(Author's note: This story is an entry into the third Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge (FAWC). The true author of this story will be kept secret until Wednesday, November 20, 2013, when the author will be revealed in the comments section following this story. There are no prizes awarded during FAWC; this is simply a friendly competition.)
(Inspiration for this and all FAWC 3 stories was taken from a single picture, which can be found
here
)
The tags for this story are FAWC, Outdoors, Brunette, Shy, Plump, Fat, Food, Jealousy, Water, Outside
* * * *
Erica Mitchell hated the artwork that covered a large portion of the living room wall in her parent's house. Her father hung the massive piece the year she turned twenty-one. Bright orange life jackets and chair mats added the only color to the vacation scene. Endless clear water, intended to entice the viewer into booking their next trip to the island resort, annoyed her.
Although she refused to admit it even to herself, she envied the brunette captured in the midst of a swim. The woman was all that Erica wasn'tโslender, athletic, and seemingly comfortable with her body. She portrayed the confident woman Erica wished she could be. As the woman swam, she appeared to be ignoring the man reclining in a lounge chair just yards away. Even though she didn't date, Erica couldn't understand why the couple didn't seem to notice each other.
"Maybe they argued, or secretly hate each other, or maybe they're really undercover agents waiting to meet up with a snitch," she whispered, expanding the scene from her imagination. "No matter what, I wouldn't let him ignore me if he was my man."
She shook her head and retreated to her room where she sprawled over the bed until dinnertime. Climbing the stairs took all the energy she had left after working eight hours.
"Honey, dinner's ready. I fixed your favorites," her mother yelled an hour later.
"Be right there."
She hefted herself off the sagging mattress at the same time her stomach growled. Lucy Mitchell loved to cook and eat. After her husband passed away, the elderly woman stopped both, a fact her daughter discovered months later during a visit home. Convinced she would lose her one remaining parent if she didn't intervene, Erica quit her job, sold her belongings, and moved in with her mother.
Her old bedroom hadn't changed since she was a teenager. Rock star posters plastered the walls. Stacks of magazines covered the vanity. Pink fringe hung from the ends of her tattered bedspread. Boxing up her old things and shopping for replacements took more ambition than she had.
Tantalizing smells greeted her as soon as she opened her door. Erica hurried down the steps and went into the dining room. Platters of crispy deep-fried chicken, homemade French fries, hush puppies, and golden biscuits covered the green paisley tablecloth. She kissed her mother's cheek in a show of appreciation as she stared at the food.
"You didn't have to do all this."
"I know, but your father . . . he enjoyed my cooking, and I miss making his favorite foods."
"I miss him, too, Mama."
"Eat while it's hot.
Lucy dabbed the corner of her eyes with her apron before she sat across from her daughter. Erica bowed her head while her mother recited the brief prayer that had been a part of the family routine since she was a child. Instead of closing her eyes, though, she devoured the food in front of her, anticipating the first bites of each dish.
"And thank you, Lord, for sending Erica home. Amen."
"Amen," Erica said, reaching for the chicken as she spoke.
Neither spoke for several minutes. Erica filled her plate even as she chewed on a chicken leg. Her mother smiled at the success of her hard work preparing the meal.
"How was work today, Erica? Did you meet anyone new?"
Erica hated everything about her job at the call center. Spending eight hours a day listening to irate customers led to constant headaches. Even worse, if the girl was honest, was working with dozens of people who were trim, athletic, and confident, compared to her introverted personality and plump figure. Each day, as she sat in the employee break room, she watched the popular girls. Listening wasn't always possible, but if she had a table close enough, she did the best she could to hear their every word.
"Is there any dessert?"
The young woman diverted her mother's attention instead of answering her questions.
"Oh, I made pecan pie . . ."
Lucy kept talking as she disappeared into the kitchen. Erica slid her greasy plate of chicken bones to the side before her mother returned. Then she blocked out the faint voice in her head that told her she didn't need more calories and picked up her fork. She loved pecan pie.
"Have another slice, honey. You know it's always best when it's fresh."
Lucy cut through the rich filling before her daughter answered. She slid the over-sized piece of dessert onto the plate and smiled.
"I'll take care of the dishes tonight. You go sit and relax. Maybe watch some TV. Your father always put his feet up in that old recliner . . ."
Erica saw the change in her mother's expression but kept quiet. Conversations about her parents embarrassed the young woman. As a child, her father made fun of her shape. He would ask her to bring him a glass of water, then a napkin or the paper, just to make her walk more. His constant reminders of calorie count left her nauseous. Yet she continued to eat and to gain weight. Determined to block her father from her mind, Erica left the small dining room to do as her mother suggested.
The first thing she saw when she entered the living room was the huge picture. Bile rose in her throat as she imagined stuffing her body into a bathing suit for an exotic vacation. Disgusted, wishing she could block the entire scene from her mind, she turned away, but images of skinny people remained.
Erica heard the clanging of dishes and running water just as a popular evening game show began. The noise escalated each time she clicked the remote to increase the volume. Aggravated at her life in general, the young woman threw the small black device across the room and hefted herself into a standing position. She swore at the framed artwork before climbing the steps to her room, blaming the woman in the water for her frustration.
Lucy finished cleaning the kitchen and went to join her daughter for the evening only to find the room empty. She flipped the button on the television and turned off the lights. The older woman hated to be alone in the room she associated most with her late husband. He chose the dรฉcor, including the oversized framed vacation scene. The multi-colored sofa supposedly matched well with the orange in the picture. No matter how many times she looked at it she never saw the appeal he had.
Trapped in her room before eight in the evening, Erica soon became bored. The silence from the main floor was an indication that her mother was in her room. Images of the pecan pie floated into her vision as she paced the small room. She slipped the button of her jeans loose to rub her stomach where the waistband dug into her skin and caused a rash that constantly itched. Her fingernails dug into the tender flesh as her feet took her down the steps into the kitchen for another slice of pie. A can of soda went into her sweater pocket so she could cut into the gooey dessert as she walked to her room. There she washed the sweetness off her teeth with the sugary soda. The belch that escaped brought her last bite of pie up again, a common occurrence for the young woman. With it floating between her throat and her stomach, she stripped out of the tight clothing and donned a baggy nightgown. Then she crawled into bed and went to sleep.