“LEON USED TO be my best friend.” Dropping the words out there, I wasn’t really sure what I expected his reaction to be.
But when Micah stopped in his tracks, and a dumbstruck look twisted his face, making him look more like a cartoon character than anything else, it was the most fitting response possible. “Seriously?” he asked, as if I’d just told him the sky was green.
Nodding, I trudged along, ignoring the throbbing pain in my groin and my head. He didn’t see how Leon and his friends had knocked my head into the locker a few times before he stood up for me. That reminded me. “Thanks, by the way.”
“Sure.” We walked for a few more minutes. The fall was no different here than the summer, and sweat poured from my brow as we made our way closer to my house. “So what happened?” Micah asked, pulling his aviator sunglasses down to shade his eyes from the glaring sun.
“Middle school happened.” A few more steps. More sweat. Out of breath, I added, “And this.” Using both hands, I grabbed my stomach. I’d never hated it more than right now. But this afternoon’s debacle was a tipping point for me. I’d had enough of being bullied for my weight. I couldn’t see his eyes with the shades and all, but there was something in the way he acknowledged my self-hate, letting me know he wasn’t judging me. “I put on a shit ton of weight in middle school, and that’s when he stopped hanging out with me. Started picking on me when he realized it made him the cool kid. And just like that, ten years of friendship went down the drain.”
“Did something happen?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk rather than on me. I gladly welcomed the feeling of not being hated.
Confused, I answered, “Umm, I ate.”
He laughed and so did I. It had been a while since I’d last laughed with a person other than my father, and even that hadn’t happened in far too long. And there it was again, the feeling that I wasn’t being judged. We rounded the corner to my block and I figured I may as well share. Clearly, he wasn’t an asshole like the other kids at school—the ones who had bullied me for the last four years. God, I couldn’t wait to graduate at the end of this year and move as far away as possible.
When the silence felt as if it would stretch on forever, I bit the bullet and confessed, “My mom died.” Micah adjusted his backpack once again and then jammed his hands in his pockets. When he kicked a rock, I could tell he wasn’t sure how to react. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but it was back when I was in seventh grade. I’m used to it now.”
“I’m sorry, man.” There was genuine sadness in his voice, so unlike the mockery I usually heard when kids taunted me about missing my mommy.
“Thanks.” Stopping in front of my house, I opened the gate to the driveway and leaned against the chain-link fence. “Anyway, after she died, I ate my feelings, and here I am. Leon started picking on me as soon as the pounds started piling on, and the rest of the kids just kind of joined in. It’s gotten worse and worse over the years, but it’s never been this bad.” The curtain to the living room window moved, and I caught a glimpse of my father stumbling away. I hoped Micah hadn’t seen him. “Thanks again for before. It’s been a while since someone stuck up for me.”
“They’re a bunch of pricks, you know,” Micah added, clearly pissed. “No one deserves what they did to you.”
“Yeah, I know, but what the hell am I supposed to do? Run away from them?” I laughed, adding, “I wouldn’t get in three steps before they caught me. In case you haven’t realized, I’m not in the best position to defend myself.” Grabbing my stomach once more, I tried my best to cover up my self-loathing with a touch of humor.
“What if I could help with that?” Micah offered, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.
Stunned by his suggestion, I asked, “Why the hell would you want to do that?”
He shrugged, a touch of awkwardness making him fidget once again. “Being the new kid isn’t always the easiest,” he confessed. “And in case you forgot, I punched the quarterback in the nose to defend the fat kid,” he joked without malice. “That’s not exactly winning me any friends.” We both laughed, realizing the effects this afternoon’s brawl had on both of us. When the laughter died, he added, “Not that I’d want to be friends with those sorts of people anyway,” his tone more serious.
After running my hands through my hair, I folded them behind my head. Suddenly self-conscious of the gigantic pit stains soaking my shirt, I dropped my arms and shoved my hands into my pockets. Micah was being serious.
“Come on,” he goaded. “School doesn’t start until eight. I only live a few blocks away. We can run in the morning and maybe do some weights in the afternoon. My dad’s retired army, so I’ve pretty much spent my life watching him stay in shape. I’ve been working out for the last few years, so I know a thing or two.” It was clear he took care of himself. He was muscular without being bulky and trim without being too skinny. And I knew his father was from the army from a stupid “share something about yourself” activity our English teacher had us do on the first day.
He was offering me the chance to change the two things I hated the most about myself: being lonely and being fat.
I’d be stupid not to take him up on it.
“Sure.” I extended my hand. “Why the hell not?”
“Kick-ass,” he said, pumping my hand. “It’s a deal. I’ll be here at six tomorrow morning. Better not make me run my ass here for nothing; otherwise, I’m dragging you out of bed.”
“Since I have about a hundred pounds on you, I’d like to see you try,” I joked.
“Yeah, well that won’t be the case for long,” he said before turning away. “Don’t forget. Six o’clock and not a second later.” Keeping his army background in mind, I knew he wasn’t joking. He’d probably be banging on my door if I wasn’t out here waiting for him and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.
“Who was that?” my father slurred as I walked through the door.
“New kid. Wanted the lowdown on a few of his teachers. Tagged along for the walk home.” Over the years, I learned to keep my answers as clipped as possible with my father. The more information I gave him, meant the more he needed to listen. Which obviously meant the more he missed and in turn meant the more I needed to repeat.
“That’s good,” he said around a can of Pabst. By the count on the table next to his Lazy Boy, it was his sixth. But I knew there were a few more in the trash and some lingering on the counter in the kitchen. Based solely on the sound of his voice, he was at least a dozen beers in and I knew there were four more cases in the garage. “How was school?” he asked as he stood from his chair. His legs buckled and he swayed into the wall. Pretending not to notice it, I looked through the stack of mail on the counter.
“Good. Same as usual.”
He clapped a hand on my back, and the stench of beer filled my nostrils. He’d been a drunk just about as long as I’d been fat. Different method of coping with the same problem. We both missed her and didn’t know how to fill the void she’d left in our lives. I chose food and he chose beer. We both pretended not to notice the effect our actions had on the other person. He never mentioned my weight gain and, in turn, I never mentioned his addiction. The silver lining I kept going back to was that he was a happy drunk. He never got angry or mean, never lashed out at me, or became violent. The worst of it came at night, long after he thought I was asleep. He’d cry, sometimes sobbing like he did the night she died. Whenever I’d try and check on him, he’d speak through the closed door, his voice strangled with pain and tears, telling me he was fine.
The sound of another can cracking open cut the silence. “What did you want for dinner?” I asked the pointless question. He never planned for dinner. In fact, he never planned for anything. And based on the stack of mail on the counter, many envelopes stamped in dark red ink withSECOND NOTICE,his ability to stay on top of anything was dwindling quickly.
