Kaimoana Tales

by Kiwi

Lachlan

Part 37

"He was such a happy boy, always laughing and joking, never with any malice. He was so full of life and energy and always, always, had a smile on his face. The whole world was his friend and every day was a new adventure to be enjoyed to the full.

Now he's gone. The boy we knew is not there anymore and we've got this sad, listless, tired and moody teenager - long legs, long arms and a long face. He never smiles, I can't remember the last time I heard him laugh, and he's cut himself off from all of his friends.

Isn't there anything we can do, Doctor? I want our laughing boy back."

"How old did you say your grandson is, Mrs. McLaughlin?"

"He's 14, nearly 15. You should know that, you delivered him."

"Him and about a thousand others. I probably delivered most of the kids in this town, I can't remember them all. They all look much the same when they're new-borns."

"Not to their families, they don't."

"No, I guess not. What you're describing is fairly normal you know. Maybe Lachlan is an extreme case, but they're funny creatures, these teenagers. They're in transition, halfway between children and adults and it's not easy on them sometimes."

"It's not easy on his family either!"

"I'm sure it's not, but you've raised a family, you must have seen it all before."

"I haven't. We only had the one son and 5 daughters. None of them were ever like this."

"You were lucky then. I doubt whether there's anything I can do, but bring him in and I'll check him over to make sure that there's nothing physically wrong with him.

The best thing you can do is to love him, and the harder that is to do, the more he needs it. Keep on loving him, be patient and don't despair. He will come through it, most of them do."

"Most of them? That's not good enough."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that to a concerned grandmother, but it is true. Most of them do, a few - a very few, don't make it."

"A few? One is too many."

"One is too many to those who care for them. Is he doing drugs?"

"Drugs? I very much doubt it, except for far too much chocolate. Maybe he needs some, of the right sort."

"I'm not sure that there is a right sort. The mid-teenage years are the worst possible time for kids to be putting any sort of drugs into their systems. They're already awash with hormones and their brains are undergoing huge development. Drugs, any drugs, can do permanent damage at that stage."

"But they all do it, don't they? Drunk and stoned teenagers are so common it's a cliché."

"It is, but that doesn't make it right. They don't all do it, but far too many of them do. Asserting their independence, rebellion and peer-pressure are all factors. Plus, at that stage, they are risk-takers; their brains haven't developed caution and awareness of consequences. They all think that they are bomb-proof. I did and you probably did too."

"So, there's nothing you can do, Doctor?"

"Oh, I didn't say that. Bring him in and I'll check him over to make sure that everything's developing normally, but I suspect it is.

Keep on loving him, that's the best prescription I can give you. Love him but don't stifle him, he needs room to grow.

He'll be okay, Mrs. McLaughlin. Your grandson will be okay."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He looked in the mirror and a handsome young teen-god looked back at him.

Phaw! Not likely. Only in his dreams. What he saw was what he had, what he was.

Round. Fat. A face that only a mother could love, if she could. His grandmother did, so that had to be something. It was not ugly, that was the best you could say for it; not ugly, just a plain, ordinary and boring face. And fat.

There was a strong jaw-line in there somewhere and the nose and the blue eyes wouldn't look so small if the face wasn't so fat. The eyes were magnified anyway, the big round and thick glasses took care of that.

The teeth were pretty good, no problems there. You just didn't see them unless he smiled and he didn't smile a lot - why would he? The ears were far too big and they stuck out like jug-handles. Maybe they wouldn't if he had hair. He did have hair, of course, he was far too young to be bald yet, but it was always buzz-cut, almost shaved. It was easier to look after that way.

One day, he probably will be bald. Blonds tend to do that. His dad was going bald and his granddad had done it years ago - he had a head like a bowling ball with ears. And, fat.

He had spots too; not a lot, but any is too many. That's what you get when you're a teenager and you eat too much chocolate and other crap. Eating junk-food was probably his greatest pleasure, (well, maybe the 2nd greatest), but you pay for it - you get spots. And fat.

He sighed. What a face. What a life. Did it get any worse? Well, yeah, probably, but it could get better too - much better. He hated mirrors, hated what they showed him. When he got his own house, there'd be no mirrors anywhere. Then he wouldn't have to look at his fat face.

Maybe that wasn't right, about his grandmother loving his face? She wanted him to improve it, didn't she? His birthday was coming up soon, 15 already! Instead of asking him what he wanted, (which was chocolate), like she usually did, Grandma had ideas of her own. She wanted to buy him contact lenses.

Apparently, he would look ever so much better without the thick glasses. He was not so sure. As far as he could see - which was not a lot! - his eyes would just look smaller, wouldn't they? Small and lost in his fat face. Bugger it!

That was another thing too - buggering. He wanted to do that. Oh boy! Did he want to do that! He never had, he was starting to worry that he never would. Who with? Anybody really, but especially Matt Thompson. It was never going to happen, but if it did, he'd want to be with Matt.

Funny. Matt Thompson wasn't the best-looking kid in the town, far from it, but he'd choose him before anyone else. There was something about him. Lachlan really, really liked him. He was a cool kid and sexy - very sexy.

Phaw! He should be so lucky! Who'd want to have sex with a fatty? Lachlan wouldn't and he was the fatty. He was the fattest kid in their class. He was gross.

Okay, that was enough sitting here thinking, he was getting depressed. He could do with some chocolate; was there any left? Chocolate made you feel better, it had endorphins and shit in it that could lift your spirits.

Chocolate also made you fat. That'd be intelligent wouldn't it? Eat chocolate to make you feel better because you're fat, and then get even fatter. What's wrong with that picture?

Someone should make diet-chocolate. Aha! He could make a fortune there. What a great money-making idea - Diet-Chocolate to make you feel good and not get fat. No, wait, someone already had. He'd tried it and it was gross. Maybe it just needed more sugar in it. Yeah, rite! Like that would work?

One day he was going to invent something that would make him rich. Not today, obviously.

It was like one of those epiphany things, a life-changing experience. He didn't want to get fatter, he wanted to get rid of the fat he already had. How could he do that? Diet and exercise, obviously.

Phaw! That sounded like a lot of hard work. Would it be worth it? Yes, dammit, it would! Then maybe, just maybe, he might get to bugger Matt Thompson. Or, anyone really but preferably with Matt.

He liked him. He liked him a lot, he always had. He wouldn't care, really, if they didn't get to the buggering, he'd just like to be with him, to be his friend. To be his best friend. If only. He didn't think that Matt had ever noticed him really, even though they'd been in the same school, in the same classes for, like, forever. He was just the fat boy in the background - filling the background!

Okay, that was it. He was going to do it. No matter how much it took, however much starving and working, he was going to change things. He was going to change his life and be the fat-boy no more. This ugly duckling was going to be a swan.

So, now he had a plan. No, he didn't, he had a goal; he needed a plan to get there. A pen and paper and he'd start right now. What was this plan going to be called? BMT - yeah. Be Me Thin? Big Makeover Time? No - Bugger Matt Thompson actually.

He could call it what he liked, no-one would ever know, and that was his goal - Bugger Matt Thompson. No. Stop messing around. Time to get serious here.

There were some other things he could do too, like get a whole new wardrobe - some trendy clothes like the cool kids wore. He'd need new clothes anyway, once he was thin.

Also, yeah, he'd better tell Grandma that the contact lenses were go. It'd be good to rid of the dorky glasses. Also, the hair - if he grew it long enough, it would cover-up his jug-ears. It was blond hair, it might look good if it was longer, and styled properly of course. But first he had to grow it.

What else? Studs? Piercings? No. They were ugly, that wasn't what he wanted. A suntan would be good; there was not much work involved in that. None at all actually - all he had to do was lie around in the sunshine.

If only losing weight was that easy. How was he going to go about it? Eat less for a start. That wouldn't be easy, but, apparently, if you drank lots of water before every meal, it filled you up so you didn't eat as much.

The other obvious thing was to cut out the sugar. No chocolate, no biscuits, cakes, sweets or soft-drinks. That meant no coke! Damm. Oh well, he could drink orange juice, that had to be better for him. No sugar in his coffee either - nasty.

Water, fruit, vegetables, chicken or fish, and not much else. This had better be worth it! Oh, and dairy products were out too, weren't they? Milk, butter, cheese and even eggs; they were all laden with calories. He wouldn't miss them much, not as much as the chocolate.

Was there any chocolate left? He should finish it off now so that he wouldn't be tempted tomorrow. No, better not. Start as you mean to go on. No more chocolate. BMT.

The lounge fire was still going, so before he could have second thoughts he jumped off the couch and threw the chocolate - all of the chocolate - into the fire. Wow! Chocolate burned good. Who knew? All the calories? Nah, more likely all the fat and sugar.

Imagine a fire in a chocolate factory. One next-door to a fireworks factory - choice!

He went to bed, feeling good. He was on a mission. Maybe he'd get lucky and dream about Matt Thompson again?

He didn't dream about anyone or anything, or maybe he did but he didn't remember it, which is the same thing really. He woke up in the morning feeling fine, there was something special on his mind - BMT.

It could happen! Well, maybe. It never would if he just sat and waited; no, he was going to have to work at it. And he would. He felt good.

It was Monday morning, at last, so he'd be going to school. That was cool, he liked going to school. He liked being there, where the kids were. He was never actually a part of things going on, but he liked watching.

He'd see Matt today. He was going to talk to him too; or try to.

He bounced out of bed and hurried through the shower. One day he'd do that even quicker because there'd be less of him to wash.

His mother and grandmother were already in the kitchen when he went in there. "Morning," he grunted and headed straight for the refrigerator.

"Good morning, Sweetie," his grandmother smiled. "You're early today. Bacon and eggs this morning; do you want 2 eggs or 3?"

"No thanks," he frowned.

"No? What then? Do you want 4 eggs?"

"No. No eggs and no bacon either. I don't want any."

"Oh yes? Very funny. Seriously, how many eggs?"

"Gran, I seriously don't want any bacon and eggs."

"But it's your favourite! Are you not well? Let me check your temperature."

She reached for his forehead, but he shied away. "Leave me alone! I'm not sick, I just don't want a cooked breakfast. I'll have a piece of toast and marmite and, umm," he surveyed the refrigerator, "and some orange juice."

"Are you sure you're not sick? That's no breakfast for a growing boy. It's a long time until lunchtime."

"I'm not sick, I'm feeling okay. I just don't want much, I'm on a diet."

"A diet?" His mother looked up. "Since when have you been on a diet?"

"Since now. I'm gonna do this. I don't want a ride to school either, I'm walking."

"Well, it won't do you any harm," his mother shrugged. "Good luck to you."

His grandmother did not agree. "You can't walk all the way to school on an empty stomach. It's miles away!"

"I know that, Gran. I go there every day. I'm dead serious about this. My life is a mess, I'm a mess, and it's time that I made some changes."

"That's good, I suppose. But, tiny steps for tiny feet. You don't want to overdo it. Just have some breakfast, you can walk to school and, later, we'll go and see the doctor about a proper diet for you."

"There's no need for the doctor, I'm not sick, I'm just fat and flabby. I know what I need, less food and more exercise."

"Okay, but you need some food. You're not fat, you are just well-built."

"Look at me, Gran! I'm fat and it's going to change."

"Okay then, have it your way. Take some chocolate with you when you go, in case you need the energy."

"No chocolate! There's none left anyway. I threw it in the fire last night."

"Really? Well that's a waste."

"No it wasn't. Better there than in my guts, piling on more fat. I'm cutting out sugar altogether. Well, except for fruit. I'll take an apple and another one for lunch."

"We'd better get some more apples in then. That's all you're having for lunch, an apple?"

"Yes, an apple and water."

"Water is good. Drink lots of water, it will fill you up. I'll do fish for dinner; grilled fish and boiled potatoes. Can't get much healthier than that."

"That'd be good, thanks Gran. Rice would be better though."

"This is a good thing you're doing. We'll support you every way we can, won't we, Darlene?"

"It is good," Lachlan's mother agreed. "Very good. I hope that you can keep it up."

"Oh, I will. You can rely on that."

"Yeah? Well it will be good to see that stubborn streak put to good use for once."