chapter 4

"Oh, honey, you're all bone. Are you sure that you're looking after yourself properly?" were the first word's Amy's mom said to her as she enveloped her in a hug.

Amy had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. It was so typical of her mother: she had barely said a word when she was over 300lbs but yeah, now that she weighed less than half that and had a healthy BMI, now was the time to be concerned about her weight.

"Hello to you too."

Mrs Miller looked embarrassed. "I'm doing it already aren't I? Being a smother?"

Amy laughed. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Disentangling from her mother's tight embrace, Amy was able to see her properly for the first time and it was her turn to be concerned. Her mother had always been a plump woman but months of illness appeared to have deflated her, giving her body a sickly, sagging quality.

"How was your flight?"
"Awful," she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "I thought my morning commute was terrible but this was like a whole new circle of hell."
Her mother winced. "I really don't like idea of you smoking."
"Oh," Amy said, suddenly aware of how subconsciously she had reached for a cigarette to deal with stress.
"It's such a terrible habit and I don't think I should be around second hand smoke at the moment."
"OK. Well, I guess I won't smoke here then."


Amy was surprised to feel the stirrings of nostalgia as she entered her old bedroom. She went to her old desk, smiling a little as she brushed her fingertips along the top of her first sewing machine and looked at the pin board covered in cut outs from fashion magazines and her own sketches. Her smile faded when she noticed the picture frame that her mom must have placed on the desk: a photograph of her high school graduation. She picked up the photograph, studying her round, smiling face and even rounder body. As puffy and flabby as her cheeks and chins were, her head was dwarfed by her immense body as the shapeless graduation gown exaggerated her size, making her look like an enormous balloon. Barely suppressing a shudder, Amy put the frame back on the desk face down.

She opened her closet and suddenly felt a wave of compassion for the fat girl that she once was. Inside were dozens of dresses big enough to fit a 300lb girl that she had frequently stayed up late at night to sew, her fingers aching and her eyes burning from the intricate stitching. She had been so desperate to be pretty, so desperate to be loved. And yet she had never worn a single one of those dresses outside her bedroom because she had known that the beautiful enchantment that they cast over her would be broken by scornful eyes. She closed the closet door, wishing she could so effortlessly close off her heart to the aches of the past.

As a child her favourite game was playing dress up, escaping into a fantasy world of pretty dresses where she could be whoever she wanted. The world of fashion to her child-like mind seemed a fairytale Kingdom ruled by impossibly beautiful swan queens. However, as she transitioned from a chubby child to an awkward teenager and her weight really began to soar upwards, the fantasy world became a nightmare and she felt like an unworthy and ugly exile from the fairytale Kingdom. There were no girls with bodies like her's on the catwalk or on the cover of Vogue. The chastising message of the fashion magazines that she so dearly treasured was clear: her's was not a body to be adorned and celebrated with pretty or form fitting clothes but rather hidden away under voluminous fabric.

Amy opened her suitcase to unpack but she ran her hands over the fabric of the clothes within as if to reassure herself of the present. The clothes were small but plain and void of colour ("classic" Chloe would always say tactfully of her style). She had never really unlearned the lesson she had learned growing up as a fat girl: that she should go through life unseen and unnoticed.