Fruit

by Brian Francis

  I thought that was pretty stupid, because even though Brian is a Banger, I’m sure he knows how to tie his own shoelace. But I got down on my knee and tied it for him because I was afraid of what he’d do to me if I said no.

  The next day, Brian asked me to tie his lace again.

  “You did a good job last time,” he said.

  I stood there for a minute with a sick feeling in my stomach. Brian was smiling. I could see the chip in his front tooth.

  “I think you know how to tie your laces,” I said to him.

  “Yeah, but you do it better, fatso” he said, “so what are you waiting for?”

  In my head, I wanted to tell Brian to screw off. But there’s just no way I could ever say something like that. So I prayed that Andrew Sinclair wouldn’t see me and bent down to tie his shoelace again.

  Every day since, I’ve had to tie Brian’s shoelaces. Sometimes, he undoes them himself. Other times, he’ll say, “I don’t like the way you did it. Tie them again.”

  “You know,” I said to him the other day, after tying his shoelace for the third time, “they make shoes with Velcro.”

  Anyways, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that Brian will forget about me soon enough and move on to someone else. He’s like that. One day, he’ll be after me like I’m the only person in the world to bug. The next, he’ll walk right by without even looking at me. But most Bangers are like that. They don’t have good attention spans.

  I’m not the fattest person in my family. Uncle Ed is. I don’t know how much he weighs, but Christine thinks he must be around 300 pounds. He slicks back his hair with Grecian Formula and wears Hawaiian shirts, even in the winter. Uncle Ed smells kind of funny some days, too. He’s my mother’s younger brother and lives in a small apartment above a mechanic’s shop.

  Uncle Ed works in Chemical Valley too, but he doesn’t wear a uniform. He must work in an office. I don’t know for sure because I’ve never asked him. I don’t ask Uncle Ed much because once he starts talking, he has a hard time stopping.

  “Verbal diarrhea,” my mother always says, which makes my father roll his eyes and say that’s the pot calling the kettle black.

  My mom says that Uncle Ed should go on a diet, but whenever Nancy goes on a diet, my mom tells her it’s bad for her.

  “Your system goes into shock, Nancy. It’s a medical fact.”

  Nancy is never on a diet for very long, though. The last one she was on was the Wiener, Potato, and Egg Diet. On Day One, she only ate six wieners. On Day Two, she ate six boiled potatoes. By the time Day Three rolled around, Nancy was the crabbiest person in Sarnia. I think she only managed to get two eggs into her before she caved and tore open a box of Wagon Wheels.

  I think Nancy gets upset because she can’t shop at Suzy Shier, like every other girl in Sarnia. Instead, she has to buy her clothes at Suzanne’s, the fat women’s clothing store in Sarnia.

  “Fuller-figured?” the Suzanne’s radio commercials ask. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have the styles you want in the sizes you need at the prices you’ll love! Suzanne’s Fashion boutique. Where Fashion is a Plus!”

  I think it’s Suzanne’s voice on the radio ads, although I’ve never seen her. Maybe there isn’t a real Suzanne. Maybe she’s like Betty Crocker or Aunt Jemima. Or maybe the real Suzanne is skinny and buys her clothes at Reitman’s. If that’s the case, then she better stay in hiding forever or else there’ll be a lot of angry fat women coming after her.

  Once a month, Nancy gets a flyer in the mail from Suzanne’s, letting her know that there’s a special going on or that all spring fashions have now been reduced up to 70%! When Nancy gets the flyer, she’ll pick it up and stuff it into her back pocket before anyone else sees, even though everyone has.

  The thing is that Suzanne’s doesn’t have very nice clothes. At least, not for eighteen-year-old girls. I went in there last year with my mom and Nancy to look for her grade 12 prom dress. The store was pretty small and all the fat women inside had to keep saying “Excuse me” and “Pardon me” as they passed each other between the racks. Most of the women were old, even older than my mom.

  “There’s nothing in here,” Nancy said.

  “Well, you’ve hardly looked, Nancy,” my mom said. She was holding up a purple dress that was as big as a tablecloth. “This is nice. Why don’t you try it on?”

  Nancy said she didn’t like it. She didn’t like anything in the store.

  “Everything in here is so ugly.”

  I started going through the racks because I knew that if I looked hard enough, I’d find the perfect dress for Nancy. A couple of the women gave me funny looks, but I didn’t care.

  “What about this one?” I asked, holding up a black dress with sequins. I thought it was very dramatic.

  Nancy shook her head.

  “What about this one?” I showed her a blue dress.

  “Perfect if I was Mother of the Bride,” Nancy said.

  “Why are you being so difficult, Nancy?” my mom asked. “You’re not even trying. Surely there’s got to be something in here that you like.”

  “Can I help you?” A saleswoman came up to us. She was chubby and wearing too much perfume. I started gagging.

  “We’re here looking for my daughter’s prom dress,” my mom smiled.

  “Oh, how exciting!” the saleswoman said. She clapped her hands together and I noticed she had silver rings on every one of her chubby fingers. “A young woman’s most important night! We just got some new styles in the other day! Hold on for one minute!” Then she went to the back of the store. I was glad to see her go because I could breathe again.

  “I want to leave,” Nancy said.

  “Don’t be silly,” my mom said. “You heard the lady. They just got some new styles in. Maybe something you’ll like.”

  She was trying to sound cheerful. Nancy looked like she was going to puke.

  “Please,” she said. “Let’s just go, okay?”

  She started walking towards the door but then the saleswoman came back with an armful of dresses in plastic bags.

  “Miss!” she called out in a loud voice, so that all the other women in the store turned to look. “There’s one here that I’m sure you’re going to love! What size are you? Sixteen? Eighteen?”

  Nancy practically ran out of the store.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” my mom said while we were driving home. “I mean, honestly, Nancy. That was terribly embarrassing, leaving your brother and I just standing there.”

  “You’re right,” Nancy said, looking out the window, “I’m just so incredibly insensitive.”

  Nancy didn’t end up going to her prom, even though my mom said she’d regret it. Instead, she and André went for dinner at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet on Confederation Road.

  Nancy’s boyfriend is fat, too, so they have that in common. They met through her job at Tim Horton’s. He wears Orange Tab Levi’s and drives the ugliest, loudest car I’ve ever seen or heard. He’s not very friendly, either, and always has a wad of pink bubble gum rolling around in his mouth. I don’t know what Nancy sees in him, but they got engaged last Christmas. They haven’t set a wedding date yet. Nancy says it’ll be soon. I’m not sure why, because lately all they seem to do is fight.

  “You might want to hold off on things for a while, Nancy,” my mom said once. “You know, until André manages to find a job and all that other trivial stuff.”

  Neither of my parents likes André very much. Nancy says the only reason they don’t like him is because he’s French.

  “That’s not true!” my mom gasped. “How can you say something like that when I’ve been friends with Mrs. LaFlamme next door for years?”

  “You watch Another World together and drink Pepsi,” Nancy said. “If she didn’t have air conditioning, you wouldn’t give her the time of day.”

  “I don’t know where you come up with this nonsense!”

  I think the real reason my parents don’t l
ike André is because he’s poor. He lives in the south end of town, right outside Chemical Valley. I was over at his house once and the living room had wood panelling on the walls. That’s a sure sign of poverty. Plus, the house smelled like cigarette smoke and mildew and I’m almost positive I saw mouse poop on the floor next to the sofa.

  Nancy always tells my parents that André has things lined up. “It’s just a matter of time. He’s not just going to rush into anything. We’re talking about his life here.”

  “What does André want to do?” my dad asked once. “Does he have an interest in anything?”

  “He can draw amazing unicorns,” Nancy said.

  “Well, in that case,” my mom said, “let the wedding plans begin.”

  Christine is refusing to go to the Conch Shell for my mom’s birthday.

  “Can anyone think of me for once?” she asked the living room wall. “If it’s not too much to ask, that is.”

  “Where else do you want to go?” my dad asked.

  “I don’t know,” Christine said, like she was insulted he asked the question. “How about a place where they don’t slaughter living creatures so that pathetic humans can stuff their faces?”

  Christine is a vegetarian. She used to eat meat all the time. In fact, she was the fattest of all three of us. But that was before the Junior Band walk-a-thon two years ago. The school was trying to raise money for new instruments. Christine played the oboe. On the day of the walk, Christine called home. She was crying and said her thighs were rubbing together and that a boy walking behind her kept saying he smelled something burning. So my mom had to go and pick her up. When they got home, my mom made Christine put a bag of frozen peas between her legs.

  “Don’t you worry about those corduroys,” she said. “I can patch those holes good as new.”

  That night, Christine locked herself in the bedroom with her oboe. She played “Send in the Clowns” over and over until my mom said she either had to stop it or she would call the fire department to break down the door.

  When Christine finally did come out, she said, “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “That was the beginning of the end,” my mom always says.

  “Fish isn’t meat, Christine,” my dad sighed.

  “It’s meat, Dad.”

  “Why do you always have to be such a pain?” That came from Nancy, who was sitting on the sofa. She stuck her tongue right into the cream hole of her Ding Dong.

  “I’m sorry if having convictions makes me a ‘pain,’” Christine said. “But someone’s got to have some in this family.”

  Christine thinks she’s better than Nancy and I just because she’s thin and has opinions and works at Peoples Jewellers. When she got called for the job interview, you’d have thought she won the lottery or something.

  “This just proves it!” she said as she put the receiver down.

  “Proves what?” my mom asked.

  “That I’m adopted,” Christine said. She turned to my dad. “I’ll need a suit for the interview.”

  “You’re not adopted, Christine,” my dad said. “We’ve been over this a million times. And you’re not getting any more new clothes, either. You’ve got a whole closetful that are just fine.”

  “No they’re not!” Christine cried. “Everything I own is too casual. I don’t have any business attire at all.”

  ”Business attire?” my mom shrieked. “You’re applying for a part-time job at the mall!”

  “In case I didn’t make this clear, Mother, I’m interviewing with Peoples Jewellers. They sell diamonds.”

  My parents refused to buy Christine a new suit. Instead, she borrowed a pink jacket and white skirt from Mrs. LaFlamme. The day of her interview, she had so much lip gloss on, her mouth kept sliding all over the place.

  “Let me get the camera,” my mom said as she ran off down the hall.

  “I don’t have time,” Christine said, grabbing her purse. “My interview is in an hour.”

  “It only takes ten minutes to get to the mall,” my mom called back.

  “I need to get there early so I can go over my notes.”

  “Oh my god,” Nancy said. She had just gotten home from her shift at Tim Horton’s and was tearing open a bag of day-olds. “Don’t tell me you’re serious.”

  “You tell me the difference between a ruby and a garnet, Nancy. Then we’ll talk.”

  Christine’s been working at Peoples for six months now. She buys all of her own business attire, even though my parents tell her she should save her money. And none of us can visit her while she’s working.

  “No family members,” she said with a smile. “It’s a Peoples policy.”

  Christine got outvoted on the Conch Shell, so the day of my mom’s birthday, we all piled into the Granada, except for Nancy and André, who were meeting us there.

  “Well isn’t this a nice surprise,” my mom said when we told her. It sounded like she already knew. “Whose idea was this?”

  “Peter mentioned it,” my dad said.

  “Of course,” my mom turned to smile at me in the back seat, “always so thoughtful.”

  Christine gave me a jab in the ribs. She was still pretty upset about going and said the only thing she’d eat was a dinner roll, swear to god.

  We stopped to pick up Uncle Ed. My dad had to honk three times before Uncle Ed came to the door and waved to us. Then he went back inside.

  “Honestly!” my mother said. She leaned over and gave the car horn another honk. “No one to think about except for himself. It’s my birthday dinner, after all.”

  Uncle Ed is always late for everything. He says it’s not his fault and that everyone else is just early. My mother honked again and Uncle Ed came out wearing a purple Hawaiian shirt. Everyone watched as he waddled over to the car.

  “Another fine purchase straight out of the ‘Look At Me’ catalogue,” Christine said.

  “What’s in the news?” Uncle Ed said when he opened up the back door. He was wearing too much Hai Karate aftershave. “Better shimmy over Peter, and give me some room.”

  I heard Christine say “Oh god” under her breath as I slid over and squished against her. Uncle Ed backed himself in through the door. By the time he closed it, Christine’s hand was pressed up against the window and she said she was having trouble breathing.

  “I think I cracked a rib.”

  “Hold on,” my mom said. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Christine shot me a dirty look. She was turning a little blue, but what could I do about it? It was Uncle Ed’s fault, not mine. He read every sign we passed out loud.

  “Jimmy’s Char Grill . . . Gene’s Furniture Emporium . . . Road Slippery When Wet.”

  Nancy and André were supposed to meet us at the restaurant, but when we got inside, Nancy was sitting by herself in a peach dress, gnawing on a breadstick.

  “Where’s loverboy?” Christine asked. Nancy made a face. She looked like she’d been crying so maybe she and André got into a fight.

  “Did something happen?” my mom asked. Then she looked around. “This is so fancy!”

  Halfway through dinner, I looked up and saw a woman at another table staring at us. Then she leaned over to her husband to say something and the two of them laughed. I couldn’t figure out what was so funny until I looked around the table and saw what she saw. Except for Christine and my dad, we were a table of fat people. I took a sip of the vanilla shake I’d ordered with my fish and chips. My face felt hot and I just wanted to go.

  “Mom made us all fat.” That’s what Christine told me once after she’d lost all her weight. “Think about it. How many moms do you know start their children’s day off with Tang and Cocoa Puffs? How sick is that?”

  I thought Christine was wrong. My mom always buys us chips and makes cookies and there’s always dessert after supper. But she doesn’t force us to eat anything. I mean, I could always ask for a grapefruit for breakfast.

  But I wondered if Christine was right. It’s an
awful thing to say, because I don’t think my mom wants us to be fat. But she never told us to stop eating, either.

  “This has been a wonderful dinner,” my mom said as our waitress took our plates away. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” Then she got up and went to the bathroom.

  My dad looked pretty relieved. Nancy was flipping a pack of Sugar Twin between her fingers. Christine looked bored. Uncle Ed was picking at his nails with a fork and talking to no one in particular. I was just happy to know we’d be out of there soon.

  “Anyone for dessert?” my Dad asked. “Nancy?”

  “Why are you asking me?” Nancy said.

  My dad shrugged. “Just asking,” he said.

  “Wouldn’t mind some rice pudding, if they have some,” Uncle Ed said, just as my mother was coming back to the table.

  “Oh, Ed! How can you possibly have room for . . .”

  Then my mom disappeared and there was this “thud” sound. Everyone turned to look. The waitresses, the other tables, the couple who’d been laughing at us before. The whole restaurant got very quiet. My mom had missed the chair and was sitting on the floor with this awful expression on her face, like when Natalie on Facts of Life found out her dad was having an affair on her mom. We all just sat there.

  I looked at my mom, sitting there on the floor. And I said to myself, “You should get up and help her,” but I didn’t. I just sat there, thinking about how I’d had to tie Brian Cinder’s shoelaces three times that day. Then, just as my dad was getting up from his chair, one of the busboys came over and helped my mom stand up.

  “You been nipping into the sauce again?” Uncle Ed chuckled.

  My mom sat down in her chair and held up the dessert menu in front of her face.

  “Are you all right?” my dad asked.

  “Fine,” she said, but when her cherry cheesecake arrived, the tears had started. She didn’t say a word for the rest of the night and by the time my dad paid the bill, my mom looked like a pudgy raccoon. She didn’t even open her presents until the next morning.

  I hope she doesn’t cry on her fiftieth birthday.