the 200 pound mark

I remember when I climbed over the 200 pound mark. I was a sophomore in high school. My family had moved out to the country and lived in a trailer house. A run down, holes in the ground, trailer house. It was an incredibly stressful time for our whole family. We were very poor. My mother stretched our already tight budget by buying cheap food. I remember a lot of bologna, beans and Cheetos.

It was during this time frame that the food addiction surged and really took a hold of me. We were supposed to sell chocolate as a fund raiser for a school program. It was "The World's Finest Chocolate"; remember those? Oh. My. Goodness. So, way too yummy. Anyway. [I got distracted by the memory. I think it really is the world's finest chocolate... OK. Coming back to this post...] So. Selling this delicious chocolate got the best of me. I think I might have sold one bar. I ate the rest in the bathroom. Hiding. Often, I would take two at a time into that tiny bathroom, close my eyes, and eat the sweet chocolate.

I told my high school friend I weighed over 200 pounds. She was barely 5 feet tall and probably weighed a plump 130. She was chubby in a very cute way. She was the most down-to-earth cheerleader. I loved her. I thought she was beautiful. And here I was, confiding about my weight.

"There's no way you're over 200 pounds," she told me.

"Elena, I am!" I insisted, blushing darkly.

She dragged me to their family's kitchen and pointed to the scales. "No your not. I'll show you."

I sighed deeply and stepped onto the box. Sure enough, the red letters "203" glared back at me. I tried not to choke. "See, " I told her.

My friend stared at the numbers. She shook her head. "The scales are broke."

She never admitted that I weighed 200 pounds. She was a good friend.

Skinny people have this notion about "200 pounds". Like it marks the official fat person. "200 pounds" seems huge to a 130-pound-person. I remember when I hit 300 pounds. Now, that's a different story. For another post.