by Carrie Pack
“Cute.”
“I thought it made a statement,” she says. “Like how animal testing is not cute or something.”
“Then why didn’t you write that?”
“What?”
“Well, just say, ‘Animal testing is not cute!’ It gets straight to the point.”
Kate sighs and shakes her head. “You so don’t get it.” She hands me the sign and slams her trunk before motioning for me to follow her to the group already forming on the steps of the campus’s science building. A stout girl with light brown skin and dark, charcoal-lined eyes walks to the top step. Holding a megaphone to her lips, she shouts, “Stop animal testing now! Stop animal testing now!” She gestures for the crowd to join her, and Kate gives me a look that reeks of “told you so” as she parrots the chant. I hold up my hands in surrender and resign myself to marching in a circle while chanting that phrase repeatedly.
About an hour in, I have the beginnings of a sunburn, and my feet are covered in blisters. So I excuse myself to sit on the steps, which I hope will soon be in the shade of the science building. Kate urges me to keep chanting, though, so I sporadically repeat whatever the girl with the megaphone shouts. Every twenty minutes or so she changes the chant. Now we’re on “Illinois is for animal lovers.”
I kick off my shoes and let my hot, swollen feet recover from bearing my excessive weight. I wish I had remembered sunglasses. The sun is unusually hot for this time of year and shining directly in my face. I squint to try to make out the time on the clock mounted to the tower of the student union, and a shadow falls across my face.
“Hey, you.”
It takes my eyes a moment to adjust but soon I can make out a familiar buzz cut and small, square-set shoulders. “Jackie Hardwick, right?”
She nods and sits beside me. “And you’re Tabitha?”
I smile. “You remembered.”
“Well, you made an impression.”
My already pink cheeks flush even hotter, and I duck my head. “I was a little defensive that day. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she says. “Marty was out of line.”
I bite my lip. “She does that a lot.”
“I figured.” Jackie tilts her head back and closes her eyes. “Damn, that feels good.”
“I wish I had remembered sunscreen. I’m going to be so burned tomorrow.”
“That sucks. I hate getting sunburned.”
Confused, I squint at Jackie. “You can get sunburned?”
She opens one eye and glances in my direction. “Yeeeees.” She draws out the single syllable as if I’ve said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. I can see she’s trying not to laugh.
I sputter as I try to find words that won’t offend her or make me sound even more stupid. “But you’re so— I mean, I thought— Um, is that—?”
“Yes, black people can get sunburned,” she says in a monotone. “It just takes us a bit longer to burn, and we don’t turn red, but we have skin and it can get darker.” Both of her eyes are closed now, but there’s tension in her jaw.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “Is that not okay to ask?”
She opens her eyes and studies me. Her expression shifts to something I can’t read, and she sighs as her jaw relaxes.
“It’s just a little tedious always having to explain myself.”
I purse my lips. I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing, but I have to say something. After the silence stretches between us long enough to feel awkward, I whisper, “I didn’t know.”
Jackie’s only response is a close-lipped smile. It’s not her warmest and most open expression, but considering that I can still taste the big, smelly foot I so gracefully stuck in my mouth, I’ll take it.
I glance at Kate, who’s still on the picket line, and see her watching me. When I wave, she tips her head at me and then shifts her gaze to Jackie. I allow my eyes to follow. But Jackie’s eyes are still closed, with her head tilted back to take in the warmth of the sun that only moments ago had been the cause of tension. Calm and relaxed, she seems oblivious to Kate’s attention. I study her. Her profile is stunning, actually. I can’t believe I ever thought Monique was the pretty one. Jackie has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen, and even her delicate ears are cute. I can’t help but smile and I hope that I haven’t screwed up the possibility of friendship.
Kate’s voice bellows above the rest, “Stop the testing! Stop the trials! Stop the testing! Stop the trials!”
I turn back to the protest to find Kate smiling at me and gesturing for me to join in. Reluctantly, I slip on my shoes.
“Where are you going?” Jackie’s voice is husky and deep. It’s seductive. I have to shake my head to clear it of inappropriate thoughts.
“Back to the grind,” I say with a nervous laugh. I hope Jackie can’t hear the tremor in my voice. Her body language is nonchalant, and her voice is sure all the time; I can’t imagine what it must be like to be so confident. Quite frankly, I’m envious.
“Is this something you want to do?” she asks without opening her eyes.
I don’t know if I do. I didn’t really have a choice. Kate sort of dragged me along. “I want to be with Kate.”
Jackie makes a small noise of acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything. So I stand up and shuffle awkwardly before saying, “Well, I guess I’ll see you Tuesday.”
She opens her eyes and smiles. It’s a full, genuine smile and it feels as warm as the sun on my back. “Bye, Tabitha,” she says.
I can’t explain it, but my name sounds important when she says it. My responding smile makes my sunburned cheeks ache.
Still grinning, I make my way back to Kate. When I’m close enough, she grabs my arm and links elbows with me. She smacks a loud kiss on my cheek and smiles through the chant. I look toward the steps, but Jackie is gone and I have to beat back my disappointment.
School still sucks, but man, is it a lot easier when you have friends and a maybe girlfriend to help you through. Heather remains on my periphery; she and Molly still lob insults in my direction every chance they get. But it’s getting easier to shrug them off. When they taunt me with “Flabby Tabby” jokes, I write notes to Kate. And when that doesn’t deflect the pain and embarrassment, I start my own zine to get out the bad thoughts that I can’t share. Even though I know Kate and the other girls read it, it still gives me the illusion of privacy. There’s a respect that goes along with the medium, and we all know the unspoken rules.
It’s good to be able to trust girls again.
Guys, on the other hand? Well, for whatever reason they still have the ability to shift my entire world on its axis.
I’m coming out of first period, a little later than usual because Mrs. Sansone wanted to talk to me about taking some AP courses, and I run face-first into Brad Mason. He smells great as usual, and his dirty blond hair sweeps across his forehead in forced disarray, but he’s looking at me strangely, as if he’s never seen me before.
“Is Kate Goldberg your girlfriend?” he asks.
It’s a simple question, but his tone makes the hairs on my arms stand at attention.
“I asked you a question, fatty,” he says. His pale blue eyes narrow, and he uses his height advantage threateningly as he leans into my personal space.
Brad has always been a bit of a jerk, but he’s never been outright cruel to me before. My hands begin to shake.
“Um, she’s uh—”
“It’s a simple yes or no. Are you a dyke or what?”
Somehow I manage to eke out three words. “I’m not gay.”
“Could have fooled me.” He pulls a crumpled sheet of notebook paper from his pocket. “I can’t wait to see you,” he says in a mocking tone. “I want to feel your lips on mine and your hands in my hair. I could kiss you for hours and never get bored.”
I reach for the letter, and he snat
ches it away. “That’s private!” I shout.
“What a waste.” Brad clicks his tongue. “Kate is a fine piece of ass.”
“What do you know about it?” My words are laced with venom, but my hands are still shaking and sweat drips down my back and pools at the base of my spine.
“Oh, I know plenty,” he says. He leans over and I can smell his breath. It’s the spicy-sweet smell of Big Red, and it makes my stomach turn. “Like how she has a birthmark right here.” He touches my left breast just below the nipple. Where Kate has a tiny strawberry birthmark.
I forget to breathe.
“I think what you need,” he says as he backs me toward the classroom door, “what you both need…” He brings his hands up to frame my face, trapping me against it. “Is a man.”
I close my eyes and pray. For what I don’t know. That I get out of this with my dignity intact? That he leaves me alone? That he hasn’t seen Kate naked?
Before I can figure it out, he surges forward and crushes his lips against mine. It hurts. There’s no tenderness—just pain and fear and an overwhelming urge to run away. I try to push him off, but he’s stronger than me. In the back of my mind, I know he won’t do anything. We’re at school, and he’s not stupid. But my body reacts faster than my brain. I panic. White-hot stars pepper my vision, and I can feel myself being dragged under. I hope it happens soon. Then I won’t be here with Brad’s cinnamon breath engulfing my entire face.
As I’m slipping out of consciousness, I realize he’s gone. When I open my eyes, Mrs. Sansone is standing next to us; her fist is full of Brad Mason’s shirt.
“What the hell is going on here?” she demands.
“We were just having a little fun, right, Tabitha?”
I can’t speak. I think my knees might give out, and I’m struggling to breathe.
“It didn’t look like Miss Denton was having fun,” she says. “I think you’d better come with me to the dean’s office.” She smiles at me. In her gaze, pity prickles sharply where there once was pride. I look away. “Why don’t you go to the nurse’s office, dear? Have your parents come pick you up.”
I nod. I can’t remember any words. I look up to see Brad glaring at me over his shoulder as Mrs. Sansone drags him off. When they’re out of sight, I sag against the door. My whole body begins to shake, and I swallow to force down the bile in my throat.
Decked Out No. 4
FAT GIRLS DO IT BETTER
by Tabitha Denton
This is my big fat body and it’s mine. I inhabit it fully and freely. You can’t take that from me. I eat and I live. I live and I eat. But only one of these things defines me. I also love. I have love to give.
Sometimes I feel invisible, even though I know I physically take up more space than most girls. Sometimes that’s fine. I want to be invisible. I don’t want you to see my fat rolls and stretchmarks and cellulite. Other days I want to scream “HERE I AM! LOOK AT ME!” as I squeeze my stomach and make you feel the thickness of my body. This is what it’s like to be fat, what it’s like to be me. I demand that you notice me.
The only problem is when I get noticed. When I’m seen for who and what I am. When I’m taunted for my size, for whom I love. For how I love.
“You need a man…” Those words burn through me and eat away at my insides until I can hardly breathe. Why does everyone think they have a right to your body? Especially guys. I am not a product for consumption. I am a human being. I have feelings and rights the same as you.
Every fat joke eats away at my pride; every sneer at me and my girlfriend makes me angrier. My anger guides me; it makes me stronger. I will eat you and your skinny friends. I will make you take me seriously. And I will do it all while being fat.
Because. I. Can.
It’s Time to Slim Down the Easy Way
Debbie lost 20 pounds on our easy, no-fuss program.
Debbie is a SELLOUT!
If you want more fat girl love, write to the address on the back to subscribe to Tabitha’s zine, Chubby Bunny. It’s just $1 and two stamps for all the feminist propaganda you can stand.
Chapter 6
“He did what?” Kate’s heart-shaped face is contorted in pure rage.
“It’s nothing,” I say. “I’m fine.” I’m not sure if I’m actually fine. I’m only saying that so Kate doesn’t drive across town and kick Brad in the balls. From the look on her face, it’s still a possibility. And not that I’d blame her, but I’d rather forget the whole stupid thing. Now that the immediate threat is gone, it seems silly that I’ve been scared.
“It’s not fine,” she says. “How dare he!”
“I’m really okay,” I say again. “He didn’t hurt me.” Except he did. There might not be any physical scars, but in the few days since it happened, the smell of cinnamon has begun to make me queasy, and the squeak of sneakers in the hallway has been making me jump.
Kate begins to pace back and forth as she mutters something to herself. I have to say something to stop her from doing anything rash.
“Kate?” I try to step in front of her, but she dodges me and continues her route across my bedroom floor.
She scowls at the floor. “It’s none of his business who I date! We broke up a year ago for crying out loud.”
“Wait. What?” Something is wrong. Why does she care what Brad thinks?
“He always was jealous,” Kate says, almost to herself. “But this is crossing the line.”
“Are you even listening to me?” I practically yell to get her attention.
“Yeah,” she says, finally looking at me again. “Brad was being a jealous dumbass and confronted you.”
“Kate, he kissed me.” I take a couple steps in her direction and put my hands on her shoulders. “He forced himself on me and he threatened me… he threatened us.”
“That’s just him,” she says, waving it off. “He’s… possessive.”
“So that makes it okay?”
“No, but…” When she catches my pained expression, she softens her voice and kisses me. “Tabitha, he’s harmless.”
“It didn’t feel harmless,” I say as I fight back tears. How can she see this as anything but a violation of my person? Of our relationship? Of everything we stand for?
“He’s just trying to get to me through you,” she insists. “I’ll talk to him. He’ll leave you alone. Promise.” She holds out a pinky for me to link with hers but I stare at it in disbelief.
“You’re going to talk to him?” I can’t imagine on what planet she’d think it’s okay to talk to a guy who assaulted her girlfriend, but then again, we’ve never had “the talk.” Maybe I’m not her girlfriend after all.
“Oh my God, Tabitha, you are so immature sometimes.” She throws her hands up. “He’s an ex. It’s no big deal.”
“I don’t care that he’s your ex,” I say, although I’m not quite sure I believe it myself. “I don’t want him to hurt you.”
“For crying out loud, Tabitha. He’s not going to hurt me. I swear, you’re such a child.”
I step back. How can she say that to me when this guy forced his tongue in my mouth? When she’s sat in the same Riot Grrrl meetings I have and heard the same stories? How can she not see this as a complete and total violation? “I’m not a fucking child,” I say through gritted teeth. “He assaulted me!”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” Kate rolls her eyes, and that breaks something loose inside me. I cross my bedroom in three strides and yank the door open.
“I think you should go.”
Kate stares at me with her mouth open. When I don’t move, she picks up her shoes and her bag from my floor.
“Fine. You know what? I’m going, but don’t think you can call me in five minutes and beg me to come back. You owe me an apology!” I think I see her eyes well up as she walks past me, but she doesn’t eve
n pause.
My legs turn to jelly when I hear the front door slam.
The following Tuesday, I’m the only one in the rec center when Jackie and Venus walk in. Sitting in the lone chair I’ve bothered to take out, I’m debating whether I should stay. It’s been three days since my fight with Kate, and she still hasn’t called me. Pride keeps me from dialing her number. And today I can’t decide if I want to see her. She may not even show up. It would be a betrayal to share what happened between us with the group.
“Well, this is one pitiful party,” Jackie says. Her smirk seems playful, as if she’s inviting me to reply, but I can’t. Even the thought of speaking makes the tears threaten to flow. How do I have any tears left? I went through so much Kleenex over the weekend, Mom thought I was sick. Why am I so broken up over a two-week relationship?
I stand and clear my throat. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I should set up.”
“We’ll help,” Venus says. “How many chairs do we need?”
“Um, about fifteen, I guess.”
Jackie is setting the last chair in the circle when Kate breezes through the door with Cherie in tow. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as Cherie waves and Kate looks past me to Jackie and Venus. When Kate turns, I can see she has shaved the side of her head, and her rusty brown hair now hangs in loose waves down one side. Her smile, aimed at anyone but me and framed by red lipstick, makes my chest ache. Tears sting my eyes, and I bite my lip to keep it from quivering.
A hand grips my elbow, and Jackie whispers in my ear, “Come with me.”
I let her lead me out and around the side of the building. She nudges me toward a picnic table dotted with unidentifiable stains and streaked with bird droppings. The filth is fitting somehow as I sit across from Jackie and let my tears fall. I am about as useful as a mound of trash.
She lets me cry it out. When I sniffle and wipe my face she says, “Breakups suck.”
I laugh bitterly. “I don’t even know if we’re broken up.”
