Part IX

“Watch where you’re going, fatso!” a woman spit at him as she bounced off his chunky hip.

“Sorry,” he apologized, only to bang into someone else.

“Fuckin’ lardass,” the guy called after him.

He apologized again as he slowly made his way through the mall.  He was sincerely regretting his decision to come here today, not having realized that it was a few days before Christmas and the place would be insanely crowded with irritable shoppers.

Finally, he reached Think Big and stepped inside the quiet store gratefully.  He quickly scanned the place and saw that there were only two other shoppers, both at least fifty pounds smaller than he was, looking around the store.  He let out the breath he’d been holding and began to sift through the racks of clothing, trying to find his size.  Most of his shirts now were three exes, and were pretty tight, so he grabbed some four exes in an assortment of colors and styles before moving onto the wall where the jeans were stacked on big shelves.

“Can I help you find anything?” a salesman interrupted him.

Xander looked at him warily.  He was a bigger guy, maybe somewhere around 250-275 pounds, and just a few inches shorter than Xander.  “I’m, uh, just trying to find some pants…”

“Okay.  We have jeans on sale this month, buy two get one free, and ten percent off all khakis, cargos included.  What size can I help you find?”

Xander’s face colored.  “Um…I guess…I guess fifty-fours…

“Alright.”  The man reached for one of the lower shelves and produced three pairs of jeans.  “These are our slim cut, boot cut, and relaxed cut styles.  Would you like to try them all?”

“Uh, no, just the relaxed ones…I think that’s what I have now.”

“Okay,” he said.  “How about some cargo pants, too?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The salesman piled a few more items in Xander’s arms before leading him to the fitting rooms.  “Now, if you need anything, just give a holler.  My name’s Ron.  I’ll be happy to get you another size or color.”

“Okay, thanks.”  Xander stood in the dressing room for a few moments, feeling overwhelmed.  This brought back memories of having to go clothes shopping with his mother in high school.  Every time they went, he’d be a size or two bigger, and every time, she’d tell him how disappointed in him she was.  He was just grateful that by the time he was too big for anything but specialty stores, he was in college and could shop for himself.  He still hated the ritual of retreating to the dressing room, praying that the next size up would fit and that he wouldn’t have to go up two sizes, feeling like everyone would know if he did, though. 

He unzipped his jeans, which were cutting painfully into his waist despite not being buttoned, and slipped them off, then fought with his t-shirt to get it over his head, deliberately avoiding the mirror.  He picked up a pair of jeans and stepped into them, lifting up his gut with his forearms in order to try to find the zipper and button.  They zipped up a little snugly, but, no matter how hard he sucked in, they wouldn’t button.  He checked the tag, but sure enough, they were fifty-fours, one size bigger than what he was currently wearing.

“Damnit,” he muttered.  He slid the jeans off and tried the cargo pants, but he could barely get those over his ass.  He took them off and threw them on the bench in frustration.  He grabbed a shirt and slipped it on only to find that, although it was wide enough for him, it was nowhere near long enough – the bottom of his soft, thick belly roll peeked out below the hem.  Almost frantic now, he pulled it off and tried on the other shirts he’d brought in with him.  Thankfully, about half of them fit without showing any unwanted flesh, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like shit.  “Two sizes,” he muttered disgustedly. 

He put his own pitifully tight jeans and shirt back on, gathered up the offending garments, and opened the door to the fitting room.  “How’d you make out?” Ron asked him from his spot by the doorway.

“Um, I need different sizes,” Xander said, his face flaming.

“Okay, what can I get for you?” he said, taking the pile of clothing from him.

“Uh, one size…up…in all these.”

Ron gave him an understanding look.  “No problem, I’ll be right back.” 

Xander was grateful that he was being so nice about this.  That didn’t mean he should be nice to himself, however.  You stupid, fat fuck, he raged silently.  You’re in a five ex now.  Size fifty-six pants.  How could you have let this happen?  He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the panic that was rising in his throat.  He truly hadn’t expected to have to go up two sizes, but he knew now that he should have seen it coming.

A knock sounded on the outside of the door.  Xander opened it to find Ron with an armful of clothing.  “Here you go,” he said as he handed the garments over to Xander.  “I hope you have better luck with these.”

“Me, too,” Xander muttered.  He closed the door and slowly got undressed, staring blankly at the wall the whole time.  He pulled on a pair of jeans and let out a sigh of relief as the button closed smoothly beneath his gut, leaving a bit of room to spare.  He tried on the rest of the shirts and pants and found that they all fit.  Though that should have served to ease his tension, it only caused the tight feeling in his chest to increase.  Five ex, was all he could think.  Fifty-six.  They fit.

He emerged from the dressing room and trudged to the counter.  “Did those work out for you?” Ron asked him.

“Um, yeah.  I’ll take them all.”

“Great,” Ron said, seemingly oblivious to his despair.  He scanned and folded each article of clothing and placed them into a massive paper shopping bag.

A huge bag for huge clothes, Xander thought wryly. 

Ron gave him his total, and Xander swiped his card to pay.  “Thanks for shopping at Think Big,” Ron told him, “we hope to see you again soon.”

“Oh, you probably will before too long,” he muttered under his breath as he walked away.  Since I just keep outgrowing my clothes.

He reluctantly left the refuge of the store and stepped out into the mall.  Almost immediately, someone slammed into him.

“Oh my god, watch where you’re fucking going, fatty.”

Xander just swallowed hard and made his way over to the escalator, where he stood in line behind three college-age girls.  The one to his left was talking animatedly to the other two, laughing and gesturing.  With her blonde hair and sweet smile, she reminded him of August.  He closed his eyes, replaying their kiss in his mind, trying to pretend that that was the last thing that had happened between them and that none of the other stuff had even taken place.

“Jee-zus, would you lookit that tub a’ lard there,” someone called from behind him.  “What a whale!”

Xander felt his face go red as the girls in front of him turned around, craning their necks to see who was yelling, and then seeing him standing right behind him.  The one who looked like August made a disgusted face at him and said, “Ew.”

“That ass needs its own zip code!”  The voice was closer now, right behind him.  His nostrils filled with the scent of roadkill, almost making him gag.  “And holy shit, lookit that gut!  I bet you can see this guy from space!”  A tall, young, well-muscled guy with dark hair came into view on Xander’s right.  “Headed to the food court, fat ass?” he mocked him.  “Gonna go down a couple pizzas?”

Xander just stared straight ahead, trying to keep his face impassive though he was barely able to breathe through the stench and his embarrassment.

“Oh, man!” the guy laughed.  “Ladies and gentlemen, he just came out of Think Big!  The obesity capital of the mall!  Let’s see what we got here,” he said as he swiped Xander’s bag.

“No –“ Xander yelped, “please –“

“I’ll bet you could use one of this guy’s shirts as a boat sail,” the guy said as he reached into the large paper bag.  “You could probably fit four people in a pair of his pants.”  By this time, other shoppers had noticed the spectacle and were slowing down or stopping completely, staring at them.  Quite a few were jeering at Xander, hurling insults and fat names.  Xander grabbed desperately at his bag, but the guy danced out of reach.  He pulled out a pair of Xander’s new jeans.

“Holy shit!”  His black eyes twinkled merrily.  “His pants are a size fifty-six!”

Xander froze.

“And his shirts…jee-zus fuckin’ Christ, his shirts are a five ex!  I didn’t even know they made clothes that big!”  He removed a shirt from the bag and began waving it around like an oversized flag.

Xander’s stomach lurched dangerously as he seized his bag from the guy, who was distracted by the size of the piece of clothing he was holding.  “Give it back,” he growled.

“Aww, fatty wants his five ex shirt back, does he?  What’ll fatty do for it?” he called, holding the shirt over his head triumphantly.  “Will he tell us how much he weighs?”

What the fuck- Xander thought in alarm.  “Just give it back.  Now.”

“Aww, how cute, he’s embarrassed,” he drawled.  “Why don’t we guess how much you weigh, fatty?”

“Three fifty!” someone called.

“Three thirty!”

“Three seventy-five!”

“No,” the guy said, grinning wickedly.  “It’s more than that.  I’ll bet it’s even more than he thinks it is.”

Xander grabbed helplessly at his shirt, but the guy was so fast he didn’t have a chance.

“What’s going on here?”

Xander turned to his left and saw a security guard approaching them, then looked back at the guy, who was still smiling evilly.  He threw the shirt at Xander, and was immediately in his face.

“Three ninety-two,” he whispered.  “Go check, fat boy.”  He began laughing as he walked away, quickly becoming lost in the crowd.

“Well?” the security guard asked Xander, who was staring, wide-eyed, at the place where the guy had disappeared.

“Uh…n-nothing.”

“Move along, then,” the guard told him, nodding.