a project of mine that i just had to write up.

note: some things are mispelled on purpose. leave them be, if you will.

thursday, january 4, 2007. 4:18 pm.

---

"Brenden-

I am in love with you. All the way.

And if your interisted in dating guys at all, then wear something red tomorow.

I'll meet you in the lunch room."

I didn't know what to feel about the sloppily-scrawled note on lined notebook paper that had been slid through the vents of my locker, but I knew that it didn't make me happy. These fuckers are always trying new ways to make fun of me, and this is just another low joke that some assholes thought would be funny. They want to see me make a fool of myself by wearing a red shirt or something, where they'll come up and laugh at me, laugh at the "fatass faggot", or something.

My fingers crumple the paper into a tiny ball and I toss it to the bottom of my locker, grabbing my sophomore english textbook and sliding my Geometry book into the hole it had left behind. Then I shut the slim locker and turned into the hallway traffic, where the crowd parted before me like the ocean before the prow of a tankliner; nobody wants to get too close to a fatass like me.

I'm 5'7, and I weigh three hundred and thirty-nine pounds. I'm not just fat, I'm obese. And there's nothing that I've been able to do about it.

Ever since I was a kid, I was heavier than the other kids, and when I started junior high, it got even worse. Overeating due to depression spiraled my weight, and I have tried to cut back portions and to diet, but my latest attempts always make me feel ill. My body wants the food intake to remain the same, and I feel like complete shit when I even try to change it a little bit.

I eat my vegetables, I eat two bananas every morning with my cereal and an apple after dinner. I don't drink a lot of pop, maybe one bottle every other day or so, and I drink like...five glasses of water each day, regardless of whatever else I've been drinking.

I'm still this fatass wideload.

--- --- ---

"He-eey, Big Brenden! Whassup, m'man?"

I skinned the palm being held out to me, smiling at the flashy grin Jamal always gives when he greets me, which he never fails to do whenever he sees me. I've always liked Jamal, who seems to be one of the most sincere friend I've got sometimes, even though we're not really friends per se, because we just see each other in the halls and the occasional class we have together. We don't have a lunch period together anymore, but he used to come over and sit with me sometimes, whenever my other friends weren't there or whatever.

Sometimes my friends have better things to do than sit with me at lunch, but I don't let it bother me too much.

It's just hard to be a fat kid and sit at a table all by yourself, because everyone around you looks to see what you're eating, and they just think to themselves, "No wonder he's so huge, he eats pizza."

See, skinny people could eat pizza and fries and three candy bars washed down by a two-liter of soda all in one sitting, but a fat person would just have to eat fries and people assume that they are just asking to be obese. And if a fat person eats a salad, people look and still laugh to themselves, saying, "That won't make you pretty, lardy". But if I sit with other people, then I feel a bit sheltered by them, where people would look away or forget to see what I might be eating this time.

"Dude, where's yo hat? Ain't you got school spirit?"

His voice had that teasing rolling gait to it that I've always envied, a rhythm to his speech that I could never have; he was asking about why I didn't buy a hat pass today, the only day we're allowed to wear headgear during school hours. His bright blue ballcap had the green ticket paper-clipped to the bill, which was set a bit off-center to his face in a way that looked as cool as he always does. Jamal is just one suave person, cool enough to be able to talk to me and nobody think anything of it.

"Me in a hat? People would call the circus saying that they must have lost their trained bear again."

He laughed even as he shook his head; "Dude, that ain't the troof, nobody think that."

Yeah right. I think that when I put on a hat, so I'm not going to give anyone else the chance to do so as well. Why give them ammunition?

"Nah, you're right. But I've only got this set of bunny ears that my sister has, and it would take a stronger man than I to pull something like that off, huh?"

His palm slapped my back once or twice as he again laughed, and I just waited for him to stop as I waved at the called greeting of one of my classmates, watching them continue down the hallway with their friends, completely normal teenagers and all that. With their normal bodies and fashionable clothes, no double chins and squinty eyes from the flesh of their own face, no thick fingers and huge bellies.

God, I really hate myself.

--- --- ---

"Brend, bariatric surgery is a huge step. You can't ever eat the same ever again, and you can't ever take it back."

"Mom, I know. But look at me... Mom be honest: do I look like I'll live until I'm thirty? Twenty? Huh?"

Tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes as she looked down at the table surface, a palm coming up to hold her forehead as she fought against crying. She's always crying whenever I bring this subject up, of getting surgery to change how much I can eat and how much my body can absorb nutrients from.

They not only reduce the stomach in this procedure, but they shorten the small intestines by quite a bit, making sure that my body can't absorb as much from the food I do eat. I've been researching this procedure for about a year now, and I really think that it might be my only chance to maybe...live past twenty. Because at my rate, I'll be four hundred pounds in the next year or so, and I'll probably get diabetes or have a stroke or heart attack someday. A year from now, maybe...ten years, ten days...who knows?

And I'm not ready to die!

It's not that I'm afraid to die, but to die young...I didn't ever get to have a childhood. I was never able to go bike riding or skating like the other kids, I can't run or play ball, and I haven't done shit with my life. If I die like that, then I shouldn't ever have been born. Life was wasted on me if I can't do anything to make it better.

Mom was still crying, but she finally looked up at me with red eyes, nodding slightly. "We'll go to the doctor as soon as I can make an appointment."

--- --- ---

Six months of debating, of tests to make sure I'm healthy enough to withstand such a surgery, if I can withstand the chances of complications and infections. Six months to see if this is really what I want, if I want to take such a huge step. I could die on the operating table. I could die afterwards from infections, from leaks, from ruptures. From something going wrong and my body can't cope. I could eat wrong and kill myself through lack of nutrition.

Fuck this shit. I'm going through with it.

--- --- ---

It fucking sucks being weak. Of depending upon others to help you breath or move or any of that shit. At least I can walk again, this huge hospital gown floating on my body, hugging my curves for everyone to see. I feel naked with these things on, like I'm walking around bare-assed and my dick hanging out. And my body hurts, everything hurts, but at least it's manageable.

Jamal actually came to visit me before I went home, skinning my limp hand and flashing that same smile and all that. He couldn't stay long, as he had some athletic practice to go to, but he said he came to make sure I'd pulled through all right. It was embarassing to have him see me all uncool, with wires in me and dressed like a retard, and fat and unable to even hold my head up all that much without getting wore out.

But at least he thought to visit.

--- --- ---

I lost fifty pounds in the first month and a half, but that was mainly from not being able to eat as much as I could before. My habits die hard in wanting potato chips while watching a movie with my sister and brother, or snacking after dinner when I'm doing homework to catch up with the time I lost recovering.

But it's almost like I sit here and just feel...like the pounds are literally melting off. I've had to buy new shirts already. Well, I didn't need to, but I wanted to have shirts that fit better. They're still 3x and above, but I feel better about myself.

Slowly, I feel like I'm gaining energy. Not when I don't take my vitamins though. I hate having to remember to take them throughout the day, but I hate feeling so damn ill when I don't. Like my body is stuttering around, stumbling to its knees just from shifting in my seat or breathing too deeply.

It fucking sucks.

---- --- ---

Seven months, and I've lost over a hundred pounds. I can see my eyes! And...I rode a bike. The seat killed my ass, so I stand on the peddles more often than not, gliding along the pavement and eating up sunshine. Maybe this surgery doesn't work for everyone, but hell, it's working for me! I can go out someplace and not have people stare or avoid looking at me. I look normal. Maybe a bit bigger than the average teenager, maybe I look big-boned and a bit thick, but I look normal.

I still get shit at school though, people sniggering at the food I pull from the lunch lines, the small portions that wouldn't ever satisfy any of them. They laugh as I line up horse pills to swallow, they still say their cruel fatty remarks. But that doesn't bother me as much anymore, because I'm getting attention of different kinds now. Girls smile at me more now, and guys are more willing to talk to me about something. Sometimes I still sit alone at the lunch table, but now it's not as much of a big deal. It's more that I feel lonely now, wanting someone to talk to when no one's there.

But it's ok, it's getting better.

--- --- ---

"Hey Big Brenden, whaz'up?"

I wasn't feeling well, having forgotten a vitamin somewhere and feeling tired because of it, so I wasn't all that pleased to see Jamal today. And I didn't really mean to, but I just wanted to fume and snap at him.

"Stop calling me that, I ain't fat no more!"

He faltered a bit, his grin fading as he replied, "Yah, I knows that."

"Then stop calling me Big! All it ever does is make me feel shitty!"

He frowned as he looked hard at the wall just behind me before he finally looked back, "Dude, I never meant it like that. It's just that you walk in, and pow, it's all cool. You's just big all 'round, ya know? Like...you're bigger'n me and ever'one else, no matter'n what ya look like."

I didn't get it, really don't understand what he's talking about. It just pisses me off even more.

"Just fuck off, ok? Everyone wants to make fun of me and say shit all the time, but I'm doing the best I can! And I'm not fucking fat no more, I'm getting better! So just fuck off and leave me the hell alone!"

"Dude, I likes the old Brend better! You don't pow no more; you're just bitter and angry and stupid. You know what, fuck you. Fuck you."

He swished away down the hall, storming in a black cloud as I lost sight of him in the milling people waiting for the warning bell to sound before heading off to class.

Fuck, I still just feel so goddamned shitty.

---

When he saw me again, his smile remained closed and he looked away, turning into another hallway in a clearly avoidant maneuver.

And I was startled by how taken back I was by that, how much it hurt me to think that I might have damaged his cool enough to avoid me. It's not like I had meant all that crap I'd said to him, but apparently, it meant a whole lot to him. Maybe, for once, I'm the one who hurt someone's feelings. I don't know if I've ever done that, because I'm usually so concious of not doing anything or saying anything offensive.

I know what it feels like, after all.

---

Two days later, he startled me by coming up and skinning my palm, flashing the same grin as he ever did. "Hey Brenden, how's it hangin', yo?"

"S'all right. You?"

"S'all good, bro, s'all good. Now tell me...you like white or black chicks best?"

"Say what?!"

He leaned in a bit, congenial as he repeated, "No really, you like white or black chicks? Or does it matter? Cuz' I know some girls who like guys like you, ya get me?"

I wanted to die, melt right into the blandly-painted cement bricked wall behind me; my face burned and he just laughed, slapping my back like he always does.

"Don't worry none, it was just a thought, ya know?"

"I don't..."

His eyebrows went up as he listened, wanting to know what my opinion was; "I don't like...girls."

Truly set back, he pulled away, eyes wide with shock before he frowned, confused, "But I thought..."

"Don't tell nobody, ok? Please?" As it is, I don't know why I told him, I haven't ever told anyone. But Jamal is cool like that, he just makes me able to tell him anything without meaning to.

"But...I thought you...you didn't..."

I frowned slightly at his growing agitation, surprised when he glanced at me with that same shining gleam to his eyes that Mom always used to get during our "talks"; before I had a chance to do anything but stare, he shrugged and laughed a bit.

"Dude, al'ight then. Still cool, right? Still cool."

"Um..."

"Man, talk at'cha laterz, kay? Bye, yo."

And he melted away, sauntering down the hallway to wherever he's going, walking like he's king of the world. Man, I don't think I'll ever understand that guy. He's the only black guy I really know, and I don't want to say it, but maybe they all just act like that.

Maybe.

--- --- ---

A new school year now, a senior. I'm still seventeen, and I've lost quite a bit of weight. I'm about one hundred and eighty pounds. A side effect of the weight loss are the bags of excess skin I've got on me, mostly on my abdomen, but some on my upper arms and my thighs, where my skin had stretched too far. The only option is to get plastic surgery to get rid of it, and I'm working now to save up for it.

But at this rate, it'll probably be a few years until it happens, because health insurance won't ever pay a dime of plastic surgery. They paid for most of my operation though, because it was pretty clear that it would save future health costs down the road.

I feel a lot better these days, getting the hang of what I need to eat, a routine to my meals that I don't really mind anymore. As long as it's making me feel like this, then I'm happy with what I chose. I don't ever regret the operation these days. Especially when I'm out roller-skating with my brother and his friends, when I can do tricks and have them high-five me. When I get girls who sometimes flirt with me; maybe I don't want to date them, but hell, it still feels pretty good!

It's not so bad at school anymore, because like with everything, teenagers lose interest. Not many rag me like they used to.

I'm even comfortable enough to eat lunch by myself, and Jamal invites himself sometimes when he sees me all alone. He hasn't changed much in the couple of years that I've known him, still cracking jokes and talking in half-formed sentences most of the time, his rhythm of speech still making me envious. It's like his words dance when he talks, they move all over the place and I can't help but to respond.

"That a new shirt?"

He was talking around fries but I understood him, nodding as I picked up my water bottle to swallow a vitamin, swallowing a few gulps before setting it back onto the table.

"Yeah."

"S'cool. I likes it, red's my fav'rite color."

"Yeah? It was on sale."

He laughed, swigging his Diet Coke with relish, washing down his french fries before he turned to peeling an orange. Man, he grosses me out sometimes. Really.

He took his time peeling it, giving it due concentration even though his voice was absent in asking, "So, Brenden...you like white or black guys?"

I choked, staring at him to see him flick a cautious glance upwards before he continued peeling his orange, smooth as ever.

"Wh-why???" My voice came out strangled and all over the place.

"...No real reason, just asking." His fingers dug out a piece of his fruit, popping it into his mouth as he again looked at me, his eyes saying nothing.

I couldn't help but to try to laugh it off, getting him to smile at me as he finished his orange before the ending bell rang.

--- --- ---

"Brenden, remember me?

Maybe you thought it was a joke.

It weren't.

If your interisted, wear red. Please."

Maybe the scrawl was the same as last time, but I couldn't tell for certain. But the note affected me differently this time, staring long and hard and fighting against the mess of bubbles I've got going on inside of me. I do remember the last note, the one asking if I liked guys. The one where someone said something about loving me. They sure waited long enough to write another one, a whole year or more.

Maybe this is for real.

What I want to know...am I interested?

---

"That your new shirt again?"

His greeting startled me from the ball of nerves I've been all fucking day, wearing this stupid red shirt. But Jamal relaxed me, allowing me to smile faintly as I nodded. And maybe I should just give this up, it's obvious that whoever it is, they just want to make me wait around forever. That would be the cruelest prank so far, to make me do this and just sit back and laugh at me for falling for it this time. For being such a gay loser.

"You like it that much?"

The tone of the question was teasing, immediately putting me on the defensive as I shrugged and looked away; it's the only red shirt I've got.

"Red's my fav'rite color."

"I know, you told me that yesterday."

A smile stuttered at the corners of his lips as he looked away, suddenly not the cool guy I'm used to.

"Jamal..." I'm getting this funny feeling, brought on even more as he looked at the table, suddenly so very unsure of himself, not the sort of person that I've ever seen him be.

"I wrote it."

He looked up at my silence, that same strange gleam in his eyes as he admitted, "I wrote you the note. Twice"

Just a simple statement but it exploded all those nerves all over again, that the guy who had written those things was Jamal. And...and I don't think he would ever do those things just for a joke, to make fun of me so hard that I could shatter into little pieces. He's too nice a guy for that, he's too cool for that.

"Y-you?"

"I...yeah. I lo-like your pow." He was blushing now, and oh my god, he's admitting that he's in love with me. Oh my god...

Tears were burning up in me, mortifying me enough that I pushed away from the table, hesitating before glancing at him and looking away, my face slowly turning red. But I looked back and told him with my eyes that it was ok. That I'm interested. And then I walked away and escaped to the men's restroom to save my dignity. If anyone sees me crying, who knows what could happen.

---

He caught me after school, unsure of himself as he tried to catch my eye, approaching me only when I stopped and waited. And I'm already blushing, embarassed by the change that's happened to our friendship, but...I don't really mind it. This has let loose all of those butterflies again, bubbles burning in my gut and making me feel weak in a good way.

It's Jamal.

And he first wrote the note when I was huge.

-

It's quiet out in the parking lot, most of the cars gone by now and just a few left over from those people in after-school activities. We haven't said a single word yet, just stood here and tried to acclimate to the difference of our silences, tried to acclimate to our nerves. Because he's just as nervous as I am, I can see it in the jerky movements of his limbs when he walked next to me, to the way he can't keep still as we stand here by my car.

He's just a bit smaller than me, girth-wise, but we're about the same height and all that.

I catch his eye and hold it, finding courage enough to lean over and press lips against his, if only for a few brief moments.

And I'm embarassed but relieved, because he follows me when I pull away, a smoother kiss this time than the one I'd planted upon him just moments earlier.

"It wasn't easy being in love with this big white dude, but...s'all cool."

It's easy to kiss Jamal. I hope it's just as easy to fall in love with him too.

---

A/N: it's sweet, no?