Dating : Stares

All men are created equal. But life is unfortunately never fair. Some people suffer more from the inevitable injustice; some people are simply easier victim to cruelty. The cycle of vileness… it never ends for people like her. It happens day in day out; from one look to another; from one smile to another.

“What would you like to have, ma’am?” asked the waitress, holding the order sheet, smiling wide and bright. A typical skinny blonde, thought Emily.

Emily skimmed through the menu and finally made up her mind what to have for dinner that day. “Give me the fried chicken platter and potato wedges with extra cheese dressing,” she looked up at the young waitress and added, “I would also like to have the meat balls with fries.”

Keeping her plastic-smile, the waitress raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Sure! Our meat balls are certainly not to be missed. Your meal will be served right away.”

Emily was taken aback. As the slim waitress walked away, Emily darted an icy stare at her husband. “Did she just raise her eyebrows?” She murmured bitterly.

“Come on,” Harry continued to browse Facebook on his smart phone. Without even looking away from the screen, he replied, “You are being over-sensitive.”

Emily bit her lips and poured herself another glass of water. She took a gulp and tried to find something interesting to look at in the diner while Harry remained glued to his smart little toy.

She had never found Facebook or any social media enjoyable. Whenever she posted a selfie somebody would find something mean to say. She once snapped and posted her lunch and Harry’s sister commented that Emily should “try to eat healthier”. Her ex-classmate posted a link to how cows were being mistreated and that vegetarian diet was the only way human could redeem themselves.

Emily was furious but Harry never thought those “advice” his sister offered was of malicious intention. “She’s just concerned of your health, that’s all,” he would always say something like that. Eventually Emily gave up complaining.

Her fried chicken platter, potato wedges and meat balls with fries were served. Harry was on a vegetarian diet so he only ordered a salad.

Emily was about to take her cutlery when she saw two young women, in their twenties, perhaps, at another table peering at her direction, and exchanged looks with one another before breaking into laughter.

Emily glared at her husband once again. Yet he was still focused on his smart phone.

“You wouldn’t even look at me now,” she mumbled.

“What do you want now?” He asked. His eyes never left the screen.

“Nothing,” she dug into her fried chicken platter without saying another word to him.

She lost her appetite for the night. She ate only one of the specialty meat balls, leaving so much to waste that the waitress raised her eyebrows again when they left.

As the couple walked out of the diner, Emily swore she saw people stared at her and looked amused. Some men even seemed to empathise her husband. But Harry was an ignorant fool. He could walk without looking away from his phone.

Sometimes she got so annoyed by his addicted behavior, she felt like grabbing his phone and smashed it on the floor, or threw it through the window of their apartment at level eighteen.

But she never did. She was always quiet, patient and the jolly girl who could never get mad. She was the one who everyone could make fun of and would never get upset.

Teachers called her the “big girl” back in school, and she told herself big girls wouldn’t cry. She didn’t cry when the boys in class called her “Humpty Dumpty” or purposely tripped her so that she would fall like a big round egg. She didn’t cry when the mean girls refused to be in the same assignment group with her, or when they stared at her, exchanged whispers and laughed. She also didn’t cry when her boss commented she was clumsy and should take care of being “presentable” during performance review.

Her mother and Harry were the only two people that never criticise her size and shape.

“It’s a mad world out there.” Her mother told her the day she graduated, “People are mean. Get yourself together and don’t get hurt.”

Harry was her ex-colleague at the advertising agency where she worked as a copywriter for a few months. He had talent at graphic design, but all the clients wanted something safe and big — she remembered one of the ex-colleagues made a joke out of it: “The client wants their company’s brand to be as big as possible, big like Emily so no one could ever miss it” — that Harry never got the chance to show what he was capable of.

Gradually passion slid away, and he diverted his attention to the endless Facebook news feed and received gratification from the number of likes he got for his posts.

They stopped a taxi outside of the diner. The taxi driver glanced at her from the rear mirror and she recognised the familiar vileness in that glance instantly.

She could use some walking exercise. That must be what was running in his head.

She looked away to the people and cars on the street from the car window as the taxi sped away into the night. Harry was still checking his smart phone when they got home.

“Why did you marry me? You don’t even want to look at me.” she asked as they lied on bed, Harry’s eyes stuck to his smart phone’s screen.

“You’re funny,” he said. After a minute, he finally looked at Emily for the first time that night. “You used to be funny,” he said softly.

She blinked her eyes and replied, “I think I’m going on diet starting tomorrow.” He shrugged resignedly, offering no words of encouragement or consolation.

She turned her back to him, and pretended to have fallen asleep until she heard her husband’s light snores.

Mornings were always difficult. Emily packed her breakfast and lunch boxes and walked to the subway station in the breezy morning. Her eyes cast down most of the time, dodging all the stares those who passed by must be throwing her way.

She was sweating and panting when she arrived at the station. But she tried to hold in her quick breathing so that people wouldn’t stare at her as much.

As Emily stood waiting for the subway on the platform, she saw a woman glanced her way, examined her from head to toe, and then checked her own reflection and sneered.

Thank god I’m not as fat as her. Bet that woman was thinking that and feeling good about herself. Emily frowned.

When the subway arrived, she squeezed her way into the crowd. A young woman looking to be still in her college years was sitting in front of where Emily was standing. The young woman looked at her a few times and finally put away her earphones. Emily’s pulse quickened. She did not want any more attention she already had.

“Please have a seat,” the young woman stood up, offering her seat to Emily.

Emily felt heat rose to her cheeks. “I’m not pregnant,” she said quietly.

“Oh, I see,” the young woman seemed embarrassed, “I’m sorry.” She sat down once again, and never looked at Emily again throughout the subway ride.

A few people nearby glanced at Emily, and some tried to hide their laughter with hands over their mouths. The familiar meanness. The same cruel stares.

Emily wished she could have just disappeared. But reality was she was still standing among a brutal crowd where merciless stares never ceased. The vile cycle would never end, and all she could do was endure. Endless suffer.

She entered the office at 8.25a.m. She turned on her work computer and sat down, opening her box of sandwiches made with hard boiled-eggs, tomatoes and lettuces. She was tempted to put in slices of ham in the morning, but when she thought of the dinner last night, she dismissed the ham idea.

As she munched away while waiting for the years-old computer to warm up, her colleague Pauline sauntered to her place next to Emily’s, holding a cup of black coffee, fresh from the coffee machine at the office pantry.

Pauline glanced at the sandwich Emily was eating, raised a smile and sat down. Emily put her sandwich down. The guilt of putting way too much mayonnaise struck her all of a sudden. Pauline must have noticed that.

Emily pulled out a wet tissue paper to wipe away the mayonnaise that had oozed out from the sandwich onto her fingers. Her computer was still working hard to load the software programme she needed to use.

“You know what,” Pauline took a sip from her cup and said, “whole-wheat bread would be even better if you are going on a diet.”

Emily forced a smile and replied, “Thanks for the advice.”

Pauline continued, “I would have made myself some whole-wheat sandwich too, if not for the heavy dinner last night.”

“I ate too much last night. Oh, those sinful cupcakes! I had two and that was it,” said the tall and bony lady, “I must not eat anything except for lunch today. No breakfast, no dinner for me.”

Emily looked at the three sandwiches she had packed for breakfast. Her mind wandered to what happened last night at the diner. The fried chicken platter; the meat ball and fries; the waitress who raised her eyebrows; the young women who laughed. Her stomach started to churn.

“Nowadays I cut down on sugar and milk for my coffee,” said Pauline. “Do you know that a tablespoon of sugar adds 49 calories to your coffee? So I’m only going to stick to black coffee now. You can’t be too meticulous when it comes to calories count.”

Emily’s computer was finally ready for work. “No wonder you are always in the finest shape,” she attempted a sincere smile but failed. Bitterness sank in as she put away her sandwiches.

When it was lunch time, Emily’s boss was in a particularly good mood that day, and thus ordered pizzas for all of them in the office. Pauline let out a sigh next to Emily, “Do you know that a slice of pizza can contain up to 300 calories?”

Soon the delivery man arrived at their office with boxes of pizzas, rolls of garlic bread with onion rings and a few cans of soft drinks. Pauline grimaced at the high-calorie food.

Aside from Pauline’s disapproving response, other colleagues were excited about the pizza treats. The high-calorie food smelt wonderful and Emily’s stomach was growling. She had not eaten anything since the three bites of sandwich in the morning.

In spite of Pauline’s warning, Emily took a slice of pepperoni pizza. She was about to take a bite when the evil stares began once again. A long-haired senior writer glared at her and the pizza she was holding, and smirked. As if on cue, an assistant editor followed suit and grinned at Emily. One of the desktop publishers glanced at Emily, then at the pizza and sneered. All those stares and smiles. They are mean, vile, and evil.

Emily’s stomach churned once again. She quickly gobbled down the slice of pizza she took and went to the washroom. As she brushed past the long-haired senior writer, that wicked smirk was still on her face. Those mocking stares; they followed her all the way to the washroom, until she closed the door of the stall, and shut all attention out.

She stood with her back on the door, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to steady her breath and shook away her colleagues’ haunting stares. But they continued to stare in the darkness. The senior writer, the assistant editor, the desktop publisher. They were still staring at her through the washroom door. The waitress at the diner; the young women at the other table; the taxi driver staring at her from the rear mirror; the woman on the platform; the college girl on the subway. They continued to stare at her from where she couldn’t see.

Her stomach roiled and stirred. What she ate was disgusting. She was disgusting. She felt a lump in her throat. Her breathe quickened. The revolting taste in her mouth grew unbearable. She flung opened her eyes and knelt down in front of the toilet bowl.

She vomited the pizza she had, and continued to force things out from her system. Those three bites of sandwich. That meat ball. Those fried chicken. As she tried hard to purge her guiltiness, she could still feel the persistent stares at her back. They were still staring at her; at her obnoxious fatness, her comical clumsiness, her horrible appetite.

Emily finally flushed away all the things she had vomited when she couldn’t force herself to vomit any more. She gargled as she washed her hands, getting rid of the repulsive taste that lingered in her mouth.

The humiliation however did not end with her purging the pizza from her body. When she emerged again at the office from the washroom, there were still three slices of pizza left, and nobody else wanted the leftover.

“I know you love pizza, Emily,” said the long-haired senior writer, pushing the box of pizza towards Emily. “You can have them all! We are all full now.”

I hate pizzas. Emily looked at the pizza and then at the senior writer. The writer beamed at her. Emily felt the sickening taste in her mouth once again. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the pizzas on the writer’s long black hair.

“Emily, just take them for your dinner add-ons,” said their boss who walked past.

But I don’t want to eat anything for dinner. Emily bit her lips. She had no choice but to swallow her bitterness and took the box of pizzas. She threw the box after work.

That evening, Emily took out her running shoes and went to the park. Before she headed out from home, she checked her weight on the scale. Three bites of sandwich, a slice of pizza, and she had gained another 0.3kg. Why is life never fair?

Harry wasn’t home yet when she went out to the park for a jog. He was always working extra hours, and they had to have dinner later than usual all the time. Harry’s sister had warned them of the danger of irregular meals, including getting obese, but Harry never cared about Emily’s weight. He didn’t care anything about Emily any more.

Emily got changed into her running attire, and began her round at the park. Before long, she was sweating profusely and panting like a dog. She forced herself to run a little longer and further, but finally had to pause at one third of the round of jog.

She crashed onto the bench by the jogging path, and took gulps of water. She was already soaking wet in sweats. She tried to catch her breath while looking absent-mindedly at the people in the park. The joggers, the family taking a stroll in the park, and the old men playing chess.

Then, she noticed them again. The stares. Her heartbeat drummed against her ears, as she felt the familiar uneasiness growing inside her. The jogger was staring at her. The family strolling was staring at her. The old men were staring amidst their chess game.

She became aware of herself. She was sitting on the bench, panting and sweating like a pig. Fat, lazy and useless. What these people were thinking, staring at her? Oh my god, that fat lady, can she really jog? Why does she eat so much and let herself become this obese? She must eat like a bear. Get some self-control, greedy lazy-bum.

Emily wanted to stand up from the bench and stopped being lazy. But her legs were hurting and she could hardly breathe. She looked up to the burning evening sky. Gentle breeze dried her sweat as she tried to forget the stares following her. But they wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop staring at her, she knew it. They would never ever stop.

Anger and shame boiled and turned in her. Anger towards herself and those who kept staring at her. Why wouldn’t they stop? Leave me alone.

The jogging plan that day had to stop short. Emily went back home after finally picking herself up from the bench in the park. She decided the stares were too much for her to continue jogging in the park. Maybe she should buy a treadmill to run at home.

Harry got home at nine o’clock and he decided to go to the same diner they went last night. “I like their salad,” he said. His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

“I don’t like the waitress,” said Emily. Harry glared at her. “Come on.”

They sat at the same table as last night. The same skinny blond waitress came to take their orders. “Hi again! What would you like to have today?” the chirpy woman asked.

Harry typed away on his phone as he quickly made his order, “Salad for me please.”

“Sure, a salad for you,” the waitress jotted down his order and turned to Emily, “How about you? Would you like to try our new giant burger set?”

Emily scowled. She shook her head and said, “Salad for me too.”

The waitress raised her eyebrows once again. Emily felt heat rising to her face. Harry looked up from his phone to Emily and then to the confused waitress. “Just get her the burger set with salad,” he said swiftly and went back to his phone.

Emily’s face was burning. The waitress smiled and nodded. Emily watched the waitress walked away with their orders, and then back with the hideous giant burger set.

“Salad for you,” the waitress placed Harry’s order on the table and then Emily’s, “and giant burger set for you.”

The waitress turned away as Emily took her fork and knife, staring at the gigantic triple-patty burger with fries and salad. She looked up. Harry was still texting. Then, she caught the stares again.

Three women and their dates were sitting at the table next, and the women were staring at her ghastly burger and horrible fatness. The stares, the grins and the shaming.

Rage bubbled and simmered inside Emily. Her grip on the fork and knife tightened as she looked down at her burger, still sensing their stares on her. Anger grew in her and finally something snapped.

“Stop staring at me!” She stood up and exploded with anger. Harry looked at her, surprised. The three women at the next table looked at her, aghast.

“Stop the stares!” Emily took her fork and stormed towards the next table. “I said, stop staring at me! Stop it!” The women dropped their jaws, still looking at her, frightened.

Anger blinded Emily momentarily. She felt her arm flung forward, and the hand holding the fork shot straight at one of the women’s widened left eye. All she knew was that she wanted the stares to stop. Just stop.

Red, warm blood splashed onto Emily’s face as terrified screams filled her ears.

“Stop staring at me, you hear me?” Emily continued to dig her fork into the woman’s eye, until people pulled her away. But she was still fuming. The stares were still haunting her.

The stares would never stop.

THE END