Chapter 4 - kicked out

I was in the living room eating ice cream straight from the carton and watching cartoons when there was a knock at the door. I checked the clock in disbelief. Who on earth would come knocking at 1:30 in the morning? My Mum and I are both usually in bed by now. Panicking a bit, I struggled to get up off the couch and to my feet. I turned on the porch light and saw it was Cheryl, and she was crying.

I opened the door and she rushed in, sniffling. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“Melanie, it’s my mum,” she choked out. “She - she threw me out! For eating some chocolates! She’s such a bitch!”

I couldn’t say I was surprised. Cheryl’s mum is strict and harsh, and Cheryl’s like me, she’s just a little different and doesn’t quite fit in. I knew that she was mean about controlling Cheryl’s snacks, but one little bag of chocolates? I go through a couple bags almost every day. Poor Cheryl.

I patted her shoulder and sat her down. “Here, have my ice cream while I make us some tea, and you tell me what happened.”

“Okay,” she sniffed, digging a spoon into the tub.


Cheryl’s Story

I was in my bedroom, smoking a sneaky joint out of the window. Of course I’d not long gotten back from your house, and your Mum had given us huge helpings of simple sausage and those chips that was just to-die-for. Nonetheless, I had an open bag of sweets on the window sill, and was alternating between toking and stuffing a big mouthful. I wasn’t really hungry but there’s just something so right about eating and smoking, you know?

That’s when I heard the telltale creak of the first stair, and thought, oh shit, it’s Mum. I took one last hasty toke, threw the mostly spent joint out of the window and exhaled a thin plume after it, shuffling my bulk down from the window ledge as quick as I could manage. I’d just bounced on the pillows of the bed when my mother, unannounced as always, opened the door.

I’m not an only child, but it often feels like it. My brother and sister are ten and twelve years older and long out on their own. I came as a surprise to Mum, I think; I’m pretty sure she thought the family was complete before me. I always get the feeling that Max and Erica got the best out of our Mum. She’s at retirement age but still working at the hospital, and it’s a tough job. I try to keep all that in mind when she lays into me like she did tonight, but god, she tries my patience sometimes.

“Cheryl, those chocolates were not for you! Don’t you think you’re getting fat enough as it is without pigging out at bedtime?”

“What chocolates?” I felt the tension rise up my back and tighten my shoulders. I knew the ones she meant - the big box of Milk Tray on the table. I guess I’d just had the munchies a little tonight and hadn’t thought of it.

“Don’t give me what bloody chocolates,” she replied quickly, as if she was expecting the feigned ignorance before i’d even said it, “you know, you’re 20 years old, Cheryl, and it’s time you started thinking about your life, and not just smoking cigarettes and eating all the time!”

I bit my lip to keep it from quivering, and I quickly concocted a story -- well, amended the truth -- in a way I hoped would appease her. “Mum, I had dinner with a friend tonight and I tried be good, you know, I watched what I ate, like you’ve been telling me... and so I came home a little bit hungry, and --”

Her cheeks began to flush with anger, and I knew I was in for it. “Tried to be good? What a fool you must think I am!” She stomped into my room and stood at the foot of my bed, squarely facing me with her hands on her hips.

“I know you were with that fat cow Melanie for dinner, and I’ve seen the way they eat! And you’ve been spending entirely too much time with that girl. You’re starting to look just like her!” She came up to the side of the bed and I felt cold inside. “In fact, doesn’t this jumper belong to Melanie?”

“She’s outgrown it--” I started.

“And you’ve grown into it. Yes, I see that!” She poked her finger sharply into my full belly, and I was so surprised I yelped.

Disgusted, she grabbed hold of the the hem of the jumper and pulled it up slowly. Her eyes widened a little as the fabric gave way to reveal a large, soft roll of fat, flopped over the waistband of my comfy sweat pants. I guess for all her anger, even she’d not quite realised how much weight I’ve put on lately. “Cheryl...” she whispered tensely, “I don’t even have to get the scales out. You’ve.. you’re... you’re enormous, Cheryl. Enormously obese.”

I yanked the jumper back down angrily, covering my pale overhang and blushing. She took a step back, eyes fixated on my waistband. Slowly, I followed them as they rose to to the open packet of sweets on the window ledge.

“Where were you hiding those?” she asked tersely.

“What does it even fucking matter,” I replied, staring intently at the stale blue sheets on my bed. She’d usually just get into a tirade, storm downstairs and smoulder for an hour or two. This was different. I guess perhaps she realised, at that moment, that this was a fight she was never going to win. This felt like a conversation that had been coming.

“You’re wearing Melanie’s clothes now, Cheryl. The girl is as big as a bloody house and you’re not far behind. You’re obese and you’re out of control.”

I thought about you, Melanie, how kind and thoughtful you are. Always such a good friend. So what if you’re getting big, or if I am? Why does my mum have to be such a bitch? I didn’t answer, I just glared at the sheets.

“I give up,” she says, still evidently furious, but her voice in a sort of low growl, “I never had this trouble with Erica.”

I snapped and looked up at her.

“Don’t give me that fucking shit! Max and Erica, Max and Erica, Max and ***ing Erica!” I bounced off the bed, in full fight-or-flight. “I’m not them, alright? I’m not them. I’m not as smart as they are, I’m not as straight laced as they are, I’m not the same as they are.”

“Don’t speak to me like that.” It was unusually spoken softly, like I’d surprised her. The look in her eyes told me she meant it. I didn’t care.

“After how you’ve spoken to me for the last ten fucking years? I wasn’t even in high school when you were weighing me on the scale and going through my room looking for snacks. Well, I’m fat, mum. I’m fat and I’m big and I’m never going to be any fucking different.”

“Then get out.” It was barely more than a whisper. All these years, all this tension over my weight, my appearance, my eating, everything about me. I thought it would end in screaming matches. Instead it was a whisper.

There was nothing else to say. I grabbed my hoodie with all my smoking gear in it and walking out. I turned before going down the stairs, and she hadn’t moved an inch. I suspected she wouldn’t for a while. I should have felt tearful. What I actually felt, oddly, was hungry. I started towards the only person who I knew would understand.

*****

By the time she’d finished telling me about it, Cheryl was looking more angry than weepy, no doubt feeling the emotion of the conflict all over again. I‘d taken her rolling gear out of her pocket when she‘d ditched her hoodie on the couch, and was rolling her a joint to calm her down. Cheryl had always been the arch stoner between the two of us, but I’d picked up enough to roll a reasonable fat one of my own.

I handed it over gently, as a peace offering of sorts. It worked, the fierce expression on her face broke into a thin smile.

“It’s going to be all right, Cheryl. Mum loves you to bits. I know she’ll let you stay with us,” I said softly. “Let’s just have a snack and go to sleep and we’ll talk to her in the morning, okay?”

Cheryl simply nodded, took a long toke, followed by another, and handed it back.

With the tears drying on Cheryl’s cheeks, and my ice cream all gone, I took a few puffs and got to my feet again, heading to the kitchen.

There was milk and cereal, a lemon meringue cake, and two packs of biscuits. I loaded it all onto the tray and placed it between us, and we both settled into our spots on the comfortable couch. She was all talked out. When the joint was gone, we had the most incredible munchies; that strain of weed was famous for it. We watched cartoons, we dipped our biscuits in creamy tea, after they were gone we split the cake right down the middle, and when that was gone we had bowl after bowl of chocolate cereal.

As I finished the box of cereal, I saw that Cheryl had drifted off to sleep. Finally, I had reached that state of being absolutely stuffed full, and thoroughly satisfied. I turned off the TV and covered Cheryl up with a blanket, amazed at how I could feel the cereal sloshing in my stretched stomach with every movement. Pretty soon I was passed out too.