Read Online Conversations With the Fat Girl by Liza Palmer - Free Book Online
Authors: Liza Palmer
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another guy for you. A real looker, too. Okay so he's the guy who picks
up our recycling, but he did ask after you the other day-said you had a
nice rack.' A little crude, but you don't have to marry the guy Remember
Movie Night-don't bring anything. I've got popcorn, beer, and I rented A
Star Is Born-both versions-Garland and Streisand!?Peregrine whirls into
the front of the coffeehouse to start her shift, leaving me alone in the
back room with my CD. I'm afraid this gift will he like all of the
others. Texas Steven's Blade Runner DVD I got for my birthday Bobby
Bol's single rose wrapped in copper wire. Mason Phelps even gave me his
meal card with an unlimited amount one month. Is this CD yet another
token of friendship or fleeting desire? What ii for once this is the
real thing? What then? Domenic isn't working today so I have no idea. We
close early on weekday nights, so I get home before 8 PM. I clutch the
CD in my hand and walk into my packed-up house. I check my machine. I
have two new messages. Both are from people I called about an apartment.
Olivia has been in town for a whole day and hasn't called. Maybe she was
just a voice in my head-a very tangible well-dressed psychotic episode.
I call her cell phone and leave another message. In the back of my mind,
I am excited to tell someone about Domenic. But I stop myself. Here she
is getting married to a cardiologist from Washington, DC. While I roll
up with my ?cute crush?: a twenty-eight-year-old busboy who lives in a
loft with four roommates. I begin to hyperventilate. I will be undone by
my own second-guessing. I call the two prospective landlords back. Once
again, I am practically drawn and quartered for owning such a wild beast
as a seventy-pound dog. I try not to analyze the CD like the other
gifts. No listening
57
51
to each lyric as if it were a declaration of love. I can't do that with
this one. I have to remind myself that this CD is probably what all the
other gifts have turned out to be: an affirmation of friendship. Nothing
more. As I listen to the CD, I smile when I know the song. A couple are
new to me. Most aren't that meaningful, and some are so underground punk
rock they're barely enjoyable. I am packing up the bathroom when I hear
it, the hidden track of the hidden-track compilation. It's a whispery
ballad. I stop, my face in the depths of the cabinet. I know this band.
I don't know this song. Should I read into this? Is this just another
friendly misunderstanding? Or is this Domenic metaphorically leaning
over and kissing me? I walk toward the CD player; the number on the
digital face is 99. I don't want to touch anything, afraid I will never
be able to hear this beautiful song again. tf I were to one time ask for
what I want maybe I would receive it as the days go by and by and by I
learn not to ask So I will never get Shown anything or at least anything
that will hurt me. . I stare at the CD player, toilet brush in one hand,
my heart in the other.
58
Oh, Dr. Farrell, You Are Too Much
When I was a junior in high school, I missed having a boyfriend by five
minutes. Olivia and I made our usual daily stop at the local ice cream
store. Olivia went in without me, because I couldn't find my wallet.
While I searched the depths of my 1984 Chevy Chevette, Olivia went
inside to begin the detailed process of ordering. Unbeknownst to me,
Owen Lynch, my new high school crush alter The John Sheridan had been
unmasked that fateful night, was talking to Shannon Shimasaki, our
perpetual nemesis She worked behind the counter at the ice cream store.
When Olivia walked in, Shannon began, for some unknown reason, grilling
her about who I liked. Olivia, always the weak one, gave up that I had a
crush on the one and only Owen Lynch Shannon howled with laughter and
turned to ask Owen if he would ever consider dating me. Owen Lynch said,
?Maybe.?That's the closest I've ever come to having a
another guy for you. A real looker, too. Okay so he's the guy who picks
up our recycling, but he did ask after you the other day-said you had a
nice rack.' A little crude, but you don't have to marry the guy Remember
Movie Night-don't bring anything. I've got popcorn, beer, and I rented A
Star Is Born-both versions-Garland and Streisand!?Peregrine whirls into
the front of the coffeehouse to start her shift, leaving me alone in the
back room with my CD. I'm afraid this gift will he like all of the
others. Texas Steven's Blade Runner DVD I got for my birthday Bobby
Bol's single rose wrapped in copper wire. Mason Phelps even gave me his
meal card with an unlimited amount one month. Is this CD yet another
token of friendship or fleeting desire? What ii for once this is the
real thing? What then? Domenic isn't working today so I have no idea. We
close early on weekday nights, so I get home before 8 PM. I clutch the
CD in my hand and walk into my packed-up house. I check my machine. I
have two new messages. Both are from people I called about an apartment.
Olivia has been in town for a whole day and hasn't called. Maybe she was
just a voice in my head-a very tangible well-dressed psychotic episode.
I call her cell phone and leave another message. In the back of my mind,
I am excited to tell someone about Domenic. But I stop myself. Here she
is getting married to a cardiologist from Washington, DC. While I roll
up with my ?cute crush?: a twenty-eight-year-old busboy who lives in a
loft with four roommates. I begin to hyperventilate. I will be undone by
my own second-guessing. I call the two prospective landlords back. Once
again, I am practically drawn and quartered for owning such a wild beast
as a seventy-pound dog. I try not to analyze the CD like the other
gifts. No listening
57
51
to each lyric as if it were a declaration of love. I can't do that with
this one. I have to remind myself that this CD is probably what all the
other gifts have turned out to be: an affirmation of friendship. Nothing
more. As I listen to the CD, I smile when I know the song. A couple are
new to me. Most aren't that meaningful, and some are so underground punk
rock they're barely enjoyable. I am packing up the bathroom when I hear
it, the hidden track of the hidden-track compilation. It's a whispery
ballad. I stop, my face in the depths of the cabinet. I know this band.
I don't know this song. Should I read into this? Is this just another
friendly misunderstanding? Or is this Domenic metaphorically leaning
over and kissing me? I walk toward the CD player; the number on the
digital face is 99. I don't want to touch anything, afraid I will never
be able to hear this beautiful song again. tf I were to one time ask for
what I want maybe I would receive it as the days go by and by and by I
learn not to ask So I will never get Shown anything or at least anything
that will hurt me. . I stare at the CD player, toilet brush in one hand,
my heart in the other.
58
Oh, Dr. Farrell, You Are Too Much
When I was a junior in high school, I missed having a boyfriend by five
minutes. Olivia and I made our usual daily stop at the local ice cream
store. Olivia went in without me, because I couldn't find my wallet.
While I searched the depths of my 1984 Chevy Chevette, Olivia went
inside to begin the detailed process of ordering. Unbeknownst to me,
Owen Lynch, my new high school crush alter The John Sheridan had been
unmasked that fateful night, was talking to Shannon Shimasaki, our
perpetual nemesis She worked behind the counter at the ice cream store.
When Olivia walked in, Shannon began, for some unknown reason, grilling
her about who I liked. Olivia, always the weak one, gave up that I had a
crush on the one and only Owen Lynch Shannon howled with laughter and
turned to ask Owen if he would ever consider dating me. Owen Lynch said,
?Maybe.?That's the closest I've ever come to having a
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