Free Halfway There by Aubrie Elliot

Bill’s?”
    Ah, good old Uncle Bill’s, known for its heaps of bacon, butter-soaked toast, and eggs any way you liked them. It was the perfect place to recover from hangovers or to satisfy the munchies, depending on your drug of choice. I considered it for a moment. It was better than lying on the couch all day.
    â€œOkay, but you’re driving.” I took in a deep breath and willed my body up from the table to get dressed. It was a long trip back up the stairs.
    With effort, I dug out a pair of jeans from the dark recesses of the closet. Slowly, very slowly, I slipped one leg in and lost my balance. The floor was hard and unyielding. I pulled my leg back out and sat down on the bed. I tried again. Both legs in. That was good. I stood up and tugged at the waistband. I couldn’t get the jeans past my hips. I yanked and wiggled. I walked around the room shifting my hips back and forth to no avail. Fuck it. I went back to the closet pushing the stupid jeans off my legs. Another pair out and another failure. Despite a fleeting hope that the third time might be the charm, I took out a pair of sweatpants. I slid into their cotton softness with ease. It took a few minutesto tie my tennis shoes, but eventually I was dressed and ready to go. True to her word, Ellen drove while I hung my head out of the open window letting the cool air rush over my sweaty forehead. In a few minutes we were in a booth contemplating a wonderful variety of “greasy-spoon” specials.
    â€œWhat’ll you two girls have?” our waitress asked.
    â€œI’ll have a couple of eggs over easy, bacon, toast, and a side of biscuits and gravy.”
    â€œAnd you?” the waitress looked over at me.
    â€œTwo poached eggs, sausage, wheat toast, and a large tomato juice with lemon, please.”
    â€œAll right, thanks.” She tucked her pencil behind her ear and was gone.
    â€œYou know what I want after this?” Ellen asked. I shook my head. “I want a big fat chocolate shake from Steak ’n Shake.”
    â€œGod, don’t say ‘fat’.”
    â€œWe’re not going to talk about losing weight while we’re eating, are we?”
    â€œI tried on two pairs of jeans this morning. I couldn’t get into either of them.”
    â€œMaybe they were the old jeans I told you to throw away. You look fine to me.”
    â€œYou always say that.”
    â€œYou’ve trained me well.”
    â€œI’m serious, though. We only have ‘old’ jeans because, well, because we’ve outgrown them.”
    â€œSpeak for yourself.”
    â€œI am!”
    The waitress came with our order. I watched Ellen dig into her biscuits. They looked really good. The gravy was white and thick with little dark specks of sausage sprinkled liberally throughout. I would have poured ketchup all over it, but then my tastes are a bit different. I poked the eggs and dipped my buttery toast into their golden juiciness. A bite of sausage completed the experience. One forkful led to another and all too quickly my plate was empty. I leaned back in my chair. The elastic in my pants was beginning to itch.
    â€œWhy is it that the clothes you want to wear when you’re the most relaxed are the very same ones you’re supposed to wear to work out?”
    â€œFreedom to move around? Jeans are never as comfortable as sweats.”
    I scratched my stomach. By that definition, I would need to buy new sweat pants not because I wanted to sweat in them, but because I wanted to be more comfortable when I ate.
    â€œHow fat have you ever been?” I asked.
    â€œThat is beyond a doubt the worst question asked at the worst time I could possibly imagine. I’m not telling you.”
    â€œMore than you weigh now?”
    Ellen raised an eyebrow. I was entering territory that was obviously off-limits.
    â€œI am not going to talk about this with you. Come on; let’s go home.”
    It was a long drive.