The Fattest Girl Won
It's November 1992 and Clinton is running for President. Inspired by Bill, who was at the time being hailed by the media as the next JFK, I decide to run for president of my high school freshman class. On the day that both the United States and the Class of 1996 cast their ballots, I stood before my peers and gave a rousing speech about my dedication to the class, my plans for a stunning Sweater Hop and my undying pride in the school and what we could accomplish if only we worked together. Like my hero Bill, I won by a landslide.
But as I was reveling in my victory after eighth-period Spanish class, I overheard one of the popular girls--let's call her Jess--tell one of her friends "They must have elected the person with the most rolls of fat." Ouch.
Once upon a time, Jess and I had been friends, but in eighth grade she started to transition into the popular crowd, leaving those of us who were nerdy band-geeks deep in her shadow. She once tried to beat me up after gym, putting me in a head-lock and pounding her fist off the top of my head for reasons I can't recall. I pulled her hair and the fight was over before it really began.
Her torture continued through freshman year, when I sat in front of her in biology. Along with her same-named partner in crime, she would torment me for being a nerd, but turn around and copy my homework. (And I admit that once I put all the wrong answers on an in-class assignment because I knew she was copying it. Then, after she turned her paper in, I went back and changed all my answers. I'll probably go to Hell for it, but it felt good at the time.) So her fat comment, although nasty and mean, was pretty much in character. Knowing that didn't make it hurt less, but it was just another one of the bazillion ways she scarred me between the ages of 14 and 17.
Now that I'm an adult, I thought I had recovered from the fat comments of my youth. Sure, I'm never going to look like Catherine Zeta-Jones, but you eventually come to terms with things like that. I'm me and I'll always be that girl with the "great sense of humor" and the "good personality." That's OK. I can deal with it.
So you'd think that when Jess started calling me out-of-the-blue to hang out and go for drinks, I would be grown-up enough to accept her invitations and be thankful for a new friend. Hell no! Every time she calls me, I start to sweat and all I can hear in the back of my head is her bubbly voice chanting "most rolls of fat, most rolls of fat." Sometimes in my insane subconscious, she just outright screams "We elected the fattest girl president! The fattest girl! The fattest girl! Susie is the FATTEST GIRL!!!"
Obviously I have some unresolved issues to deal with regarding my physical appearance, otherwise I wouldn't care what she said 12 years ago. But I still can't help wondering why someone who apparently hated me for most of my life suddenly wants to be my friend. It's possible that she's more adult now, and appreciates me for those wonderful qualities that other people see in memy humor, my whit (my humility?). But honestly, she attacked me! She insulted me! She made me so miserable that I never once thought, "Gee, I'd like to see Jess again, now that we're both out of college and well into our careers."
Jess has been calling me since this summer, inviting me to different things or asking me if I'd like to go walking. I did the walking thing with her once and we chit-chat on the phone pretty often. Before Thanksgiving, she asked me to go to a bar with her to meet up with an old friend from high school and I went. It was painless (I'd go so far as to say I had fun), but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't trust her. I always expect her to say something like "Are you really built like that, or is it just a fat suit like Monica wore on Friends? Do you take it off at night so you can breathe?"
I know I'm making the situation worse. I should really just accept that maybe she's OK and I'm OK and we're old enough to be friends now. But when she called me on Friday night to see if I wanted to come over for a movie and bull session, I couldn't find it in my heart to go. To put it bluntly, she was always a two-faced blabbermouth who would hurt people in a heartbeat and never look back in remorse. Can someone like that really change? And is it worth it, after all the jabs and jeers and just-loud-enough-to-hear fat comments, to potentially expose myself to such emotional injury again? Will she really be my friend? Or one day, when I walk through a door, will I hear her telling someone that our freshman year in high school, the class elected me presidentthat the fattest girl won?
The truth is, I don't know if I can risk it. Confidence is hard for me to come by some days and the last thing I need is a friend who really isn't. There's some kind of old adage that says a person is judged not by the quantity of her friends, but by the quality. And I'd rather stick with the tried-and-true people in my life, the ones who have volunteered to help me move if I ever decide to, or the ones who all chipped in to buy me a TV for Christmas one year; the ones who bake me birthday cakes, get me wasted when I need it or don't care when I call them to complain about work for hours. These are the people who matter to me. Maybe I don't have armies of them, but I'm doing OK. It's possible that Jess could be a great asset, someone to go out with for a good time. But my gut says no.
Somehow, I don't think she'd argue with my gut.
But as I was reveling in my victory after eighth-period Spanish class, I overheard one of the popular girls--let's call her Jess--tell one of her friends "They must have elected the person with the most rolls of fat." Ouch.
Once upon a time, Jess and I had been friends, but in eighth grade she started to transition into the popular crowd, leaving those of us who were nerdy band-geeks deep in her shadow. She once tried to beat me up after gym, putting me in a head-lock and pounding her fist off the top of my head for reasons I can't recall. I pulled her hair and the fight was over before it really began.
Her torture continued through freshman year, when I sat in front of her in biology. Along with her same-named partner in crime, she would torment me for being a nerd, but turn around and copy my homework. (And I admit that once I put all the wrong answers on an in-class assignment because I knew she was copying it. Then, after she turned her paper in, I went back and changed all my answers. I'll probably go to Hell for it, but it felt good at the time.) So her fat comment, although nasty and mean, was pretty much in character. Knowing that didn't make it hurt less, but it was just another one of the bazillion ways she scarred me between the ages of 14 and 17.
Now that I'm an adult, I thought I had recovered from the fat comments of my youth. Sure, I'm never going to look like Catherine Zeta-Jones, but you eventually come to terms with things like that. I'm me and I'll always be that girl with the "great sense of humor" and the "good personality." That's OK. I can deal with it.
So you'd think that when Jess started calling me out-of-the-blue to hang out and go for drinks, I would be grown-up enough to accept her invitations and be thankful for a new friend. Hell no! Every time she calls me, I start to sweat and all I can hear in the back of my head is her bubbly voice chanting "most rolls of fat, most rolls of fat." Sometimes in my insane subconscious, she just outright screams "We elected the fattest girl president! The fattest girl! The fattest girl! Susie is the FATTEST GIRL!!!"
Obviously I have some unresolved issues to deal with regarding my physical appearance, otherwise I wouldn't care what she said 12 years ago. But I still can't help wondering why someone who apparently hated me for most of my life suddenly wants to be my friend. It's possible that she's more adult now, and appreciates me for those wonderful qualities that other people see in memy humor, my whit (my humility?). But honestly, she attacked me! She insulted me! She made me so miserable that I never once thought, "Gee, I'd like to see Jess again, now that we're both out of college and well into our careers."
Jess has been calling me since this summer, inviting me to different things or asking me if I'd like to go walking. I did the walking thing with her once and we chit-chat on the phone pretty often. Before Thanksgiving, she asked me to go to a bar with her to meet up with an old friend from high school and I went. It was painless (I'd go so far as to say I had fun), but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't trust her. I always expect her to say something like "Are you really built like that, or is it just a fat suit like Monica wore on Friends? Do you take it off at night so you can breathe?"
I know I'm making the situation worse. I should really just accept that maybe she's OK and I'm OK and we're old enough to be friends now. But when she called me on Friday night to see if I wanted to come over for a movie and bull session, I couldn't find it in my heart to go. To put it bluntly, she was always a two-faced blabbermouth who would hurt people in a heartbeat and never look back in remorse. Can someone like that really change? And is it worth it, after all the jabs and jeers and just-loud-enough-to-hear fat comments, to potentially expose myself to such emotional injury again? Will she really be my friend? Or one day, when I walk through a door, will I hear her telling someone that our freshman year in high school, the class elected me presidentthat the fattest girl won?
The truth is, I don't know if I can risk it. Confidence is hard for me to come by some days and the last thing I need is a friend who really isn't. There's some kind of old adage that says a person is judged not by the quantity of her friends, but by the quality. And I'd rather stick with the tried-and-true people in my life, the ones who have volunteered to help me move if I ever decide to, or the ones who all chipped in to buy me a TV for Christmas one year; the ones who bake me birthday cakes, get me wasted when I need it or don't care when I call them to complain about work for hours. These are the people who matter to me. Maybe I don't have armies of them, but I'm doing OK. It's possible that Jess could be a great asset, someone to go out with for a good time. But my gut says no.
Somehow, I don't think she'd argue with my gut.
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