Allen Zadoff: Food, Girls, and Other Things I Can't Have

That’s when I wake up.

Crap. It was one of those dreams that you don’t know is a dream until after it’s over.

My whole body is hot and tingling. It feels like April was right here with me. I can even smell her in the bed next to me. That’s totally crazy because I’ve never been in bed with a woman, and I barely know what April smells like in the first place. Something fruity. That’s all I remember.

That’s when a theory pops into my head. It’s a theory about love at first sight.

I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight. It’s kind of fairy-tale stuff. But then I start to think, what if love at first sight is the wrong name for it? What’s if it’s really love at second sight? Maybe you fall for someone in one life, and then you don’t see them for a thousand years or whatever. Your heart totally forgets about them. Then you meet again, and it remembers.

Maybe that’s what happened to April and me. We met a long time ago, and when I saw her at the wedding, I didn’t know her, but my heart remembered her.

The problem is her heart didn’t remember me.

Okay, theory number two.

Maybe when we met the first time, I was thin—really thin, like a guy who wears size 29 jeans. Or a size 29 toga or whatever. That’s why April’s heart couldn’t recognize me now. It was thinking about the thin guy from the past, and that didn’t match the guy standing in front of her.

So she saw me, and maybe she had a little déjà vu, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

She needed more time to get to know me. Her heart needed more time.

That’s the thing about being fat. People can’t see the real you, so you have to work really hard to show them.

Now I’ve got a second chance, but I have to work fast. Like Eytan said. Super fast.

Love at second sight. I can’t tell if this is some brilliant idea, or just one of those thoughts you have in the middle of the night that seems ridiculous when you wake up. Dad used to say you shouldn’t trust yourself after two beers or after midnight. I’ve never had a beer, but I look at the clock and see it’s 2:30 a.m., way after midnight.

I write myself a little note and put it on my night table. Remember love at second sight , it says.

I close my eyes and try not to think about April. Eventually I fall asleep. Maybe I dream of her, but if I do, I don’t remember.

I’m not sure I believe in God, but there are times when I could really use him. Right now for instance. Gym class.

We have to wear shorts in gym. It’s mandatory. And because the weather is still nice, Coach Bryson has us outside on the soccer field. That means I’m standing in bright sunlight with my elephant legs exposed. I wouldn’t mind wearing shorts if I went to a school for the blind. I’d feel very comfortable there. But in the middle of the day surrounded by thin guys with 20/20 vision and the girls about to show up any minute?

This is where I could really use God. I know he can’t make me instantly thin or strike the entire sophomore class blind, but I need one small favor from him.

I need him to put April in a different gym class.

Is that too much to ask? Just put April in a different gym class so she doesn’t see me running in shorts. Then when she thinks about me, she can think about my brain rather than my blubber.

Coach Bryson surveys the field with his hands on his hips and a whistle clenched between his teeth. He’s got a big chest and a thick moustache like a seventies porn star. Some of the guys call him Magnum P.I. He blows the whistle and shouts, “Let’s warm up, gentlemen. I don’t want any of you superstars tearing a crotch muscle.”

He unleashes a bag of twenty soccer balls into the middle of the crowd, and the guys leap on them and start doing all kinds of bounces and trick shots. I only have one trick shot. Pretending I’m sick. Last year I forged a note from Mom to get out of the gymnastics rotation. But I spent a week having panic attacks, thinking I was going to get caught, so I never did it again.

“Let’s do a couple laps to get the blood flowing,” Coach says. He pats his stomach. “I’d better join you. I’ve been eating pizza like they just invented cheese.”

Coach starts to run, and the guys follow him in a big circle, kicking the balls in front of them. My body is not really built to run. When it runs, it bounces, and when it bounces, things tend to get displaced. Like my shorts. I have to pull up my shorts every twelve seconds, or they’ll end up in the grass.

But the guys are running, and I have to at least make an effort. Even though it’s gym, you still get a grade, and I’d hate to blow my 4.0 because I’m fat. That seems totally unfair.

There is a bit of good news. Warner isn’t here bouncing around next to me. I saw him downstairs in the locker room a few minutes ago coming out of Coach’s office. I don’t know what he could possibly be talking to Coach about, but whatever it was, he’s not up here. That much is a relief.

I do my best to keep pace with the other guys. I pull up my shorts with one hand and wipe my sweat with the other. All the time I’m praying: Just keep April out of this class, God. That’s all I ask for today. You can have Ugo beat the crap out of me, or Mom catch me with a mouthful of mini whatever, as long as you keep April away for an hour .

“Check it out,” one of the guys says, and he points back towards the school.

The girls run onto the field.

It takes about fifteen seconds before I see April come out.

God went on vacation my first week of school. There’s no other explanation.

Here’s the bright side. April looks good in gym clothes. Really good. She’s got on black Adidas shorts with white stripes down the side. When she turns, I can see the outline of her bra through her T-shirt. It takes my breath away, and I didn’t have much breath to start with.

April glances in my direction, and without thinking, I speed up. It makes no sense for a guy who can barely run to run even faster, but my body does it automatically. It’s like it doesn’t give a crap what it can and can’t do. When it sees April, it tosses out the rules and starts hauling ass.

Suddenly I’m running super fast, lifting my legs higher than I ever have before. For some reason I think of a horse, one of those royal stallions in England decked out with all kinds of bells and ribbons. The kind that the guys with big fuzzy hats ride, you know? I’m prancing like I’m one of those horses, zigzagging back and forth, doing moves I don’t even know how to do.

I’m not the only one. Even Coach sucks in his stomach when the girls’ coach comes out. The guys on the field start to get really aggressive once the girls are watching. First they take shots on goal, then a game spontaneously breaks out. I don’t know what team I’m on, but I start to play. I fall in with some guys I’ve never met who are driving towards the goal. A couple guys are shouting, “Pass!” and someone else is screaming, “Over here!” at the top of his lungs.

Somehow I end up in the center of this group, and the goal is suddenly twenty feet in front of me with a super tall kid blocking it. Out of nowhere the ball appears in front of me, right at my feet, and people are screaming at me, “Shoot! Shoot!”

It all happens really fast. It’s like my brain has switched into some kind of athlete mode I didn’t know I had. I can see what I want my body to do—push off from my left leg and kick the hell out of the ball with my right—and I can see where the ball is supposed to go, even imagine one of those Bend It Like Beckham thingies where it flies into the air, then arcs left and goes past the goalie.