Layers Thicker than Lard

Jenny was described by the few people who she called friends as loyal. And kind. But she didn’t tend to have many people who she could call friends or her mates. She was a loner, isolated by the shame of her body, her fear of ridicule and her ongoing battle with obesity.

Every day she woke to what she regarded as the repulsive sight of her bulging layers of fat, the same layers that told her she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worthy of love and caused her to retreat deep inside herself from the world.

Her normal routine was basic – eat, sleep and go to work and walk every other day. She didn’t socialize much apart from the odd movie if she was keen to see it before it came out on DVD. Her normal weekly schedule included picking up her weekly one dollar movies on a Tuesday night from the local store. Apart from that, she didn’t socialise much at all.

Each day she woke early, allowing her enough time to prepare for her day and arrive to the train station on time. After her thirty-minute morning walk, she would make herself a hearty breakfast, as after all, as her dietitian reiterated each week, breakfast was the most important meal of the day. It consisted of two eggs, half a tomato and a slice of toast. No butter. She’d sprinkle a little pink rock salt on for seasoning and accompany with a cup of sugarless tea.

Today she made it around the block of her local suburb without anyone insulting her.

“Hey barge ass…..get a move on”, a middle-aged tradie yelled out last week as he drove by smoking in his ute. Yesterday, while tying up her shoelace, a jogger went by, cursing her as a “fat bitch” under his breath as she glid past. She was accustomed to these jibes, pretending not to notice or hear. But she always heard. She always felt it. Her head stayed low, keeping her focus on achieving her steps.

Jenny was an avid reader, and would loose herself in a book, fully immersing herself into the escapism the experience provided her. It was the only time she felt she could separate herself from her every day world. How she would love to join a book club again, but entertaining the thought, she quickly suppressed the desire.

A memory flash came to mind at her only attempt to join a local group, meeting monthly on a Thursday evening in her area. She recounted making the initial enquiries online with the group coordinator. After being provided all the details, she’d diligently read the title, carefully tucking her notes into her handbag, ready for the next meeting in a fortnight.

The night of the meet had finally arrived. Jenny had allowed herself to feel excited, an expression she didn’t freely allow herself. She’d gone home after work, changed her clothes, adding a fresh spray of perfume, re-touching her hair, and applying a light shade of lipstick. She was asked to bring a plate and took along her beloved Grandmother’s favourite Apple Pie, staying up late the previous night to ensure it was baked slowly, and had just the right amount of crunch on top.

Sheepishly, she pressed on apartment buzzer twelve, waiting for confirmation to come upstairs after she’d provided the secret code to enter. The flight was two stairs up. She opted to take the stairs to increase her daily steps instead of taking the lift, despite having her hands full.

Gently, she knocked on the door. A few minutes passed before Simone the book club host rushed to the door. The look of disdain on her face at Jenny’s appearance was apparent. She scanned her body head to toe, taking in her every piece of attire, landing her eyes on her bulging stomach and tracing the lines of her arms where her fat fingers held onto her dessert plate. Simone’s expression did not hide her repulsion at Jenny’s frame, or her size. Awkward, Jenny shifted her feet and felt the distinct feeling of rejection flood over her.

“You must be Jenny”, Simone said, leaning into the door, closing the gap between them. Jenny’s head was tilted down, her arms covering her frame in front of her, protecting the disdain her ample body caused. She could already sense she wasn’t welcome.

“Come on, come in” said Simone, taking pity on her & widening the door. A sudden jolt of realization struck like thunder. “At least we’ll have someone to help eat the leftovers!”

Jenny meandered in behind Simone, her movements stiff and tightly coiled as she composed herself, holding back her frayed emotions and the vulnerability that was rising in her. This isn’t a good idea her instincts told her, maybe it would be better to leave.

Despite her better judgment, she continued to walk through the apartment, her heavy movements loud on the polished tiles. Conversation whirred ahead of her, laughter and familiarity. She saw that several bottles of wine sat on the coffee table, already consumed. Arriving to the other guests already seated within the small living room, she desperately looked for a place to sit where she didn’t need to squash in between the other ladies already seated.

“This is Jenny……our guest tonight”, squawked Simone, one hand grasping her chardonnay, her bright blue acrylic nails balancing on the mantelpiece. “She’s brought her book, her notes and some home-made Apple Pie”, her tone patronizing and unfinished, “but it seems she may of ate the ice-cream before she got here!!”

Simone erupted into whales of laughter, curling over with what she thought was a great joke. Jenny felt herself shrink. The other women in the room snickered, barely holding back their approval of what they considered “just being Simone”.

No, she wouldn’t try and join a book club again. Her heart ached at the memory, the shame of rushing out the door, dropping her baking tray, laughter chasing her out the door, “don’t mind me” she quipped as she stomped out of the tiny apartment. The memory of that night created a welling of tears she cursed herself for allowing. Tomorrow was going to be a new day, she was going on a date!

Saturday had felt like a long way away from the beginning of the week, but it had finally arrived. Jenny carefully laid out her new black pants and baby pink top that she had purchased especially for the occasion. She was meeting Paul for coffee at 11am, a venue he had suggested, after several exchanges of emails and a camaraderie that had tickled her fancy. He came across as inquisitive and wrote proper sentences in his emails, not abbreviated letters. That was always a plus for her.

She decided to take the train and walk to the venue. Today she was two hundred steps under her quota, and wanted to catch up a little, seeing the walk as the opportunity to make her goal reachable. The timetable she’d already checked allowing herself time to briefly meander the local shops should she choose. She paid special attention as she got ready, her clothes ironed neatly and her hair styled fashionably,

Every where Jenny went she had her kindle with her and she relished in the knowledge she would have forty minutes of uninterrupted reading time before reaching her destination. Kindle in hand, Jenny absent-mindedly entered the carriage, wanting to finish the paragraph before she chose a seat and got herself comfortable. The train was empty but she knew it would fill up shortly, stopping soon at a major station where a flood of footy fans were likely to hop on heading to the game.

The rhythm of the train came to a sudden halt, as it pulled in collecting the many passengers expected to now hop on. Jenny had been contentedly minding her own business, the thought of her coffee date possibly turning into a lunch affair entertaining her briefly. She shunned the possibility, happy to be out in the sun. This morning had been her weekly weigh in with her GP, and she was elated with the improvement in her results, her blood tests also showing a decline in her cholesterol.

She flicked on her Kindle, resuming her story as the waft of a savoury smell filled the space, greasy and thick with the heat of the sun. Four young males entered the carriage, all sitting opposite her, three of them eating, stuffing hot chips into their mouths, talking and belching after downing their soft-drink. The cursory feeling of panic wafted over her. The boys were loud, cracking jokes, dropping the f-bomb every second word they uttered.

Attention didn’t take long to turn to her, alone and positioned in the corner. She kept her gaze low, not making eye contact with the teenagers, who were clearly off to a footy game indicated by their supporter jerseys.

“Hey, you…..”, bellowed the obvious ring leader, directing his stern gaze at her. Jenny didn’t look up. A hot chip landed on her shoe he’d thrown to get her attention. She lifted her head slightly.

“Aren’t you too FAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTT” to be out in public, bitch?” A roar of laughter escaped from the ulcer around his mouth, encouraging his pimply mates to join in. Jenny quickly looked over her shoulder, only two more stops and she could get off. Hang in there she encouraged herself, you’ll be off soon. Ignore them.

She zipped up her handbag and held onto the pole for balance as she stood up. The boys piercing cruel eyes trapped her like a tiger waiting to prey on its victim. Ringleader’s long dirty fingernails reached into the paper bag, quickly sourcing another chip, flinging it at her torso, the sauce splattering over her new top, grease gluing itself to her. Jenny looked down in dismay, confused and humiliated.

The chip fell to the floor, squashing under her shoe as she ran for the open door, not sure which station she was at. She didn’t look back and wouldn’t realise until later she’d left her kindle behind. Her breathing was erratic, intensified when she noticed the stain sitting on the tip of her breast nipple in full view, defining her in a way she felt caged by.

Jenny slumped on the bench, completely alone, her shoulders round and heavy with the weight of the terrifying fear she’d experienced. Another train was emerging in the distance, going in the direction of home. Her phone pinged, grabbing her attention indicating a message from Paul, her coffee date.

“Hey Jenny, been thinking, do you mind if I get another photo of you before we meet today?” His request baffled her; she’d already sent two across. Surely, he was aware of what she looked like, enough to encourage a date.

She wrote back, “Why, I’ve already sent you two photos already?” her response filled with uncertainty. His response was instantaneous, ‘because if I’m going to fuck you, I want to know what I’m fucking”.

Rage filled her blood, she sat upright and pelted out her reply, “You can have a fuck alright, FUCK OFF”. And with that, she gathered herself, her dignity and made for the train, back to the comfort and safety of her little nook, and didn’t look back