Chapter 3 - pool party pt. 2

There was no way she was facing that party without some kind of fortification, so before she went out to the backyard she snuck back to her dad’s tool shed, packed a bowl, and got sufficiently baked. As she floated into the back yard, b-lining for the pool, blubber displayed for the world to see, she ran into hordes of aunts, uncles, and family friends answering questions about college and giving awkward hugs, feeling her pudge press and mold into their hard, beach-ready bodies and praying that they weren’t as aware of her softness as she was. Her soft curves and pale skin contrasting most unfavorably with the hard, bronzed, chisled bodies of all these fucking perrenial San Diegans. She felt like the soft glowing roundness of the moon sticking out in contrast to the hard, angular, sun-drenched landscape of this desert oasis. Because here’s another marajuana misconception that is endemic, particularly amongst the most chronic stoners: weed does not take the edge off and weed does not make bad situations better. THC is a hallucinogen, an admittedly mild one, but still in that category. What I’m trying to say is weed will enhance a situation for better or worse. It will make a good time better, but it will make an awkward, anxiety inducing exchange with relatives all the more awkward and anxiety inducing, and if you’re feeling fat it sure as hell will make a self-conscious fatty feel every jiggle, fold, and cellulite dimple even more. So, while Charlotte thought she was fortifying her psyche with a couple tokes, she was really just amplifying the horror on her end. She saw every glance at her midsection from across the yard and felt every jiggle with accompanying snickers, real or imagined.

By the time she made it to the pool, she was emotionally spent and thoroughly deflated (mentally not physically, of course). She just walked right into the deep end and let herself sink to the bottom and stayed there for as long as her respiratory system allowed. She felt large and heavy at the bottom of the pool: like a whale who just got put back into the sea. But what she didn’t know is that fat is buoyant, so soon enough she was forced back to the service.

“Oh my gosh, Chary, there you are!” squeaked her little sister Tina, as she paddled over to her with the aquatic ease of a native San Diegan. “I was wondering where in the heck you went!”

“Hah, yeah T, I’m here,” sputtered Charlotte, trying to feign enthusiasm. “Oh, uh, happy birthday!”

“We’re gonna start the cannonball contest soon! I was telling Gracie how you’re the reigning champ in our family.”

“Uhh, I don’t know about that. I- I’m still pretty exhausted from that long drive last night. I might sit out this one out,” mumbled Charlotte with averted eyes. She tried to think of anything she would rather participate in less than a contest in which you stand in front of everyone and try to show them how much water you can displace: essentially a contest of girth. She drew a blank. “Plus, I wanna give you a chance to win on your own birthday,” added Charlotte, laughing nervously.

“Awe, c’mon. You’re just making excuses. Just play with us!” whined Tina. “All you gotta do is jump in the water.”

“Maybe, T, just let me chill for a minute.”

“Fine. But you better join in,” huffed Tina as she swam away.

Charlotte paddled around in the water. Swimming around underwater, splashing her sister, mostly just taking advantage of the bodily concealment. But, in her marajuana mind, feeling more and more like a whale or walrus or some other kind of blubbery aquatic mammal, and after a short while she started getting tired (much faster than she remembered it usually taking, it should be noted).

She exited the water, subtly and smoothly pulling bikini out of both ass and cooch, and attempting another b-line for the towel bin. Yet again her route was intercepted by yet more familiars. The same routine of awkward question and squishy, self-conscious hugs, but eventually she made it to the long desired towels and the resulting modest concealment. Through the towel wrap her tub was still visible and even accentuated by the contour of the tightly wrapped fabric, but the relative concealment of it in comparison to her previous total exposure made all the difference in the world.

Feeling better and a side effect of Mary Jane (i.e. some gurgling in her now veiled tummy), she spied herself a secluded niche over by the snack table, snagging herself a root beer from the ice bucket en route. She would have much rather it been a real beer, but she was still only 19 and at a family function. But that was trivial. What mattered was she had made her appearance at the pool in her mortifyingly petite bikini and would soon enough find an opening to sneak back upstairs, peel off her over-worked bikini, and put on the shorts and tank top she wished she could have been wearing all day. But while she plotted her escape, she might as well take advantage of her conveniently placed niche and take care of the munchies.

“Hey, honey!” called her mom. “You finally decided to join us. How’s the new bikini working for you?” Charlotte’s mom was an absolute MILF: the archetypal tan, blond, and trim trophy wife endemic to the region. She had maintained the body that won her homecoming queen all the way to 46 and wasn’t showing any signs of letting go. Although her mother had never ridiculed her for being flabby or even mention her chub directly, the contrast of Charlotte’s flab with her mom’s immaculately toned physique was a perpetual source of frustration and shame for Charlotte growing up. It turns out having a hot mom is just about the worst conceivable curse you could ever put on a fat girl.

When Charlotte was growing up, her mother had quite often consoled her at many low points of amour propre, especially after particularly damaging encounters with the local mean girls, which Charlotte had always appreciated and loved her mother for, but these consolements almost always entailed Charlotte’s mother baking her some cookies or taking her to her favorite ice cream shop, which Charlotte also appreciated in the moment, but really were not particularly effective long term solutions for a self-conscious piglet. And the fact that her mother never ever touched the stuff herself gave Charlotte the strange suspicion that her mother was satisfying her own sweet tooth vicariously through Charlotte, leading to a bit of suppressed resentment underneath the great love and appreciation she had for her mom.

Charlotte swallowed her mouth full of pretzels and cheese dip with an audible gulp. “Yeah Mom. It’s awesome!” affecting unconvincing enthusiasm.

“Well, your sister is trying to drum up a cannonball contest, and has really been hyping you up as the quote-unquote ‘California Cannonball Champ’. She’s gonna be pretty disappointed if the cannonball prodigy doesn’t get up there quick”.

“Uh, I don’t know if I’m up for it… I’m kinda tired and I don’t, uh, like feel that well…” Charlotte muttered, averting her eyes and crossing her arms over her middle.

But her Mom, spying the protrusion pressing up against the towel and picking up on Charlotte’s tone, finally pieced together the reason for her daughter’s unusually shy behavior. “Oh, honey,” cooed Charlotte’s mom, reaching out and caressing Charlotte’s cheek, “if you’re not feeling well you should go up to your room and rest for a bit. Just make sure you come back down for cake and ice cream… so you can sing your sister happy birthday and give her your present.”

“Okay, mom,” said Charlotte softly, “ I think I-”

“Charlotte!” exclaimed her sister, rushing up out of nowhere and dripping wet. “It’s your turn”!

“Sorry, T, I’m just not up for it today. Maybe next time.”

“Come onnnn! You have to. You’re the reigning champ and it’s my birthdayyy!” whined Tina.

“Tina, your sister said she isn’t feeling well, so please leave her be,” said their mother calmly but with an undertone of finality. “I’m sure you can crown a new champion without her.”

“But she’s the reigning champ! We can’t have a new champion if the last one doesn’t play!” whined Tina once again, but this time with a bit of agitation. “Plus, she’s feeling fine… She’s just fat,” she declared with the cutting cruelty that comes all too easily to young girls.

“Tina! Don’t you ever let me hear you talk to your sister like that!” barked their mom, shooting daggers at the younger sibling. “Apologize to you sister right now!”

Tina glanced at Charlotte and then up at the sky with a smirk of eminent cruelty. “I’m sorry you got fat, Chary,” mocked the younger sister.

“Tina!” roared their mother, this time with the full force of a transgressed lioness. “It may be your birthday, but I will not hesitate to send everyone home and ground you f-”

But that was the last Charlotte heard of the exchange, fore she was already rushing up to her room bawling. All her fears were true. There was no denying it now. She hated her sister for her blunt cruelty, but in a self-immolating kind of way, she was also sort of grateful to her for saying what she knew (or rather believed she knew) everyone else was politely keeping to themselves. She was the family hog. She had finally proven to herself and everyone else that she was a profligate glutton. She would pack up tonight and never return to San Diego again. If she was an unredeemable piggy, she sure as hell wasn’t going to subject herself to the embarrassment of her fit family.

Charlotte didn’t know how long the storm of shame and self-loathing had lasted before she finally fell asleep from emotional exhaustion, nor how long she had been asleep for before she awoke to a tap on her door.

“Hello…?”

“Hi, honey. How are you feeling? You missed cake and ice cream,” her mother softly spoke as she entered the room with a generous slice of cake and a full scoop of ice cream. “It’s your favorite, cookie dough!”