Chapter 1 - The Schaffs

The drive from Chicago to Bristol wasn’t nearly as horrible as my colleagues made it out to be. Hearing my colleagues complain about getting to Bristol made it seem as though the town was located on Mars. Living in the Midwest my whole life, I guess I’m used to the relative emptiness of rural America. I grew up around the Chicago area and had family spread across the Great Lakes region. I got very used to the doldrums of 4 and 5 hour car rides on the way to see extended family. My bosses at The Continental offered to fly me to Kansas City to shorten the trip but I opted to drive there instead. There was something familiar and comforting about traveling through rural interstates. I liked the solitude.

Even with its reputation, Bristol was a very easy town to miss if you weren’t looking for it. There really was nothing to distinguish it from the other small farming towns of the area. If the voice command of Google Maps hadn’t alerted me, I would have driven right past it. Carefully navigating my rental car, I merged onto the exit and continued on the 2-lane county road, cautious not to miss the appropriate route. Part of me felt nervous about coming here and so I glanced down at my waist, inspecting if anything was different now that I was actually here. “No change yet,” I thought.

My destination wasn’t within the actual city limits of Bristol itself. The Schaff family lived on a farm on the outskirts of town, probably 5 miles from the city center by way of the bird. Still well within the affected area of The Incident, unfortunately for the Schaff family.

“The Incident…give me a fucking break,” I couldn’t help but say aloud to no one in particular. It still angered me the way that the media at large treated the Bristol community in the aftermath of…The Incident. I hated using that particular term myself. I hated talking about Bristol and its citizens as though they had gone through some sort of tragic event. No one died 5 years ago but the way the media and even some of my colleagues treated the whole thing made it seem like there were mass casualties. And what was even worse was the way that Bristol became a sort of punchline for internet dipshits and hack pundits or fodder for conspiracy theorists. It really disgusted me the way the community had been treated since then.

I guess that was part of the reason I was so eager to take on this assignment. This kind of series wasn’t really my area of expertise or the thing I wrote about. I tend to write thinkpieces and columns about current political topics. These slice of life retrospectives weren’t really my bread and butter but I felt a sort of…responsibility to the community? I felt like the town of Bristol deserved a chance to actually tell their story and that life for them didn’t stop 5 years ago.

After a mile or two down the gravel county road and past a couple of other farmhouses, I finally spied the Schaff home. It was a quaint house with even a red barn and a small warehouse located a few hundred feet away. Surrounding the home and the immediate farm were acres of corn that went on for acres. The Schaff farm looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. I wouldn’t have been shocked to have spied a pie sitting in the window sill as I drove into their gravel driveway.

As I parked my rental and grabbed my supplies from the trunk, a part of me felt nervous actually being here on this assignment. I talked a big game about not being afraid of coming here and spending some time around the community but a small part of me kept telling me this was a huge mistake, no pun intended. Some of my colleagues who had gone to Bristol originally definitely returned more than a couple of pounds heavier. Our current events correspondent Kasie came back having gained 30 pounds heavier than when she left and that was only over the course of 2 weeks being there. I was going to spend 6 months here. I could hear my own mother’s protests ringing in the back of my head, lamenting about how fat I was going to get over the course of me being here.

“Good journalism is worth it,” I repeated aloud to myself. It was the same thing I told my mother. Reporters went into war zones and other places that would get them killed. “What kind of journalist would I be if I let my own insecurities get in the way of a good story?” I thought. I took a deep breath and exhaled and made my way towards the front door. It was now or never.

I rang the doorbell and took a step back. After a moment, I heard the sound of soft but heavy footsteps approaching and the wood door creaked open. A teenage girl, no older than around 16 or 17 years old, greeted me.

“Oh, you must be that reporter, or something,” the girl said. I couldn’t help but notice that the girl was overweight, bordering on the edge of fat if I was being quite honest. Even dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, her large belly was quite noticeable as the shirt clung to her flabby middle. Her cheeks were rosy and full which made her look cherubic.

“Yes,” I responded. “My name is Julia Townsend. I’m a journalist for The Continental. I was supposed to meet Robert and Marcia Schaff. Is this the correct home?”

“We’re inside here,” a man’s voice cried from inside the home. “Come on in!”

With the invitation, I followed the portly teenager inside. The interior of the home was decorated in a rustic style. The interior was brightly lit by a couple of lanterns that shone even brighter with the help of the white walls. It was obvious that Marcia excelled at maintaining the home given how perfect everything seemed. The décor was assembled with care and there seemed not to be a speck of dust to be found.

The walls were decorated with pictures of the Schaff children and other family members. I recognized one of their daughters as the girl who opened the door for me, though she was much slimmer in the photo. I soon came face to face with a photo of a bridge and groom and came to guess that they were Mr. and Mrs. Schaff. Robert was a very handsome man; he was tall and sculpted, presumably from a lifetime on his farm. Marcia, conversely, was petite. She was dainty and very pretty. The dirty blonde woman resembled a princess in her wedding gown. As I stood inspecting the family pictures, the girl had disappeared into the kitchen.

“You can take a seat wherever you’d like,” the man’s voice said. I turned around to face the source of the voice from the living room. I was so distracted by the interior design and photos of the Schaffs that I had hardly noticed Robert and Marcia Schaff sitting in their living room.

Robert Schaff was very obese, to put it bluntly. The contrast between the groom in the wedding portrait hanging on the wall and the man sitting before was stark. If I had to guess, Robert had more than doubled his weight. While I imagined he had gained some weight in the years since he and Marcia had gotten married, his growth was presumably post-Incident. The couch underneath him sagged due to his girth. His round, doughy belly stretched far onto his lap. Robert was quite round and stretched his work overalls to its capacity.

“Um, thank you,” I said and awkwardly made my way over to them both. “Hi, I’m Julia.”

“Robert,” the large man introduced himself and reached out to shake my hand, unable to lift himself off the couch.

“I’m glad we’re finally able to meet me in person. The house is very cute,” I complimented Robert.

“Well, thank you,” Robert huffed. “Marcia does a lot around here to keep things tidy. She doesn’t go into town as much as she used to so I think keeping things tidy around here keeps her busy.”

“You two certainly have a lovely home,” I agreed. “I assume that the girl who opened the door for me was your daughter?”

“Yeah, that was Maycie. She’s helping her momma get dinner ready,” Robert said. “Speaking of which, you’re more than welcome to join us. I’m sure Marcia made plenty.”

“Oh, well, I don’t want to impose,” I said cautiously. “I was hoping to get our interview done pretty quick and then leave you and your family be. I’m sure guys aren’t too keen to have reporters around too.”

“Oh, we’d be delighted to have you,” came a female voice from behind.

There, with her massive frame taking up the entire entrance, was Marcia. Like her husband, Marcia’s transformation was radical. The thin, smiling dirty blonde bride I observed in the hallway was unrecognizable from the obese woman standing before me. Her weight had gone almost exclusively, it seemed, to her chest and stomach. While Marcia was well-endowed before, her breasts had exploded in size. Her sundress left little to the imagination and her massive cleavage was on full display. Marcia’s belly, however, was still her most prominent feature. Her massive dome of gut stuck far out in front of her and drooped onto her thighs. Her hands sunk into the meaty sides as she placed her hands on her hips.

“I’ve got some pork tenderloins frying up right now. I’m sure you’re at least a little hungry from your trip. You just got in, I’m guessing?”

The aromas escaping the kitchen were enticing. I could hear the crackling of the pork frying in the oil. It was like being back in my grandmother’s kitchen.

“Well, it’s been forever since I’ve eaten pork tenderloin. And it certainly sounds way better than whatever fast food they have in town.”

Marcia cracked a wide smile that lit up her moon face. “Oh, I can assure you this will be the best meal you’ve had in a while. We can do the interview over dessert.”

I smiled. “Sounds great.”

“Wonderful,” Marcia agreed. “Cause I think it’s all ready. You need help getting off the couch there, Bobby?” she called over to her husband on the couch.

“No, I’m good,” Robert said as he rocked himself back and forth and heaved his bulk up in a herculean effort. “Smells good, babe,” he said as he waddled into their dining room and planted himself at the head of the table.

“Alexandra, Ben! Dinner’s ready y’all!” Marcia hollered to the other children of the house. Moments later, heavy footsteps came lumbering down the hall and entered the two other Schaff children. Alexandra was already quite a chubby teenager, appearing only slightly smaller than her older sister. Ben, the youngest, was by far the slimmest of the family. However, given how tight his shirt clung to his doughy middle, I suspected he was beginning to undergo his own transformation.

The Schaffs huddled around the dinner table and Robert said a quick grace. Not wanting to appear rude, I bowed my head and joined heads with Marcia and Alexandra who sat on either side of me. With grace said concluded, the Schaff family tore into their dinner with gusto. Along with the fried pork sandwiches that Marcia had prepared were mounds of cheesy garlic mashed potatoes and a pile of buttery corn on the cob. While I thought I had served myself a generous helping of each dish, my plate paled in comparison to the mounds of food found on each Schaff’s plate.

“Well, you’re definitely not from around here,” Robert chuckled as he spied my comparatively small plate. His whole body quivered with each laugh. “Not that we couldn’t tell from just looking at you.”

“Now Bobby, be nice,” Maria warned from across the table. “She’s a guest and you shouldn’t make her feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m okay, I promise,” I assured. “I mean that’s sort of the reason that I’m here. I just want to get acclimated to life here and tell your guys’ stories. Anything to fit in, I guess.”

“Well spend enough time here and you’ll fit in alright,” Marcia smirked. “Although you probably won’t be fitting into those pants soon enough.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the story I’ve heard from other journalists that were here 5 years ago. I had a colleague of mine that put on a good deal of weight during the 2 weeks she was here,” I replied.

“How long are you going to be here for your story?” Robert asked.

“Well,” I explained, “I’m not really here for just one story. I was hoping to do a whole series of stories about the town and how much life has changed here over the past few years.”

“So how long do you plan on staying?” Marcia pressed. Her tone didn’t sound as casual as before. She sounded…concerned almost.

“I was thinking of staying around here for around 5 or 6 months. Enough time to get to know people and tell some really interesting stories,” I continued. A hush fell over the table. Robert and Marcia and the kids looked at each other as though I had just sprouted another head.

“Is something the matter?” I asked, trying to discern what I said wrong.

“Are you sure you really want to stay here that long?” Maycie skeptically asked. She shook her head, chuckling to herself.

“Oh, honey, you’re definitely going to be outgrowing those pants of yours,” Marcia said, shaking her head. She could barely hold back her laughter as her belly shook with each giggle.

This was about the same reaction I had gotten from my friends and colleagues when I first told them about what I wanted to do. Everyone I had talked to about me going to Bristol had treated it like a joke and would be high-tailing it out town the second I gained too much weight. Granted, their reactions were better than what my mother had to say. The prospect of me gaining weight from going to Bristol repulsed her and I’m fairly certain she’d rather I go to North Korea than spend an extended period of time here.

I nodded my head and chuckled along with the Schaffs. “That’s kind of the reaction I’ve been getting from everyone.” Part of me felt like dropping the conversion altogether but something inside felt the need to explain myself. I continued on. “But I think spending time here is important and highlighting how life here has changed over the past couple years is what you guys deserve. The memes and the trolls are bad enough but what really annoys me is hearing people talk about Bristol like people died. And I just want to let everyone know that ‘The Incident’ or whatever the hell people call it wasn’t the end of the world. It was just a thing that happened.”

The family grew silent again. This silence wasn’t mocking, however. It was pensive, contemplating. Finally, after a moment, Robert spoke up. “Just a thing that happened,” he repeated. “I like that.”

Marcia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I like that too.”

There seemed to be understanding between us now. I felt a newfound respect forming between Robert and Marcia and me. This dinner had turned into my initiation. I now felt an honorary Bristolite.

“How about we clean up the table from dinner and then we can do your interview over dessert?” Robert suggested.

“That sounds great. Thank you,” I said.

With that, Robert and Marcia and the kids heaved their bulking frames out of their seats and began cleaning up their plates as I gathered my supplies for the conversation. With the kitchen clean, Robert, Marcia and I gathered around the dinner table and the interview began. Although I was still quite full from dinner, I somehow had enough room to munch on a stack of Marcia’s chocolate chip cookies as I talked with Robert and Marcia. After the interview concluded, I thanked the Schaffs for their time and stumbled my way back to my rental car, absolutely stuffed to the brim.

Through the dark, I navigated myself back to the state highway and made my way back into town. I could feel myself slowly succumbing to drowsiness as a combination of the day’s journey and feast began to get the best of me. I found my way to the town’s inn and quickly checked in with the front desk attendant who was nearly as large as Marcia was. I kicked off my shoes as I entered my room and soon changed into my PJs.

Before I laid down to bed. I caught myself passing by in the mirror in the room. Not that I ever made a habit out of it, but I thought it would be appropriate to inspect my reflection. It was the same image I had come to now over the years. I was slim-ish if I was being honest. I was relatively thin with a few “problem” areas. As I had entered my late 30’s my tummy had grown softer and my backside had grown wider, complaints common with other women my age. I was 150 pounds of “frump” as I often joked to others. Not big enough to be curvy but certainly not small enough to be consider thin. As I continued turning and examining myself in the mirror, a thought suddenly dawned on me.

I'll never be this thin ever again.

I honestly didn’t know what to make of that realization. My weight had always been a slightly sensitive subject, more so due to my mother’s influence. “What will I look like 2 weeks from now? How about 2 months? In half a year?” I thought to myself. Before I could visualize the image in the mirror a giant yawn escaped and a wave of drowsiness overpowered my whole body.

I turned around and turned out the light and covered myself with the bed’s blankets. It was the best sleep I had in weeks.