Chapter VIII: Legs

 

For those who are unaware, I am a large person. Now, when I say I am a large person what I actually mean that I am the product of a Neanderthal sized Sugarbaker and a brick shit house of a Bronco. Obese or underweight, since the age of 10 I have been large enough to command any room with my stature alone.

 

Coincidentally, I am in fact shaped like a full sized female red kangaroo. Long powerful legs that lead to an ass strong enough to launch me over the moon, belly that hangs low like a pouch, and an upper body that while pales in comparison to the strength of my lower body, could still fuck up any dingo, dumb ass or dickhead. Fortunately, the only major physical injury I'd had in life prior to moving to the prairie land was a broken elbow, and my body despite being large was in fact pretty sturdy. 

 

I had accomplished my goals thus far since planting my roots firmly into the dampen earth of Missouri. Started high school strong, even had a birthday party in between ninth and tenth grade where people actually showed up and no one cried. It was a fucking miracle. 

​

While my, take command, be a grown up approach to socialization was extremely off putting to some, but also fascinated peers and teachers around me. Most could see it was a facade and something dark and damaged lurked underneath. Regardless, friendships and mentor-ships began to form my first year of high school. The seeds of the bonds that inevitably would save me from myself were planted. 

 

Monday morning, 715am, start of the second week of sophomore year. Scrambling to get from the regular hangout spot by the drama and choir rooms to my first hour located at the back of the campus, I took the cut through that would lead students through the cafeteria. Coming down the final flight of stairs before entering the cafe corridor, my left ankle rolled out from under me, my large marsupial like bottom trapping my ankle to the ground, I slid down the stairs to the bottom and let out a loud yelp as all air escaped from my lungs. 

 

Quickly and in a panic I jerked my left ankle out from under my own bottom, literally compromising my ankle in such a way it would never recover. Big, fat, 'I need a hug from my momma' tears started rolling down my face. An assistant principal got to me, putting her arm around me to console me she then called for another staff member who could physically help left me off the stairs and to the nurse's office. I was after all the size of a kangaroo. The tallest and sturdiest of the principal's arrived and aided me to my mother, who'd already been called and was already waiting at the front of the main school entrance to help get me to the car. 

 

My biggest fear was that something was broken, and it consumed me into a downward spiral of anxiety. We arrived at the emergency room, were promptly seen and my leg immediately x-rayed. 

 

They'd given me a benzo, which one I'm not 100% certain. However, xanax has always made me severely itchy, worse than opioids, and I remember being itchy, so presumably xanax. I'd calmed down and if my foot was broken, fuck it. The doctor came in and said un-enthusiastically it's not broken, but all three of my ligaments in my ankle had been torn through almost completely. My tendons and knee remained mainly intact, but my foot was, how do I put this, sort of just a dangling piece of human hanging from me. He suggested a specialist immediately, in the 24 ideally as I would likely need surgery. 

 

24 hours later I found myself sitting with a surgeon with a far more pleasant bedside manner. I was after all the size of a kangaroo, perhaps I'd heal just a well as one. Resoundingly, my body did heal, all the while leaving me some collateral damage that would thankfully be dealt with by the end of high school. Six months in a boot, and twelve months of physical therapy later, I was half way through high school, had established great friendships, a social status through participating in clubs and events, a serious opioid addiction*(we'll discuss soon), and I could walk. How fucking cool. 

 

Then I fell off a bus. 

 

Now! Now! Before you go 

 

"GASP"

 

It was really fucking funny. 

 

HERE'S WHY BEFORE YOU TRY TO CANCEL ME. 

 

I was really fat. And it wasn't a good or cute fat. Now, I'm kinda ok decent fat and trying to be less fat. Then I was just lumpy. I didn't wear bras, and usually only wore velure pants. It was not a good, or juicy look. 

 

If you've even seen a fat bitch fall down, you understand why it's hilarious. And, I didn't just fall down, I fell off of a bus and onto my ankle then into a hole in the ground, I HAD BEEN WARNED WAS THERE. 

Do you realize how that is the absolute funniest shit ever? 

THEN!

I started crying aloud and screaming to the sky 

"WHY GOD MY ANKLE JUST HEALED, WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?"

 

HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF FUNNIER SHIT THAN THAT? 

 

A LUMPY JEWISH CHICK FALLING OFF A BUS INTO A KNOWN HOLE AND BLAMING GOD? 

 

I say that now because I didn't understand then why ALL of my friends started laughing at me after I fell. Why would they do that? The insecurities due to my lack of childhood friendships crept in, were these people really my friends? 

 

OF COURSE THEY WERE AND MANY OF THEM STILL ARE NOW. 

 

I. FELL. THE. FUCK. OFF. A BUS. 

 

THAT. IS. FUNNY.