The Fat Lady Cried

Marilyn took a piece of paper from the brown-bag cover of her social studies book. She handed it to me, hesitantly.

“I want to join softball,” she said.

I looked at her chunky pre-teen body, the serious expression on her face, her defensive posture. I took the registration form from her, my insides shaking, and pretended to read it. I forced myself to think of silly things and not to cry in front of her.

“I’m very proud of you for trying something new,” I managed. “You’ll make a great team player.”

I signed the form and she skipped away.

And then I cried. She would want to lose weight, if only to get around the bases faster. Inevitably, she would slim down. I cried because even though she hadn’t said it, she didn’t want to be like me.

“Get the forklift, fatty’s gonna try to stand.” The boys laughed as they passed.

I bit my lip and buttoned my jacket, remaining seated. Marilyn smiled at me from her stroller and I fed her another spoon of ice cream. Fatty. How original.

I hadn’t been to the mall in two years: the stores there no longer carried my size. But Marilyn was growing like a weed and needed new clothes.

I wiped her chubby cheeks and buttoned her up. I hoisted myself from the bench, no forklift required, and threw the ice cream away.

Another group of teens passed, this time staring but keeping their insults to themselves.

I grabbed the stroller, no bags to carry, and headed for the door.

Marilyn tugged at my hand as we made our way over the sand dune. “Come on mom,” she said, kicking her flip flops off and running her pudgy little legs to the water. She waved hello to my friends, gave a few high-fives and stopped for a hug from Lindsay, who had organized the Beach Take-over.

I followed behind her, laboring in the sand but awestruck and teary. I had never seen so many fat bellies in one place. Where did they even find size 4x bikinis?

At the water, we watched the children play. Lindsay made her way over to me.

“Hello, my fat friend.” she said, giving me a hug. “Fat” was no longer a bad word.

“Hello, dear fattie,” I said.

And then we talked about finding seashells, as if it was no big deal for us to be showing our bodies in public.

The exact words my husband uttered were, “I don’t love you anymore.” I could forgive him for that: I never really expected him to stay. But what he said before that, “Your body disgusts me,” hurt.

Thankfully, Marilyn was watching cartoons in the other room and hadn’t heard him. He gave her a hug goodbye, packed up his stuff and left. He headn’t touched me in three years so I wasn’t surprised I didn’t get a hug before he closed the door.

I sat alone on the bleachers, waiting for Marilyn to finish celebrating with her teammates. She had played extremely well, though I would expect nothing less. Over the last four years we had put in many hours studying YouTube videos and practicing in the backyard. I damn well could have been a coach, not that they would have ever let my fat ass off the bleachers.

I sat on the bottom one, where I always had. My ex and his new girlfriend, who fit in a folding chair, sat down by the outfield. They had never acknowledged me. Few of the parents did. Marilyn’s plan of me finding a single dad to hang out with had never manifested.

She ran over to me, bubbling. “They want to watch the College World Series. Can I go to Lana’s house?”

Lana, who had never come over to say hi, whose mother had never asked me to take a shift at the snack bar.

“Of course,” I said, seeing the joy in her eyes.

I slung her bag over my shoulder and made my way to the car.

I started the car when I saw her exit the hall. She was the first one out. She made her way to me carrying a trophy and her backpack. I hadn’t gone to the banquet because she wanted to sit with her friends and then who would I have sat with? It was just easier to drop her off for those type of things.

She got in the car and slumped in the front seat.

“Nice trophy,” I said.

“MVP,” she replied, no joy in her voice.

“This is for you,” she said, handing me a t-shirt out of her backpack.

I unfolded the wrinkled shirt.” Northwest High School Softball” in a size 4x. I suspected she had special-ordered it herself. I held back tears and turned to hug her.

She was crying.

I smushed her into me, like she used to love, and simply held her.

“Lana said no,” she said.

“To prom?”

Marilyn nodded. “She said she’d rather go alone and see me there.”

I kissed her head and squeezed her tight..

My heart skipped a little when they pulled in the driveway. For so long it had been just me and Marilyn. The thought of adding someone to our family excited me. I had seen photos of them on Facebook, the familiar joy in my daughter’s eyes.

Marilyn opened the passenger door and Susie got out. She held on to the door, stood on thick, round calves, and hoisted herself up. Marilyn squished into her for a hug before they headed for the house.

I cried, because Susie would be loved.