Atlas Chubbed: Chapter 2

Atlas was huffing and puffing as he entered the pizza shop. He was overheating from the walk, but there was no way he could manage to get his coat off at this point. It was hard enough to get on in the first place. It wouldn’t even button around his belly. It didn’t matter though, Atlas was learning that living in New York meant accepting the grit. If you’re too hot, too cold, if your clothes don’t fit, you simply deal with it. So he was.

He ordered three slices from the guy behind the counter, which was practically a whole pizza. When he first started coming to this spot the cashier seemed surprised by his appetite. Now, they expected it. Atlas had developed relationships like this with a lot of the food joints in town. He wondered if they saw him walking in and said “here’s fatty, fire up the grill.” Well, he fantasized about that at least. In reality, no one paid that much attention to you in the city.

Thankfully one of the two tables on the sidewalk was free so he plopped down with his three slices of pizza and a bottle of coke and dug in. In terms of taste, this wasn’t the best pizza in town. However, it was the largest slice for the price and therefore it became one of his favorites. Atlas was learning quickly that keeping his weight up in New York was harder than he expected. With so much walking and keeping busy, he found it hard to keep the calories flowing in. In fact, his weight had plateaued. So, places like this were becoming essential to his routine.

He finished up and walked back to his apartment. The elevator was still broken and he reasoned it would never be fixed. He trudged up the three flights of stairs more easily than when he first moved in. Inside his apartment he broke out the blender. In went the mass gainer, a banana, creatine, fiber, peanut butter, some heavy cream, and whole milk. He blended up the concoction and gulped it down just as quickly. Lying splayed on his couch, his belly oozing out from underneath the hem of his tee, baby pink stretch marks kissing the sunlight, he drifted off to sleep.

Atlas awoke in a panic. He had several unread messages and already knew he was late for dinner with some old friends. He sat up and shimmied off his coat. His gut was still distended from the pizza and shake and he looked forward to filling it up with more Italian food. But first, he had to get dressed.

He stood before his closet with a frustrated expression on his handsome face, his broad shoulders hunched as he dug through his closet in search of something, anything, that fit appropriately. He had avoided leveling up his closet with clothes that fit, partially out of perversity and partially because he aspired to grow even larger. Why buy now what will be small in a few months? He massaged the potbelly hanging off him as he dug through the options.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair. “There must be something.”

After wrestling with a few shirt options, each egregiously snug, emphasizing the overhang of plump flesh hanging from his waist, he finally settled on a tight gray t-shirt that hugged his shoulders and a pair of dark jeans that seemed to accommodate his figure with at least a semblance of grace. Sucking in his stomach, he scrambled to slip into his oversized denim jacket. This one could at least button closed, barely. He glanced at the clock, panicked, and dashed out the door and into the buzz of the city.

Atlas moved at a brisk pace, his shoes hitting the pavement with a hurried rhythm causing his gut to bounce up and down furiously. The chaos of Manhattan swirled around him. With each step Atlas felt dual excitement and dread stirring within him. Eager to reconnect with his group of friends, he also feared their reaction to his newfound girth.

By the time he arrived at the restaurant his shirt clung to his sweaty rolls amidst labored breathing. For a moment, he lingered at the entrance, his heart pounding from both exertion and anxiety. He could hear his friends inside, laughter wafting through the slightly ajar door, and it stirred a vulnerability in him he wasn’t used to.

“Hey, you made it!” called out Jake, his college buddy from the rowing team, spotting Atlas from across the table.

The group’s laughter turned to cheerful welcome, but Atlas couldn’t help but notice the hint of surprise on Jake’s face. His eyes locked onto Atlas’ wobbling overhang with wonder. Scanning the other faces at the table, it was clear that everyone was evaluating Atlas’ physique. Atlas slid awkwardly into the tight booth. His least favorite part of New York was how snug every space was. There was barely any room between the table and the booth and Atlas’ belly pressed uncomfortably against the edge of the table, further accentuating his plumpness amidst a group of former college athletes. In that moment he regretted the gainer shake still sitting heavy in his belly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Atlas mumbled, feeling the heat flush beneath his skin. “Busy day.”

“Sure, sure,” teased Jake, a mischievous smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Atlas immediately knew a jab was coming. “You must be pretty weighed down since moving to the city?”

Awkward chuckles came from around the table, and Atlas felt embarrassment creep up his cheeks. It stung, regardless of how much he enjoyed being big. He shrugged it off and decided to lean into the atmosphere, even as his belly protested the sudden shift in attention.

“Can’t you tell?” Atlas patted the roll of fat bulging above the table and the awkwardness seemed to dissipate.

The waitress arrived with a notepad, “What can I get you?”

Atlas glanced at the menu, his gaze inexorably drawn to the pasta section. “I’ll have the fettuccine Alfredo, the large one, and… some more bread for the table?” he said, the words feeling both liberating and slightly scandalous.

“Someone’s hungry tonight!” Jake laughed.

“You should have seen this guy in college,” Mia chimed in, nudging Atlas playfully. “He was like a vacuum cleaner with legs.”

“Yeah, but tubs was actually an athlete back then!” Jake jeered.

Atlas chuckled, somewhat aroused by the banter, but a small voice in the back of his mind grappled with nagging insecurities. The food began to arrive—breadsticks piled high, noodles drenched in dairy, a glimmering feast that beckoned to him. He dug in ravenously, savoring each bite with gusto, but he couldn’t help but notice the looks his friends exchanged—some bemused, some concerned.

As the dinner unfolded, Mia reached across the table, her expression turning soft and serious. “Atlas, do you ever think about—well, exercise, or eating differently?”

The question hung in the air. Atlas felt a lump in his throat, an impromptu mixture of defensiveness and vulnerability pooling inside him.

“I’m trying to enjoy life here, you know?” he replied, a forced smile stretched across his face as he braced for whatever was coming. “It’s New York! How can you not indulge?”

“True,” Emma nodded, her sincerity evident. “But you should enjoy yourself in ways that make you happy in the long term, too.”

At that moment, Atlas realized he was no longer just the overfed ex-jock. He was in the process of forging a new identity. No matter what he was going to be one of the largest guys at the table, and that meant he had to root himself in self-acceptance and joy. He was a fat guy and he liked it.

He paused, sitting up straight so his belly appeared more bloated and rotund than ever. “Maybe I am doing both, you know?”

The table quieted, and he took a deep breath. As they exchanged glances, Atlas felt something shift within him. He shrugged, and defiantly spooned a heaping forkful of cheesy noodles onto a piece of bread and ate it lovingly. If he was being honest he was already full, but he wasn’t going to succumb to fatphobia. Eventually, their conversation resumed, bubbling over with jokes and fond reminiscence.

When the dinner concluded, Atlas unwedged himself from the booth and everyone stared at his swollen gut. These days he definitely swelled a couple inches after a heavy meal so it was no surprise it attracted everyone’s attention once again. He even gave himself a satisfied pat atop his belly. Saying his goodbyes, he gave each person a big warm bear hug, the kind only a fat guy can dispense. Exiting the restaurant he threw on his denim jacket. It was chilly out so he tried to close the front, but there was one small problem: he could no longer button it.