The twenty-one-year-old in my DMs tells me I look good. Calls me baby when he says it. We met on the smoking patio of a club in midtown.
“We went to the same high school,” he said after I offered him a light.
“Did we?” I ask.
I realized I must’ve been a few grades older than him but felt flattered to be remembered. He asked for my Instagram then walked back into the club and now he messages me a few times a week, sometimes a little mad I ignore him other times saying sweet nothings hoping I’ll respond. The twenty-one-year-old has a four-year-old son and a family that frequents the local bingo hall, as seen on his posts.
The twenty-one-year-old asks what my free time is like this week, I read it and turn my phone off. All I have every week is nothing but free time but I won’t tell the twenty-one-year-old that. Instead I light another cigarette on the fire escape of Mara’s apartment. Next to the small shits her Pomeranian makes in the corner. They smell and the cars below on the street honk. It’s after sundown and inside Mara turns the TV to The Vampire Diaries, our favorite show to watch together. Through the window I hear her boyfriend say,
“Every time I see this guy he’s either dead or going to be.”
Mara laughs. I asked her to host tonight partially because my roommates get mad when I have people over and also partially because of the rickety scale in her bathroom. The one I sneak away to stand on whenever I’m here. I stand on it before peeing, after peeing, with shoes on and without, naked and clothed. Hair up hair down.
Tonight on the scale I read the heaviest number I’ve ever been, well over two hundred, and I take a few minutes to collect myself. Deep breathing like the therapist on my HMO told me to try when I was still seeing her.
I get drunk because I am fat and because I am fat it takes a lot of drinks to get a buzz. Four down and more to go I start booing the screen whenever Stefan is on it.
“He’s so whiny,” I heckle.
The twenty-one-year-old asks what I’m up to. I reply I’m having drinks with friends. He leaves me on read. Mara’s boyfriend asks if I want another shot. I do. And while he pours it I go back to the bathroom really quick. Just to double check the scale. Still the same number.
The weight weighs on me some more and I go on Reddit while Mara and her boyfriend make more drinks. To the thread that sees me in my lowest. r/AskMen. Where I ask what the heaviest weight the participants would date. I’ve asked this question before on this same thread. At 190 pounds, 150, and 126. But now I get the answers I suspected, either less than the number on the scale or right on the dot. The only answer I get before putting my phone away is from a guy who says 180 pounds.
Mara and I take two more shots and argue over who is better, Klaus or Damon, I say Klaus. He’s richer.
Two hours pass and Mara and her boyfriend leave me on the couch with a throw pillow and a thin blanket to scroll through the Reddit answers. Some say they care more about the person, others say it’s less about the number amount and more distribution. Meaning you can weigh anything as long as you weigh the most in your tits and ass.
All night I do things like stand on the scale on one leg, sit on it, weigh myself before making myself puke and after. I can’t get enough of this scale, even though it tells me everything I never want to hear I can’t stop asking it questions. I guess I fit the bill for clinically insane, same actions expecting different results. I leave the bathroom when I hear Mara’s boyfriend get out of bed. I can tell it’s him cause his steps are so heavy.
In the morning Mara putting the Pomeranian on his leash for his morning walk wakes me up. I check my phone, a good-morning DM from the twenty-one-year-old and a few more answers on my Reddit. I check reddit before replying to the twenty-one-year-old. When I do respond he leaves me on read. I wonder how heavy I’d have to be for him to stop messaging. What number on Mara’s scale would be the dealbreaker.
I make use of the empty apartment and stand on the scale, two pounds lighter in the morning.
