The Axeman's Jazz

to let the first streaks of gray show. From the looks of her body, she worked out every day. She was absolutely the sort who made Skip feel like an ostrich, and she would have killed to look like her. How dare this woman speak so trivially, concern herself with such a pathetic excuse for an issue, when she didn’t have an excess ounce on her?
    Leslie paused in her narrative. “We were Jewish. I didn’t know anyone else who was. All the girls I knew were tiny little blondes. And then I started growing. Everybody said when I got my growth I’d lose my baby fat, but I didn’t. Whenever I was with them, I kept getting this weird image— of this great, lumbering female Godzilla walking through a field of Barbie dolls.” She made such a funny Godzilla face that Skip forgot herself and laughed loudly. Quickly she caught herself—surely her mother would know her laugh.
    “I thought that what being Jewish was about was being ugly. Being fat. I brought my friend Nancy home from school one time, and she said, ‘Oh, Leslie, I never smelled anything like your house. I hate my mother’s cooking—we never have anything but bologna sandwiches for lunch and overcooked roast beef for dinner.’ I don’t know why her mom wasn’t home cooking gumbo all day.” She paused to accommodate the titter that passed through the room.
    “My mother didn’t cook. We had a maid who did, but my mother taught her how to make all the Jewish dishes so no Jew had to cook on holidays. And she also made all the great New Orleans things and a pretty mean spaghetti. But when Nancy said that, I realized that it was bad to eat good food, that I could look like Nancy if only I would deprive myself, as she was naturally deprived, on account of growing up in a Gentile household.
    “I wanted to stop eating but I couldn’t. I’d starve myself for a while and then I’d binge. And then I learned how to throw up after bingeing. Anyway, to make a long story short, I ended up almost dying. I spent a long time in a hospital, and I was really grateful to be there and to have discovered this program and my higher power.
    “Meanwhile, my friend Nancy had long since married someone from Pennsylvania and moved away. And then she got divorced and came back. I was really happy to see her and felt like we really had a friendship this time. I mean I felt good about myself and didn’t have to feel inferior because I was Godzilla anymore, and it was great. I’d been abstinent for a long time and I thought I really had a lot of recovery.
    “But anyway, what happened this week was, my husband moved out. He told me six months ago he was in love with Nancy and said he didn’t want to break up our home and asked me to go into therapy with him and everything like that…”
    Her voice was steady, her delivery matter-of-fact—not overly dramatic, not wooden. “But none of it worked, and he moved out and moved in with Nancy. And last night I almost asked him, I almost called him up and said, ‘Is it because of my thighs?’ “ She laughed, and so did everyone else, apparently glad for the momentary tension release.
    “And then when I didn’t call him, even though I’ve been abstinent for … well, eighteen months this time, I almost went into relapse. It’s so hard not to get into that trap of eating to make yourself feel better because your self-image is bad because you’re so fat. Stuffing your face along with your feelings. I had one hand on the refrigerator door when the phone rang and it was Susie asking me to lead the meeting tonight, and I thought,
I can’t go into relapse now
. So that’s how my higher power works for me. Realistically, I know I’m not fat, but I know I will be if I’m not careful. And so because I’m feeling that way, I guess I’d like to hear from other people about self-image. Right now is a really hard time for me and I’m just glad I have this group, that’s all. Thank you.”
    Skip felt tears in her eyes, almost felt she should applaud, wondered what would happen next. Would people tell Leslie what a great gal she was and how she shouldn’t feel so bad about herself?
    They didn’t.
    Several raised their hands and Leslie recognized the Toyota-size guy. He said his name was Robert.
    “Hi, Robert,” chorused the group.
    “You know how there’s supposed to be a thin guy inside every fat guy? Well, I never had one. My dad was fat, my mom’s fat, my uncles are fat, my grandfather was fat, and my brother was fat.