. Lack of self-control is still the main culprit.

It is this lack of self-control which angers people. We overweight ones see the disgusted looks and hear the insults and mockery from thinner folk as we try to fit into this world—”try” being the key phrase. This world isn’t made for big people. We struggle to fit into “normal”-size chairs, car, airplanes, and restroom stalls. We must buy “plus size” clothing, so termed because it’s out of the range of “normal”-size clothing.

A couple months ago, I went into the AmandaE store on Trafalgar Street. The salesgirl tried to dissuade me from trying on shoes, saying they didn’t carry many in my size. She also said she didn’t want me stretching their leather shoes—with my fat feet, of course. I was asked to leave because she said she worked on commission and since I couldn’t fit into anything there, she couldn’t make any money off of me. She then accused me of making the other customers uncomfortable because of my size. The manager voiced the hope that I wouldn’t return.

To paraphrase their words: “You’re fat; get out; don’t come back.” But the fact is, the salesgirl could have made money off of me. There were plenty of accessories which she might have shown me—if she had looked beyond my weight. But she didn’t. To her I was just an inferior being. And that’s what it boils down to: fat people are considered inferior. We don’t deserve to be treated with respect.

On behalf of every overweight person, I ask you, “normal”-size and skinny people, to show the same respect to an overweight person as you would someone your own size. We don’t deserve or ask for special treatment. We just want to be accepted—the “we” that’s underneath all that fat, the “we” with great sense of humors and high intelligence and the same interests and likes and dislikes which you have.

It is unthinkable to deny minorities a job because of their race, or take away a woman’s right to vote, or eject a handicapped person from a venue because their wheelchair gets in the way. So why is it acceptable to discriminate against a fat person? AmandaE, are you listening? Good. Because I’ve lost weight and I’m still losing weight. And when I can fit into your clothes, I won’t be shopping at your stores unless you offer less bigotry and more tolerance.

I march along the sidewalk down Trafalgar Street, head held high. Sands and Riyaan march next to me, proud to be a part of my plan - my plan to stand up for myself.

Truthfully, it is Sands’ plan. The shame of what happened at the AmandaE store still burns in my soul. But that is about to change. Today, we are going back to the scene of the crime, back to where I was disgraced. I am over forty-five kilos lighter - still unable to fit into their clothes, but I’m getting there. And they’re going to know it. They can insult me, but getting away with it is another matter.

We pause outside the door. “Are you ready?” asks Riyaan, giving my hand a squeeze.

The sight of the store and the memory of what happened here start my stomach churning. “What if they laugh at me again? What if I give them hell and they still treat me like crap? What if no matter what I say, it won’t make a difference?” I hesitate.

“Bella,” Sands’ voice is stern, “You can do this.”

My spirit is fortified by her words. I stand taller and take a deep breath. “I can do this,” I echo, pushing aside the attack of nerves. “No one disrespects me because of my weight. Let’s go.”

I push open the door, flanked by my comrades in figurative arms. The battlefield looks almost the same as the last time I saw it, with a newer selection of overpriced clothing on display. Twenty percent-off banners hang from the ceiling while upbeat music pumps through the invisible stereo speakers. The store is crowded with shoppers, a captive audience.

“Welcome to AmandaE. Is there anything I can help you find?” a young salesgirl directs the question at Sands, hardly glancing at me.

“No, thank you,” Sands replies coolly.

Riyaan gives the store the once-over with his best sneer. “I’ve seen a better selection at Clothes Mart.”

We breeze past her, heading straight for the check-out counter in the back. There are two lines of ladies waiting to make their purchases, so it’s a few minutes before we’re helped. “I must speak with your manager, please,” I say to the harried clerk.

She picks up the phone and makes an announcement over the intercom. “Manager to the checkout counter, manager to the checkout counter.”

“Thank you,” I smile broadly. Perhaps, too broadly. The clerk looks a little worried as she rushes to help the next person in line as we step aside. Within a minute, an older woman comes out from behind the partition behind the counter. The clerk points to us; the manager turns in our direction and the blood drains from her face. She recognises me, even though I am almost half the size of when she saw me last.

“May I help you?” she asks without an effort at pretending politeness.

My moment of triumph has come. “Really?” I ask in mock amazement. My voice is loud; everyone in the store can hear me. “Do you mean you really want to help me? Because the last time I was here, I was asked to leave. You said you hoped I wouldn’t come back because, how did you phrase it? Your store doesn’t cater to my demographic? What exactly did you mean by “my” demographic?”

The manager glances at the staring customers. “Perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding…”

“Oh no, I understood you perfectly well,” I assure her, gathering momentum and courage. “Your store doesn’t cater to fat girls, correct? Despite the fact you carry shoes which a fat girl can wear, as well as accessories, jewelry, and purses…” I mentally tick off the list in my head from my semi-memorised speech, “which can be worn or carried by a fat girl, you and the other clerk, whom I evidently embarrassed by my lack of anorexia, made it clear that you didn’t want my money spent in your store. Now isn’t that strange?” I turn to Riyaan and Sands - they nod in agreement - and then to the lines of customers. “A store that doesn’t want a customer’s money: doesn’t that defeat the purpose of operating a store?”

The manager turns red from anger and shame. The other clerks speedily check out the customers who gawk at the unfolding drama. An older woman shakes her head and
tsk-tsks
in the direction of the manager.

“But that’s not the real reason I’m here,” I continue. “I just wanted to let you know that what you did to me was disgraceful and despicable. You may never know what it’s like to be overweight, but let me tell you something: being overweight does not make you less of a person. And some skinny snob like you who has no qualms about insulting a fat person has got a whole load of bad karma coming after her. Ever heard of the Golden Rule? Maybe you should find out what it is and practice it until you get it right.”

By now I am shaking with rage and exhilaration. I turn and stride confidently down the centre aisle toward the door, Sands and Riyaan at my heels. When I reach the door, I remember the final portion of my speech. I turn back. “And by the way,” I call, “I will be writing letters to the editors of the Nelson Post and Nelson Courier, informing them of your conduct.” I lift my hand and wave. “Have a nice day!”

•

“Did you see her face?” Riyaan shrieks with laughter as we celebrate at Café Crave.

“I bet she wanted to crawl into a hole and die on the spot,” Sands agrees. “I know I would have if I were her.”

I exhale, relieved. “That was amazing! And a full audience, too. Seriously, if you would have told me to do that a couple months ago, I couldn’t have done it. But I’m so glad you convinced me to, Sands,” I beam at her. “And you know what? I’m
not
going to write a letter to the editor of those newspapers.”

“But I thought that was your part of the plan,” asks Sands.

I shake my head. “I have a better idea. I’m going to write an editorial for their public opinion pages.”

Riyaan clanks his coffee cup against mine in a toast. “Watch out, world: my girl Bella’s on the move.”

“That’s right,” I nod. “That way, instead of it just seeming like a letter from a disgruntled customer complaining about service, an article is more professional and can address the bigger issue, no pun intended, of discrimination against bigger people on the whole, and not just at AmandaE.”

Sands nods. “Bella, you are finally you.”

“Hmm?” I ask.

She holds out her hands as if presenting me. “I always knew you were inside there, under all that fat you were hiding behind.”

“Sands!” Riyaan exclaims. “That’s rude. Gosh, my mum is rubbing off on you. Not cool.”

Now she holds up her hands in caution. “Hear me out. Remember me saying that you hid behind your weight and sabotaged relationships because you were scared of not being accepted? How you used rejection as a defence mechanism and how you needed to love yourself and accept that you were a wonderful woman deserving of the best?”

“Yeah, I do,” I nod.

“Now look at you,” she says. “Instead of playing the part of the ‘betrayed, abandoned, insulted’ overweight divorcee - your words, not mine - you are a strong, confident lady who doesn’t reject good things, i.e. Jae. You’re a fighter. You’ve come out of hiding because now you know you deserve the best.”

“You’re right,” I say, musing over her words. I have come a long way in a short period. I am a different person.

Riyaan nods. “Yeah, you’re kinda like Cat.”

“What?” Sands and I say in unison.

Riyaan waves over our shoulders. We turn to see Cat coming in the door. “She hid her true self for years and now that she’s come out of hiding, she can have the best.
If
she’ll allow me to help her, that is.”