i curse their smiling, eager faces. i curse the innocent wanting eyes of babes as they express the emotion of 'please don't let me down'. so we check the boxes write the number of attendees and i await the onslaught of temptations.
like a shipwreck in a storm, i cling to the buoy of five pound loss as the waves toss me about trying to dislodge me from my hope and goal. first there are the whispers of, 'well we have been doing so well what's one drink?' growing to a crescendo of 'this is america god damned it and you are a god damned grown man who pays the bills, what you can't enjoy one drink after a hard week supporting your family?' the weather is merciless as i watch my wife getting her 'goal weight allowances' and passing them up.
i curse at her, under my breath, for never breaking down. i curse at her, under my breath, for always smiling as she makes a one egg white omelette weighing each item and marking them in her food journal with the joy of a school girl.
lunch, at the office, has become torture. i bring a sack lunch and make excuses. 'ah, that sounds great but i don't have any cash on me. what's that? oh, no don't worry about it, see i brought a lunch.'
i can hear them laughing and know it's about me. i take to eating in the car two streets away. i take to making excuses, 'oh my wife she needs me to call her so we can decide about _____ or else i would love to go.' in case they drive by or are spying i will push the ear piece and begin talking, waiting, pretending to listen and talking again.
men don't understand _____ _______ they wonder about the point scale. they wonder on the little book that was in my pocket but now hidden in the glove box. i tell them it's for my wife, how she really wanted to do this together and, 'i damn sure won't give up my beers and steak,' when i see the looks on their faces change to shock.
thursday is our weigh in day. it is by this time that i need the lift of the scale, to see the sweat was worth it before heading into the weekend where the devil sits temptation on either side. we have arrived, we have made it through the support speeches and food fighting techniques now are lined for the weight and exit. as my wife is at her target or below she will not have to pay. they have given her a pin and have her stand to be admired, during meetings. i will be paying for awhile.
we slide to the side. she steps on the scale.
'very good,' says the old lady.
she moves off and i move on. the numbers spin and land. before she says anything i know. my heart stops and my palms sweat as i can feel all eyes on me, judging my efforts and body. there is a deafening silence.
'you'll be alright honey. you just got to keep your head up, keep working the program. you'll make it i promise. don't let this break you,' the old lady says.
'plus two,' is what the scale says.
i can feel every fat inch of my stomach. it is laughing making rude faces through the shirts fabric and letting everyone know who is in charge.
'would you like to stay after and work with a councilor?' she says.
'it'll be alright dear,' says the wife.
'plus two,' says the scale.
'no thank you, but thank you. two steps forward is still more than one set back, right?' i say and muster a smile.
as we leave, silent i can feel her eyes on me wanting a conversation. as we leave i can hear my stomach rumbling it's victory song. as we leave towards the car under the veil of night, it is darkness, black and i can feel something terrible on the air. i know it is hungry,it is angry and justified as it arrives home from detention.
'don't give up, honey i am right here for you. we can do this together,' she says.
my mind already lost to the faces on the invitations, their buffets, their booze and the freedoms of man in america.
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