Parasailing
By Matthew Dexter
They kicked me off the airplane. Said I was too fat to fly, but I think it’s because I was too drunk not to slur my words. Regardless, those heartless sons of bitches gave me a three hundred dollar voucher and promised to pay for our hotel. Those bastards said I would have to pay for two seats tomorrow, so the voucher would only be worth forty dollars. Too fat to fly; can you believe that?
Five years ago I was an anorexic eating with a hospital needle through my arm for a month. Mom saw the naked pictures of me on my iBook and took me to an eating disorder clinic immediately. “We don’t even understand how she’s still alive in this condition,” the doctor told us after they weighed me. Three hundred pounds later and the parasailers had no problem fitting me into a harness. No need to ask for an extension or to make sure I can fit between the arm rests on the back of the boat. Just gave them seven hundred pesos. They dropped me into the Pacific and then I floated upward like a hot air balloon, yellow parachute into the breeze, free as a bird.
“I’m flying,” I said. Rising into the horizon, my husband watched me from the boat, waving his arms as I blocked out the sun, his face in shadows, I could see his smile. Whales were jumping, fish were swimming, and I was flying; weightless and unrestricted into the heavens. That’s when I felt a tug on the rope connecting me to the boat. I heard it tearing, and started to cry. “Hold on,” the men yelled from the boat below. They looked like ants floating on a white leaf amid the infinite blue sea.
One of the safety ropes gave way, pulling me violently away from the vessel, crossing my lines with another parasailer--whose horrified expression silenced my recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. Spinning in circles like flies trapped in the web of a hungry spider, the harness got tighter and tighter around my waist as I felt lighter and tired, like a nap might do me some good. I woke up in the water, uttered a few drunken words, and fell back into the current, drifting away from the weight of the past, toward a future where judgments are less harsh and society accepts the obese for who they are.
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Matthew Dexter lives and writes in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. He tolerates long walks on the beach, but hates sand between his toes.
By Matthew Dexter
They kicked me off the airplane. Said I was too fat to fly, but I think it’s because I was too drunk not to slur my words. Regardless, those heartless sons of bitches gave me a three hundred dollar voucher and promised to pay for our hotel. Those bastards said I would have to pay for two seats tomorrow, so the voucher would only be worth forty dollars. Too fat to fly; can you believe that?
Five years ago I was an anorexic eating with a hospital needle through my arm for a month. Mom saw the naked pictures of me on my iBook and took me to an eating disorder clinic immediately. “We don’t even understand how she’s still alive in this condition,” the doctor told us after they weighed me. Three hundred pounds later and the parasailers had no problem fitting me into a harness. No need to ask for an extension or to make sure I can fit between the arm rests on the back of the boat. Just gave them seven hundred pesos. They dropped me into the Pacific and then I floated upward like a hot air balloon, yellow parachute into the breeze, free as a bird.
“I’m flying,” I said. Rising into the horizon, my husband watched me from the boat, waving his arms as I blocked out the sun, his face in shadows, I could see his smile. Whales were jumping, fish were swimming, and I was flying; weightless and unrestricted into the heavens. That’s when I felt a tug on the rope connecting me to the boat. I heard it tearing, and started to cry. “Hold on,” the men yelled from the boat below. They looked like ants floating on a white leaf amid the infinite blue sea.
One of the safety ropes gave way, pulling me violently away from the vessel, crossing my lines with another parasailer--whose horrified expression silenced my recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. Spinning in circles like flies trapped in the web of a hungry spider, the harness got tighter and tighter around my waist as I felt lighter and tired, like a nap might do me some good. I woke up in the water, uttered a few drunken words, and fell back into the current, drifting away from the weight of the past, toward a future where judgments are less harsh and society accepts the obese for who they are.
- - -
Matthew Dexter lives and writes in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. He tolerates long walks on the beach, but hates sand between his toes.
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Awesome, awesome story. Thank you.
I don't know.. maybe don't eat so much? I would be really pissed off if I got killed while I was parasailing because someone else was so fat they broke the safety rope and got tangled up with me.