Taylor McLean didn’t like going to her sister's much. They lived a couple hours from her and her family and she hated long car rides. They had two rambunctious boys, everyone was loud, and her brother, who would certainly be there, was an alcoholic. All of them were in better shape then her too, including her brother, and rubbed it in her face. And there were stairs to get into the house. But today was Memorial Day, their family's annual start of the summer cookout, and they'd all be outside anyway.
Stairs hadn’t always bothered her but they did now. Taylor weighed 588lbs, she always knew exactly how much, and anyway at her size it didn't really matter. She was around five and a half feet tall and the majority of her weight was carried in her massive wide belly, which almost hung to her knees on top of which sat her large flat breasts. Her butt, while fat, was wide and flat, and her thighs were packed with enough extra weight to force them apart and give her an obvious waddle, which made her growing hips jiggle when she moved. Taylor carefully eased herself down out of the front passenger seat of their minivan, her balance had been an issue lately. Behind her, their son hopped down and headed for the backyard where the noise from the family could be heard, only to be called back by her husband. "Come here and help carry!" He ordered. Loaded up with their contribution to the family meal as well as their chairs they headed towards the back. He carried Taylor's folding chair which could support up to 600lbs, and pulled their cooler. Taylor only carried her 64 ounce tumbler as she slowly waddled up the driveway. She had a cane at home, but her pride had made her leave it there. Her tumbler was full to the brim of real sugar Dr Pepper, her favorite drink. Ever since her sister had found out she was diabetic she'd nagged Taylor about drinking soda, and eating just about anything.
Taylor made it to the backyard. She was gasping and out of breath. Her chair was set up on the patio in the shade of a tree. Her husband understood her needs. She couldn't be on ground the chair might sink into, and she needed to be out of the sun. It wasn't too hot of a day but she was sweaty and panting from the effort of walking when she sank carefully into her chair. She was sure it was overengineered but she was close to it's max weight. She was still panting, almost gasping. It was a lot of exercise for a woman who's only routine form of it was walking to the kitchen for food and back to her recliner. "I swear you've gained weight Tay." Her sister said.
"Not much." Taylor replied. "I'm keeping an eye on it." It was half true. She was keeping an eye on it, but she'd gained about 50lbs since she was last here. She opened her tumbler and took a drink of the Dr Pepper through the dark straw. "I'm drinking water more often." She said. "No soda for me at all today."
They were interrupted by a shoving match and yelling from the kids. Taylor's husband, her sister, and brother in law took off to deal with it. "What's going on?" She heard her sister demand.
Her son snapped back "Derek is making fun of Mom!"
"It's not making fun if it's true!"
"You said she looked like a basketball!" Taylor flushed. It was true, the way she'd piled herself in her chair, she did look almost circular.
"She does!" There was more struggling, some more talking and Taylor watched with half interest. "She looked like the blueberry girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." Taylor flushed and looked away, looking at the ground. Her teenager swung for Derek's jaw but his Dad grabbed him and pulled him away. So the adults again broke it up. In a couple more minutes everyone had apologized and punishments had been threatened and the adults returned.
Nothing really happened for a couple hours. It was hotter then normal, and she was grateful for the shade and the light breeze. Taylor's husband brought her a plate loaded with snack foods and Taylor heard her sister take a sharp deep breath but she ignored it. She started to graze and kept drinking from her tumbler.
Soon it caught up to her. She could feel the pressure, the need, to urinate building up inside her. Her brother had arrived with his family then, and he'd fired up the grill. They were about to put the meat on. Taylor leveraged herself out of her chair, carefully, and said "I'm going to go wash my hands I think. Get ahead of the rush."
"I suppose it takes you awhile doesn't it?" Her brother asked with a laugh. He was already three beers in and had probably had a couple drinks before coming over. It didn't matter anymore since he'd lost his license after a DUI so his wife drove him everywhere.
Taylor flushed and didn't say anything, saving her energy for the walk around the house. There she ran into her first obstacle. The stairs. They were concrete, a sort of half circle leading into the house, with an old and rusty metal railing mounted in the middle. Taylor, who normally tackled stairs by leaning heavily on the railing knew this one wouldn't be able to take her weight. She put a hand on it gingerly. It shifted. She'd use it for balance. She heaved her right leg up onto the first step, right hand using the railing to balance. Her belly shifted to the left. One down, four to go. She was sweating and panting already. She hadn't had a lot of practice going up stairs at this weight. Her house had a wheelchair ramp that she could shuffle up, and she hadn't been upstairs in at least 70lbs. She repeated the process, her right knee screamed in agony as she dragged her foot up. Three to go. She could do one more with the right knee, she knew it. She got it onto the next step. She had to move fast now, it was hard to balance with her weight on two different steps. She leaned forward and pushed off. And had to come back down. She hadn't been able to get it up over the lip of the steps. She tried a second time, and made it. She stopped for a moment to breath. She didn't have long, she needed to sit down. She glanced to her right and saw her son and Derek standing there. Derek was grinning and her son looked worried. Derek didn't say anything just stared. Her son came up the steps. "Can I help Mom?"
Taylor, already embarrassed, wanted to turn him down. But she was exhausted, out of breath, and her legs, knees, and back were in considerable pain. "Yes, please." She said. Her teenaged son got himself next to her on the left side, letting her get her arm over him. Leaning on his shoulders she used her left foot this time, getting it onto the next step. She pressed herself up, leaning more heavily on her son then she intended she heard him grunt as she pulled on him. She flushed, but she was trying to breath so she could get herself up the steps. One final one, and she made it, somehow, without hurting her son. "Thank you." She said and smiled at her son. He smiled back, his eyes looking somewhat worried, and then he turned and scampered away.
Taylor's next obstacle confronted her. Exhausted as she was, she had to navigate the mudroom and then get through a narrow doorway. She made for it. She got her right leg through, and carefully, went through sideways. Still gasping she made for the bathroom, it was right there. This was the final challenge. The bathroom was narrow, with the vanity and toilet on one side, and bathtub/shower on the other, curtained but open window on the end. She couldn't turn and walk normally because she couldn't fit between the vanity and tub, the vanity would push her hips towards the tub and there was nothing over there to balance on. Additionally turning around wouldn't be possible till she was by the toilet. So, with her back to the vanity, she squeezed in. Her butt brushed the vanity as she waddled sideways to the toilet.
Gratefully, she dropped her sweatpants and sank onto the toilet. She sat there, and urinated, and gasped for air, smelling the characteristic smell of sweaty fats folds. It wasn't that she wasn't clean, she just produced so much sweat. Finally, some energy and air restored, she took some toilet paper. She rocked to the side, pulling her belly out of the way, and pressed her hand beneath her belly between her legs to wipe. The smell of her sweat, and B.O. came to her nose. She'd showered the previous night, and this morning she'd had her husband help her apply body power in all the folds below her belly. But on a day like this, it hadn't lasted long. She wiped, dropped the paper into the toilet and got ready to get up. The plan was to get up, hold onto the vanity, and try and turn around so she could flush the toilet and wash her hands.
She grabbed the window sill next to her, and the vanity and pushed. Her tired knees groaned with agony, tired muscles ached, and... she couldn't do it. The toilet was too low for her. She reached for her phone to text her husband only to realize she'd left it in the pocket of her chair. She tried again. Nothing. A break, third times the charm right? This time her backside made it a couple inches off the toilet before she collapsed onto it. She was out of breath again, sweating despite the cool house, and tried to muster her energy for one last heave. It would have to be calculated, she didn't want to fall into the tub. She was breathing, building the energy when there was a knock on the door. "Hey, how much longer?" A rebellious teenage voice came through the door.
She tried with a heave, and couldn't get enough of a grip to pull herself up. "Derek?" She called. "Could... you go tell your Uncle Ron that I need a hand in here?"
"What? With what?" Derek sounded taken aback. "Aunt Taylor?"
"Yes." She admitted. "Just... the toilet is a little low, I just need a hand to stand up."
She heard feet going away, then through the open window she heard him bellow "AUNT TAYLOR IS STUCK ON THE TOILET!" She buried her face in her hand.
About a minute later the door opened and in strode her husband. Teary eyed she looked up at him. "The toilet is too low." She whispered. "I... can't get up. My legs..."
"It's okay." He reassured her. He got himself under her armpit and she got a hand on his shoulder and together they pushed up, pulling her up off the toilet. She leaned on the windowsill and vanity, trying to breath. Her husband bent to pull up her pants. She looked out into the hall and saw her son standing there, with a look on his face she'd never seen before. There was anger in it, as well as some sort of determination. And embaressment. Their eyes met and he turned and ran out of the house. Taylor felt like sobbing. Instead she washed her hands and then waddled sideways out of the bathroom. She navigated through the mudroom door, and this time, with her husband to lean on, got down the stairs and headed back to her chair.
No one said anything about it, and that made it all the more humiliating. Her husband, bless him, tried to help, standing in front of her while she gave herself her insulin before eating. Then she plunged, trying to bury her humiliation and embaressment. He brought her seconds, and thirds of a few specific dishes, and dessert. No one said anything.
There was some reprieve when her brother, Nick, tripped and drunkenly fell over in the grass, and had to be helped back up. Taylor saw her niece, Nick's daughter looking at him. She looked upset, and it was a familiar expression. Taylor looked away, and saw her son showing her other nephew, Derek's younger brother, something on a gameboy. That's when she realized that her niece had worn the same expression of angry embaressment and humiliation. Shame. It had to be. Both children were ashamed of their parents. Taylor felt like dirt.
Before they left her husband went to the bathroom with her, helping her up the stairs, and helping her to stand up again. Afterwards everyone said their good byes. Her sister gave her a hug and looked her in the eye and said "Taylor. I love you. I don't want to nag but you need to lose weight. This... it's not healthy, I feel like I'm watching you kill yourself." She looked over her shoulder. "It's like... Nick with his drinking. It's an addiction, and you can get help if you want." Taylor felt her eyes fill with tears and her sister hugged her again.
Their son was quiet in the van, the entire ride home staring sullenly out the window. Taylor half expected him to get angry at her but he didn't say anything. And that made it almost worse. Taylor felt so bad she didn't suggest to her husband that they stop someplace so she could get herself a snack. Taylor slowly and painfully, exhaustedly, waddled up the wheelchair ramp and through the widened doorway of their house. The previous family had a child who had been a motorized wheelchair user, so everything on the ground floor had been widened and adapted for that, and right now Taylor was very grateful the previous family had been so dedicated to giving their kid that freedom. She made her way into the living room and sank into her large recliner with a sigh. Her husband headed down the hall between the stairs and living room wall to the kitchen to put things away. Taylor reached for her tablet and stopped seeing her son come into the room. They were effectively alone. Taylor's bedroom, and presumably the disabled kid's, was where the dining room should have been, at the back of the house, between the living room and kitchen. An addition that had been built onto the back of the house had a fully accessible bathroom with level shower, handheld shower wand, and a toilet with handrails and a raised toilet seat. It had doors, and the one between her bedroom and the kitchen was closed at the moment. Taylor took a deep breath, and she could smell herself. The stench of being fat, on a full summer's day, where she'd effectively been working hard. She looked at her reflection in the dark screen of the iPad. Her hair was a mess from sweat, and she knew she was flushed, even now. "Yes sweetie?" She asked.
Her son took her wide heavy duty office chair from the desk across the room, and crossed to her. He was 14, tall and lanky like his dad. He sat down on the chair that Taylor was starting to think was a little small. He barely filled a third of it. They were sitting close. "What's it like being fat mom?" He asked.
Taylor blinked. It wasn't really the word 'fat,' she used that word and so did her husband. She believed that fat wasn't a bad word by itself. She believe in fat acceptance, fat adapted things, and 'reclaiming' the word from people, like her sister, who used it as some sort of profanity. Taylor would say things like "And you're sure this restaurant is fat friendly?" or "Does that store have fat girl sizes?" Taylor hesitated. Then she said "I suppose it's not great. It can be a lot of work. I need to make sure I take my time and keep clean, there's a lot more to wash in the shower. People don't really choose to be fat, I've always..."
He interrupted the excuse she always used. "No I mean, like... what's it like when you're walking? Do you get up slow, and sit down slow, and get out of the car like that because you have bad knees or because you're fat?" He seemed a little frustrated and she was taken aback.
So Taylor was honest. Bad knees were another favorite excuse but apparently she needed to be open. "It's because I'm fat. My weight pulls me off balance so I have to be careful. My thighs have extra fat tissue, it's called adipose tissue, in them so it pushes my legs apart. They chaff, I get friction burns on days like today if I walk too much." He was ashamed of her, he wanted to understand why she had hurt him so bad, she just knew it. "I weigh almost 590 pounds." She said, softly. She saw his eyes widen. "That's what? 5 of you? 6 of you? I carry five of you every day, every time I move, breath, dress. When I shower, when I go to the bathroom, it all has to be moved. Could you carry that do you think? I'm sure you could, you're pretty strong." She smiled at him. "When you were helping me up the stairs, I could feel how tough and strong you are. You're not a kid anymore. But being a strong guy, being almost a fully grown man, how far could you carry five times what you weigh now? It can be exhausting, it can be a huge hassle. You know how hard it is for me to get clothes, to go shopping, or when we go out places together. Sometimes I hate it, and I don't exactly enjoy all that." She decided to finish off her little speech with something to justify it. "But it's my reality. I deal with it because what choice to I really have here? It's not like I can just not eat, no one can just stop eating food." Speaking of food, she wanted this over with so she could text her husband and ask him to bring her something to eat, she was starving. It had been nearly 4 hours since dinner. "I'm sorry I embaressed you. I embaressed myself. But these things happen when I'm my size and my age. I'm sorry." She added, more quietly.
"No, I..." He paused. "No.. Um..." Another pause. Then to Taylor's amazement he started to blush. "I... There's a girl named Sandra, she's going to be in my grade in high school. She went to a different middle school I guess, but she's going to go to Roosevelt High. With me. I mean with us. She was at orientation day. She's... kind of fat I guess. Some of the guys were making jokes about her, but I didn't. We were sat next to each other in the auditorium, and she's super nice. But... well she kind of walks slow too, and she gets out of breath pretty easy. So I... don't want someone like Derek to be mean to her I guess." His face was beet red, putting her red flushed face to shame. "I think I have a crush on her" he almost whispered.
Taylor, was reeling but she managed not to show her astonishment. "What you do" She said "Is talk to her like she's any other girl. She's not sick just fat. But don't call her fat, you don't need to talk about her weight at all, it's non of your business, and she knows that she's fat. Be her friend, if people tease her, stick up for her. You can talk to your dad, he did all those sorts of things for me. Maybe you guys could hang out together. You could come over here and play video games maybe. We can give you snacks or something. Just... be nice, and if she needs a hand be the one she wants to ask for help."
Taylor got her snack. It was wonderful. It was all the things she'd wanted to eat but couldn't. Little Debbie snack cakes, a giant bowl of popcorn, and huge slab of the cake they'd made. Finally, a couple hours later with their son upstairs in bed, her husband came in to help her shower. Taylor didn't exactly need help in there but he liked to help and she didn't mind. As the water started to run Taylor looked up at her husband. "He asked me what it's like being fat. He's got a crush on a girl. He says she's 'bigger, kind of fat.'"
Her husband laughed. "Sounds like he's got good taste." He soaped up a washcloth and bent down to scrub her legs and feet for her. "Do you want to go to your sister's again next year?"
"Hell no!" Taylor said vehemently. "They can come here where something as simple as using the bathroom isn't an astronomical struggle."
