What It Means To Become The ‘Fat Friend’
How your fat friend learns to disappear.
I didn’t expect to snap at such a good friend. There was so much I should’ve told him, and I didn’t. It brewed for years, bitter as oversteeped tea.
We’d been talking so often — three, four, five times a week, for three or four hours at a time. His heart had been shattered, and he was wracked with hurt even years later, fresh as the day it happened.
We’d been talking over the same few questions for weeks that turned to months, months to years. Meanwhile, my life was changing shape, its new contours emerging from a murky before. So many things were happening, and there was never room for them — only for him.
I had only just realized how frustrated I’d become when the phone rang.
“She just texted me,” he said, launching in as soon as he heard the click of my pickup. “I don’t know what to do.” My brain, buzzing and popping with the overcharged electricity of irritation, suddenly burnt out.
“How are you,” I said sharply, voice shaking with irritation.
“I’m a little messed up,” he answered.
“No, you ask me.”
“What?”
