March 15, 2010
By Bzwig BRONZE, Aurora, Illinois
Bzwig BRONZE, Aurora, Illinois
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Obesity is said to be a huge problem in America’s rising younger generation. The giant finger of blame must be pointed in some direction. A new look at the parents of these obese children should be taken. Ignorance is not always bliss.
Beverly lumbered into the kitchen, immediately plopping down in the nearest reinforced oak chair. Sitting at the dinning set, styled in a cheap country motif, was a rarity. Small piles combined to make a mountainous mess of unopened bills, a collection of Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets, and other household rubble. Meals were normally eaten in the living room on TV trays; shapeless bodies slowly molding into the plaid lazyboy. The family of four communicated in grunts and flatulence, faces expressionless, illuminated by blue flashes from the entrancing big screen. Morsels of food collected on their swollen faces as they gorged themselves.

Beverly pulled back her wet, freshly showered, dark brown hair with a pink head band. Attached was an obnoxious sequined hot pink rose, now obtruding from her head like a boil. Craning her neck to gaze over the clutter, she saw her mother attempting to balance her enormous mass on a stool strategically placed in front of the stove. The round wooden seat seemed to disappear in between her butt cheeks which swelled over the sides. Her mother, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and tattered slippers, lackadaisically stirred a bubbling swimming pool of bacon grease. A dangling cigarette was ashing on her shelf like chest. This was the only time of the day Beverly did not have a dimwitted smile plastered on her face.
“Good Morning to you TOO…,” her mother smugly forced out. She spoke in a condescending manner, her speech thick with bitchy undertones.
“Hey FATSO I’m takin to you”
Beverly seemed to stare cross eyed somewhere out the dirty window. A foggy haze had rolled into the kitchen; her mother’s voice slipped increasingly farther away.
“You Fat Stupid W****! You Worthless Waste, listen to your mother!”
No reaction.
Over come with anger, her mother plucked a slice of sizzling bacon between tong pincers. Winding up, with wild eyes, she flung the scorching strip of meat at her daughter’s head. Narrowly it missed Beverly’s Cro-Magnon forehead. The startling event shook her from the defense mechanism fog.
“No thanks. I’m not eating breakfast today, tryin to watch my figure,” Beverly stated robotically to her mother. With effort, she heaved herself out of the oak chair, gathered her things and waddled out the door.
Stuffed into her black Cavalier she cruised down the flat suburban street to school. Not immediately to school, of course, that would mean unthinkable starvation. Beverly’s heart beat rapidly in anticipation. Her stomach began to spit and sputter, making loud groaning noises which worried her. As she rounded the final corner, she pushed down the peddle harder, gripping her fuzzy hot pink steering wheel cozy. Golden arches and a red roof came into sight over the rise. McDonald’s was encompassed in a brilliant halo, similar to the pictures of baby Jesus depicted on church windows. The rising sun created this phenomenon, as Beverly gushed with joy. She rolled down her window in front of the drive thru order box; breathing heavily, her heart pounded out of her chest. A cheerful woman with a Hispanic accent asked to take her order. Beverly responded, through gasps of excitement, to give her a minute to decide. She truthfully knew exactly what she wanted; her regular: one McGriddle, one egg McMuffin, two hash browns, and a large orange soda. She wanted time to drool over the giant menu. Wide eyed and mouth open slightly, Beverly was in heaven; taking the time to devour each vibrant picture. An impatient Suburban behind her laid on their horn, disrupting this moment of pure bliss. She pulled forward to the window. Resting the white paper Holy Grail on her belly, Beverly plunged a meaty hand into the bag. Expertly, each neatly wrapped food product was maneuvered to the gaping abyss which was her mouth. By the time she crossed the busy highway and parked, all the contents of the bag were consumed. Warm tingling waves of fullness radiated from her stomach. Beverly closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She concentrated on the good complete feeling before another day’s realities sank in. Upon opening her eye lids, heavy with mascara, her warm tingle was quickly replaced by sinking dreadfulness. Every space in the front lot was occupied; she would have to park in the overflow lot. This meant a strenuous trek. A journey she was already mapping out in her mind; each laboriously painful step by step. Tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes.“No, no you wimp,” she screamed at the reflection in the vanity mirror. Violently she shook her beach ball size head from side to side. Suddenly still, she took a moment to compose herself. Grabbing onto the door frame she shifted her weight, lifting herself out of the car, causing it to rock. Beverly swung her book bag over her shoulder and began to waddle in the direction of the front entrance.
Seven hours later Beverly waddled away from another monotonous day of high school. All day long she found herself being squished into claustrophobic desks, which squeaked loudly in protest against supporting her colossus weight. Beverly was greeted with blue skies and warm sunshine. She was perspiring profusely by the time she trekked back to her black Cavalier. She drove down the main consumer drag, strip malls lined the roadway. A brightly colored, green and yellow poster caught her eye; butterflies erupted from inside. She pulled into the parking space directly in front of the advertisment. 80’s hair metal blasted from somewhere, as the world shifted into slow motion. Beverly was transfixed by the image of Jared, Subway’s middle aged spokesman, standing stoic, a sub raised to its well deserved glory in one hand. Jared wore a baggy green polo and khaki pants, with much to be revealed underneath. Her heart began to thud in her chest. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, the mercury seemed to rise fifteen degrees in a matter of seconds. Def Leopard blared from its undisclosed location with a down and dirty lead guitar intro. Beverly panted with excitement, tingling waves of joy radiated again. She stared in awe, mouth a gape. Layers upon layers of the meatiest meat; Beverly imagined consuming it all in one mouth full. The poster transfixed her as her thoughts ran rampant. She pictured lopping up the drops of mayonnaise off Jared’s $5 foot long. Beverly’s pulse rose even higher and her breathing quickened; an on looker might be concerned of hyperventilation. She was on her own planet, floating on a cloud. The world disappeared around her as the focus of her vision narrowed solely on the tantalizing sub. Not one other thought was on her mind as Beverly day dreamed through Subway’s glass door. “Ding”
Deep red tomato juice oozed out of the corners of Beverly’s mouth. Oil ran down her sausage fingers and forearms, staining the rolled up sleeves of her purple sweater. Beverly displayed her professional EWD skills (eating while driving) with the gracefulness of a water buffalo. She steered with her knees. In unison, she two hand fisted the meat cheese medley down her esophagus faster than the, seemingly possible, human capacity. The scene of feasting could be compared to a Discovery Chanel special. A coyote stumbles upon a camel carcass in the desert, mouth full of foam and eyes crazed. The rabid brut spends hours in psycho fixation, shredding and tearing, dismantling the camels remains piece by piece, gorging itself on the putrid flesh.
The sandwich devoured, Beverly gazed out at the world through sparkling eyes. Her head toddled on a loose neck, gitty with the satisfaction of fullness. A foolish grin stretched from ear to ear. “Buzz” “buzz” her phone vibrated, indicating a text message. Melanie Gardner, the rich popular girl in her English class, inquired about the evenings reading assignment. Melanie was comparable to a seventeen year old Paris Hilton wanna be; her favorite color was pink, she tanned to a crispy unnatural brown, and her voice sounded like someone replaced it with a squeak toy. Beverly adored Melanie. She complimented her on the outfit she was wearing, every morning, and naturally agreed with anything she said. Overjoyed with this social attention, Beverly rushed to send a text message in response. The cell phone felt like a bar of soup in her mayonnaise covered hands. Her phone shot out of her slipper fingers landing underneath the gas peddle. Beverly’s gaze dropped off the road as she strained to retrieve what was out of her reach.
Beverly lifted her pumpkin sized head at the noise. The reflection in the rear view mirror made her blood chill to ice. She felt like the wind was instantly knocked out of her and she was breathing more shallow then usual. Behind her was a bicyclist in neon yellow shorts crumpled on the roadway. The sleek racing bike was mangled amongst the man’s lifeless limbs. In shock she began to slow down, a deer standing in head lights. Other vehicles already were stopping in great concern for the man. Beverly was over come with the magnitude of the situation; she slammed the car into drive and sped away. She started lying to herself to handle the complex event with evident, extremely serious, repercussions. After a number of stoplights, the black Cavalier returned to a reasonable rate of speed. Her heart still beat rapidly, however she now wore the trademark dimwitted smile on her face. Lips curled upwards at the edges expressed a lust for the moment and the future. Darting worried eyes were the portholes into a distressed soul. Police cars were already haphazardly idling in Beverly’s cul-de-sac waiting for her return. Red and blue whirling lights closed in behind her coasting car, cutting off her only escape route. She now concentrated, lips quivering, to hold the silly grin, protecting her from the immense guilt. The same dimwitted smile, trying to convince all of her obliviousness, stayed plastered on her face through out the hand cuffing processes. Beverly’s mother shouted to her daughter behind cigarette smoke, as the squad car pulled off from the curb. “Don’t worry honey. He ain’t gonna get any of our money. He wasn’t even ridin on the SIDEWALK!.”

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