Why. Why, why, why does it have to be dresses? Why can't it be just new jeans and shirts? What's this dictatorship where a woman isn't a woman unless she's exposing her skin? Why does it have to be dresses? I thought we'd reached enough equality for me not be forced into a dress. There's pantsuits, you know, and a woman can look good even wearing just large clothes that hide pretty much everything. But dresses! Dresses hide nothing! Especially not those that Valerie seemed keen on torturing me with.
"You ready, Joanna?" She yelled from outside the dressing booth.
Of course I wasn't not ready. How could I be ready. The dresses she gave me were for totally different people. This isn't me, not in the slightest, tiniest, flimsiest bit.
"JoJo, come on, let's see." Ben called.
I sighed, trying to make myself as small as possible. My face was as red as a tomato. It's a miracle that I shave regularly due to my work uniform, even though I always wear either leggings or thick stockings with it. But a dress! A dress without stockings, revealing my ultra-imperfect pale skin! That's just not going to happen, no, no.
"JoJo?" Ben called again, this time a bit closer, "are you dressed?"
"Not yet."
"You sure?"
What do you mean, am I sure? How can someone not be sure whether she's dressed or not?
"Joanna, either you come out, or I come in. You pick." Ben claimed, probably stern for the very first time, which did surprise me, but it also scared the hell out of me; because by now I know him enough to be 100% he would keep his word and come into the booth. I couldn't allow that.
Heaving a deep sigh, and trying to pull in as much of my chubbiness as possible, I grabbed the curtain, and opened it. I felt like I was boiling, so my face was surely inventing new shades of red, and my armpits were beginning to cry profusely. Long, agonizing, moments of silence followed.
Then, Ben cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, looking perplexed. Valerie's eyes were on him, seeking approval. "That's-uh ..." he blinked his eyes, "that's ... that's a lot of pink, Val ..."
"Yes!" She screamed excited, finally turning to look at me. "Do you love it or do you adore it?!"
I loathe it? Hate it? Abhor it? I think this dressed should be prosecuted for crimes against humanity?
Ben bit his lips, eyes still well focused on me, but I could see clearly that he was trying to repress a chuckle. I guess I looked that bad that he was dying to just laugh of me.
"So?!" Valerie asked, impatient.
He grimaced as he turned to her. "Val ..." he bit his bottom lip again, "Joanna hates pink."
I do? I mean, yes, I do. But how does he know that? Well, he did ask me once what was my favorite color and I said I don't really care for colors, it's everyone except pink and purple, and I love black and white. But ... I didn't think he would remember. Who actually remembers what people tell them? Answers to those silly routine questions like what's your favorite color even!
"Oh." Valerie's excited smile faded away, only to be replaced by a disappointed frown. It looked as if Ben had just offended her in the worst possible way.
"I mean ... don't get me wrong, it's a nice dress," he mended, I guess seeing as much as I that her heart had been broken in a thousand pieces, "it's just not ... her. I mean ... JoJo wouldn't wear something like that, and the whole point of this is to make her comfortable in her own skin." He gave her a sweet smile. "You do remember how this process goes, don't you?" They exchanged meaningful looks. Clearly, I missed some secret reminiscence.
After a few seconds during which Valerie's smile went from uncertain to sweet, to finally grateful and proud, she nodded. "You're right, I'm sorry." Does this mean I can avoid dresses? She took a few steps, and entered the dressing booth behind me. She then reemerged with all the dresses she'd told me to try on and I hadn't. "Take that off, I need to rethink this entirely."
I obeyed without a word, glad I could finally get rid of that absurd dress and that none of them had even looked at my ugly chubby thighs and crooked legs, not to mention my giant flat feet. As I undressed, I could hear them talking lowly.
"You should have been a stylist." This was Valerie. "Or a personal shopper. You've always had incredible eye for these things."
Ben laughed. "You know it's not my thing."
"But you're so good at it!"
"Not really. It's just ..."
"What?" She inquired, and I instinctively leaned closer to the curtain, in order to better hear what he was about to say; that, unfortunately, almost made me fall, but I kept myself miraculously, yet not without thumping against the wall behind me.
"Everything alright in there?" Ben asked, his tone latched with concern.
"Yes!" I nearly screamed, afraid he'd enter. I was halfway through taking off the dress, that's why my balance had been unsteady. After a moment of silence, they restarted talking, and I heaved a sigh of relief. I wanted to hear their conversation if it resumed on the same note as before, but I needed to focus on a) taking off that blinding trap Valerie called a beautiful dress; b) avoid making a fool of myself again. However, one thing was certain, I this insane attempt at a "makeover" will not end well for me.
--
"Starting with dresses was a mistake." Valerie claimed as she handed me a pile of clothes whose colors were various nuances of black and white but also a couple of navy blue and bordeaux (the only two colors outside the rainbow that I actually can recognize, despite what they say about women and their ability with colors). "We need to work our way up, step by step. Hell, this might actually be a job that requires multiple sessions!"
She was even too excited for my liking, but I would have done anything to get things moving and go home as fast as possible, at this point. Hence, I tried on the various outfits she'd handed me: all jeans with different kinds of shirts and tops. Ben and Valerie approved of half, which were placed onto the small couch where Ben sat, waiting for me to parade before him every time.
When Valerie disappeared again, this time to take care of a couple of customers that needed her, I stepped out of the booth, to take a deep breath.
"Tired?" Ben asked, smiling faintly, to which I nodded. He glanced at this watch, "no wonder, we've been here 3 hours already."
"Three hours!" I exclaimed without being able to restrain myself, "no wonder I'm starving."
Ben chuckled. "You wanna go grab something to eat?"
"But ..." I nodded towards Valerie, who was all smiles and giggles with the customers she was helping.
"Oh, she'll be away for a while, might as well take a break. It's a long process, remember?"
"How ... long, exactly?"
He stood up, and after having typed something on his phone – a text to Valerie, I assume, since she received one immediately after –, he pocketed it, and walked up to me. "As long as it takes."
"But why ..."
He started walking towards the exit of the shop and gestured for me to follow him. "Because you need it," Ben claimed.
"I'm fine."
"Are you, though?"
I decided not to answer. An awkward silent walk to the food joint was easier to handle than a full-on discussion on why am I like this and how can I change. I've been there. You think I don't know my parents would prefer it if I was different? It would be a lot easier to have a daughter they don't have to explain. Or one they understand. Yes, I know they love me. But love doesn't always come with appreciation and understanding, a parent can love you without really knowing or understanding who you are.
--
"Oatmeal?" Ben eyed me carefully as we headed to the first table available while waiting for our orders to be ready.
"Yes." I tried to answer firmly, but I know my voice wavered.
"You said you were starving."
"It's ... breakfast."
"Not yours."
"Well, I can't order milk and cereals at a McDonald's, can I?" I tried hard not to blush, obviously failing.
"But you don't like oatmeal." Ben arched an eyebrow.
"How do you know what I like and what I don't like?" I asked, curious. He talks as if he's known me all my life.
He smiled faintly. "I'm a good judge of character."
"Well, I like fruit. I just don't eat it as much as-" I cut myself off when I noticed the guys behind Ben were snickering while staring at me. Ashamed, I lowered my gaze, and nodded. "I like oatmeal." I murmured, wanting to end the discussion. Clearly, those guys were laughing at my eating habits. A humpback whale doesn't eat fruit, otherwise she wouldn't be a humpback whale, would she?
"JoJo ..."
"Can you please not ..." I sighed, eyes fixated on the table. I felt like hiding under the floor. This is why I don't go out unless I absolutely have to. People judge. Every single time. Those people, those kind of guys, they see someone like me at a McDonald's, they immediately start laughing, expecting to see a pig in her natural habitat. I hate eating in front of people. I ordered the healthiest and lightest choice possible on purpose.
"Not what?"
"Nothing." I murmured, then heard Ben sigh.
"I guess this is going to be way more uphill than I thought. But I don't mind." He murmured, probably to himself. Then, he gently touched my foot with his so that I would look up, which I did, unconsciously, and Ben smiled at me. "Do you trust me?" My eyes widened in surprise. That's a big question, coming from a guy I barely known and that's literally trying to make me as uncomfortable as I can bear. "Let me rephrase that ..." he chuckled, "do you believe I'm not setting you up for a prank?"
"Y-Yes ..."
"So you do think that I am here to really help you?"
"I guess ..." I averted my gaze from his, feeling ashamed. He doesn't deserve my attitude.
"Joanna." Ben called, serious, and I looked back up, because he only calls me by my full name when it's a big talk. "Can you believe Valerie was just like you in high school?"
"What ..."
"Shy, no confidence whatsoever."
"Oh. You ..." That's what they were talking about earlier while I was changing. Ben helped Valerie the same way he was trying with me. Does he have a thing for makeovers or something?
"We helped each other." He smiled, and I frowned. "Do you honestly believe I was always like this?"
I didn't dare ask what "like this" meant. Hot? Cute? Handsome? What I did notice was that the guys behind him stopped laughing and started eating, but one of them still looked at me, making a weird face. When a pig noise escaped his mouth, I realized what he was doing. Making fun of me. Our orders had just arrived, and the waiter had mistakenly given me Ben's order – 2 sausage burritos, hash browns, and a coffee.
My neighbor didn't notice anything, he just swapped our orders. "Are you sure you don't want to try one?" He hinted at a burrito while he took a large bite of the other.
I shook my head, having lost all appetite. I still forced myself to eat a spoonful or two of my oatmeal, just so he wouldn't get suspicious. Ben went on talking in between bites, but I couldn't hear a single word. You know what they say where I come from? You can wrap it up nicely and call it chocolate, but it's still shit. You can try to dress me up and all, but there's no mistake, I am what I am, and there's no changing it.
And it comes with hurtful jokes like those faces and sounds that kid was making, or with seemingly innocuous lines like "why don't you try to go on a diet?" or "you look fatter, have you put on weight?", or "are you a boy or a girl?" and "if you fall, is there going to be a crack on the floor?" It's just the way it is. And there's no handsome neighbor or curvy goddess that can change that. I learned to live with it, push through and live as comfortably as possible.
I'm 28 and I've never had a relationship. I put everything into my studies, convinced it would give me the career I dreamed of, but it didn't, and now I'm stuck with nothing on both sides, and it's too late.
As lost as I was in my self-shaming mantras, I barely noticed that Ben had stood up and was now not very amiably conversing with the guys that had been sitting behind him. Wait, what?
"Come on, man, it was just a joke." The kid that had been making those pig faces and noises defended. "I mean, if you into the shit, props to you, great guts, my man."
Ben's jaw clenched. "Apologize." He hissed.
The guy and his friends laughed. "Truth hurts," the kid claimed, shrugging.
"Ben ..." I called lowly, hoping he wouldn't do something stupid.
"Apologize." He insisted, pointing at me.
"What's going on here?" A manager butted in, coming to stand in between Ben and the teenagers.
Ben snapped to him. "You probably allow your customers to be shamed and belittled. I don't sit by and watch my friends be hurt."
"What ..."
"Bro, you sleep with a pig, you get what comes with it." The main teenager laughed obnoxiously, and his friends followed.
Before Ben could take another step closer, evidently wanting to hit the guy, the manager went to stand in front of him, but facing the teenagers. "We do not condone such behaviors here," he claimed, "kindly leave the premises."
Everyone in there was staring at the scene. I wanted to make myself as little as possible. The kids protested a bit, but when they saw mall security approaching, the scuttled away. I faintly heard the manager apologizing to Ben, I was too busy trying to hide my face. However, when I heard other people murmuring, I couldn't resist any longer: I stood up in a hurry, and slipped away.
Ben called me loudly and repeatedly, but I didn't listen. I headed out of the building as fast as I could without running – no need to give people more reasons to laugh of me by having all my flab jump up and down –, and once I was outside, I stopped, and caught my breaths.
I don't think I've ever been as embarrassed. Believe it or not, I wasn't bullied in school. Sure, the odd looks and jokes here and there, hurtful words and innuendos, but nothing like this. Never. That's what happens when I let some random cute guy talk me into leaving my comfort zone.
When I heard Ben calling me again, I restarted walking fast, heading to the nearest bus station. I caught a bus just in time, before he could reach me. Obviously, my phone started ringing – Ben calling. I rejected. Feeling lost and hoping to God and all saints above that the other passengers on the bus hadn't noticed the horrible state I was in - sweaty, face red, teary eyes -, I started typing a message just to get it out of my system, but I wouldn't send it.
I'm not Valerie. I know you want to help, but you're making everything worse. Please, stop. I'm sorry I wasted your time, enjoy NYC.
The bus came to an abrupt stop because of a cyclist, and my phone almost slipped out of my hands. I saved it just in time. However, my heart jumped to my throat when I noticed the two icons that told me the message had been delivered. I frantically tried to delete, which I did. But not before those icons turned blue. Ben read the message.