Chapter 2 - ch2 the wrong way

For most of the term I pretty much kept to myself, going to classes and back home. But a little while after mid-terms were done I saw posters that one of the student pubs was going to have a "Winnipeg Music Night," where they'd be playing tracks only performers associated with Winnipeg--from oldies like Neil Young and Bachman-Turner Overdrive to newer bands like The Crash Test Dummies or The Weakerthans. That sort of tribute to my favourite city was enough to get me to go out.

That particular pub had limited seating and a fair sized dance floor. The seating was all occupied, the dance floor not so much. I knew that as a plump guy I wasn't going to be desired on the dance floor, but I was feeling comfortable enough in my skin by this point to spend a good chunk of the night dancing, interspersed with trips to the bar for fortifying beer. One time when I was at the bar this fairly cute, if also somewhat pudgy, girl sidled up to the bar beside me and commented that I moved well on the dance floor. I demurred, but she insisted it was true. Not being sure what to say in that situation I suggested that it really wasn't that hard, and that she should come dance with me and see.

We danced together, or at least in the vicinity of each other, for a few songs. Then a slow song came on. She looked at me expectantly. In a panic I announced that my legs were exhausted from all the dancing, and that I should get headed home. I bolted out of the bar, and was still breathing hard from nerves by the time my bus arrived. When I finally told Mrs. Bunton about the incident, a week later, she looked a bit exasperated at first, before explaining that Gord seemed to be nearly as shy around girls as I was.

Under her questioning I admitted that she was cute, but eventually came up with the words to explain that I just had not been able to imagine myself together with her, that letting things proceed seemed like a mistake, but that I just hadn't known how to back out of the situation more gracefully, not having had girls put themselves in my way before.

After that, scared of running into her at one of the pubs, scared of a repeat, I went back to my rather hermit like existence for the rest of the term. I might have felt more at home in my skin, but I still wasn't quite sure how that skin was going to fit into the wider world.

* * * * * * * *

I didn't want to go home for Christmas. I didn't want to deal with my parents or with their upcoming divorce. I didn't want to hear their comments on my weight. I didn't want to go back to that world where I felt like I'd never fit properly. I didn't want to be away while Gord was home, and to miss him again. For that matter I didn't want to cram myself onto a packed airplane while wearing jeans that were trying to cut me in half.

But go home for Christmas I did. It was every bit as 'merry' as I'd expected. I was in pain from my too tight pants by the time I got off the plane, and it went downhill from there. The first comment from my mom, upon seeing me, was "I knew it was a bad idea to let you live with that woman, she's made you fat! No Christmas treats for you!" Just in case I'd had any doubts about how much this was going to suck, you know?

My mom had her new boyfriend over for Christmas dinner--chicken breasts, rice, and over-cooked brussel sprouts. He didn't seem like too bad of a guy, really, but when it turned out that he had originally been my Mom's personal fitness trainer, and that he'd always thought she had such perfect quadriceps, I was so creeped out that I didn't really give him much of a chance. Yah, I pretty much retreated to teenage brooding in my old room, and to going for walks to the corner store to buy cookies. I couldn't take the cookies home of course, so I'd go to the empty school yard nearby, sit on a snow bank, and shovel them into my face. I'd never actually done that part as a teenager, but it felt bizarrely normal, like I'd always done it, or should always have done it. I guess in a way it was my way of asserting that I was fat, I behaved like a fattie, and I was going to stay fat.

There was one bright point, Gord called me on Boxing Day. We compared our university experiences so far, talked hockey for a little while, and then he surprised me by thanking me for boarding with his mom. He said that since his Dad had died, with the two of them together there was always a sadness around, an emptiness left behind by his Dad, and he'd been really worried about how his Mom was doing. But he felt that with me in the house, a different presence and maybe a reminder of happier times, she was more back to her old self. All that was kind of awkward, so I moved us off the topic pretty quickly, and not long after that Gord had to get off the phone to help his Mom with something.

The call from Gord was the high note, to balance it out I had to go visit my father, of course. I'll give him this, he did come down to Edmonton, from Fort McMurray where he was supervising construction at one of the Oil Sands developments. I guess even the Oil Sands slow down at Christmas time. He gave me crap about my weight of course, pointing out that he was close to three times my age and could no doubt out run, out lift, and out punch me. I didn't argue with any of it--I'm sure he was right. He lectured me on how a real man had to stay strong and fit, ready to take on challenges. Then he lectured me on what a slut my Mother was, for screwing around on him while he was screwing around on her. His parting wisdom was that nobody would want to hire a lazy fat-ass, and not to come crying to him for money or work when I couldn't find a job.

After that fine afternoon of father-son bonding I decided to go find a Chinese buffet and celebrate my independence. Yup, when I left my Dad that time I mentally waved 'bye' to him and swept him out of my life. On the way into the buffet I went into the wash room, unbuttoned my jeans, loosened my belt a couple of notches, then covered all that up with my sweater. Comfortable for the first time in a couple of months, I proceeded to enjoy myself, stopping only when I was pretty full. I didn't button my jeans back up for the rest of the vacation.

Eventually it was time to head back to university. I was almost whistling as I got onto the plane. I wasn't wearing a belt, and had my jeans held together only by an elastic band. With room to sprawl out onto my lap, my gut, and hence myself, were much more comfortable. Snowy, frozen, Winnipeg looked even better when I landed this time than back in September. Maybe it wasn't the paradise of my childhood memories, but it sure wasn't the hell that my family had created back in Edmonton either.