I was always the fat girl so summer was my dreaded season. There was nowhere to hide when it was 95 degrees and humid in South Dakota. Winter was my happy season. Snow pants and long heavy coats. Sweaters and corduroys. Even in bed we were covered with heavy flannel nightgowns and layers of blankets. No one saw my fat in January. But come June, when we were called outdoors into the sun, there was nowhere to hide.
One hot Friday following our eighth grade year, my friends, without my vote, elected to spend the following Saturday at a new waterslide in town. Knowing I’d be exposed to the world in my size 11 swimsuit, I became anxious to the point of devising ways to break an arm or leg so I could sit at home in my clothes that covered me from neck to thigh, the rest of me was fine, it was that middle section that was disgusting. But they begged me. So instead I made one of my routine summertime decisions for this type of situation. I decided not to eat for the entire day before we went.
I skipped Friday’s dinner, then both breakfast and lunch on Saturday and climbed into Bridget’s mom’s car that afternoon feeling physically empty and much thinner - and, therefore, much more confident - than I had the day before.
We were the first to arrive at the slide, which was only that: a slide. It was just one long blue curling half tube that started at the top of three flights of wooden steps and ended in a small fifteen by fifteen foot pool with slippery bumpy blue steps on one end to climb out. There was a sun deck around the pool and a tiny concession stand with a couple of traditional picnic tables near the entrance. But even in its sad state of loneliness right there between the Kmart parking lot and the busy traffic of West 12th Street, it was the talk of the town for weeks when it opened.
Thankful that no one but my friends would see me once I took off my long sleeved knee length cover-up, I tossed it down and rushed up to the top with them. I let them go before me so I could lay out my plan. I noted that the life guard made sure the person ahead was at least half way down the slide before giving the next person the go-ahead to launch down the slide. The other three each took their place quickly sitting in the cool splashing water, holding on to the bars at the edge until the guard yelled go. I planned to wait each time, standing upright until I knew she was two seconds from yelling go. I could pretend I had an itch, or that I was basking in the hot sun I despised or maybe that I was distracted by something interesting down below. I’d stand there sucking it in knowing that if I sat down my fat stomach would double in size and I would want to die.
I’d watch for the life guard’s head turn toward me, step in the water, sit down and take off the second I heard g…not waiting for the o. No one would see me anymore. I’d be moving fast, a blur to the eye slipping down the wet slide. There would be no need to suck it in until the end. Right before that last curve I would straighten out and suck it in. I’d be flat stomached heading into the water. Plan made.
On the first run, the cold water rushed over under me. The turns and curves thrilled me and I laughed with delight. I watched the light clouds flit above and caught flashes of cars and people below. But the joy was fleeting, without warning or expectation, I landed in the pool with a gigantic splash. Terrified of the gawks and stares I was sure to face when I surfaced, I buried myself deep in the water.