Memoirs of a Fat Girl

The only worse thing than being fat, is being fat and remembering when you were thin. Some times hit you more than others.

So I'm looking through the stack of family luggage in the basement, thinking that the big red one is best for Jordan and I haul it out. Heavier than an empty suitcase should be. I take it to my room, lay it on the floor and unzip.

Clothes. Of course. I'd forgotten this was the suitcase I'd taken to Prague for my internship. Thin clothes. A suitcase full of unfolded, tossed about clothes with the feel, the scent of days gone by. Clothes full of memories that, one by one, slapped me with the blows and frustration of the person I'd forgotten.

A blouse, size small. A fitted white blouse that went with these low-rise brown cords that I wore to work with boots and a black leather jacket. How many times did I wait for the morning tram dressed in this outfit, Gucci sunglasses, leather shoulder bag housing my laptop, one of these lacy nude bras and thongs underneath it all, also size small. Lingerie that just an hour before my wait on the platform had thrilled Jess to no end.

Lingerie in that suitcase there was plenty of, each with its own time and place. And Jess had loved all of it. Black stockings we'd bought in London. The mauve corset we'd picked up in Greece. The white ensemble I'd worn underneath cargo pants and a baby tee on the three hour drive from L.A. to San Diego. All the windows open and drunk on California air, every radio station on earth blaring "Yellow". Finally getting into that cheap motel room and feverishly undressing each other. The beach would wait.

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know, you know I love you so
You know I love you so

It really hits home, holding up something so small that used to fit you, that used to flatter and make you feel desirable. Holding it up thinking not "This is you," but rather, "This was you."

It's a harsh reality. I wanted to cry. I didn't. Instead, I took a deep breath, zipped the red suitcase back up, and put it in the corner. I would unpack it later. Instead, there was another bag that needed packing.

My gym bag. I worked out like a woman on fire.