2

I guess it was only a matter of time before Oskar,

my boss, would call me into his cramped office, and

one day in late spring he did. When I entered, he

unfolded his gaunt body from his creaky chair,

pushed some documents on the paper-strewn desk

aside and sat on the edge as he usually did when he

had something to discuss. He’d never been big on

formality and we got along as if we were the same age even though he was close to 60. He motioned

for me to have a seat on the old, sturdy round table

in the corner and I carefully lowered myself onto it.

I was grateful he hadn’t suggested the chairs with

the armrests.

“Blake,” he began by wearing a frown and a worried look over the reading glasses he had pushed

down on his long nose, “you’re one of my best men

but… your physique is becoming a problem.”

Instantly I felt pale with the heat on my face. I

have that skin type that’s prone to blushing and I

had never been good at hiding what I was thinking,

and I usually never bother, but right now I wished I

had one of those poker faces.

“I haven’t had any complaints,” Oskar went on

in his gravelly voice and I suddenly had trouble

concentrating on, “but I’ve observed some things

and overheard others from the guys: you tire easily.

You keep knocking things over or get stuck because you can’t work in confined spaces anymore.”

He took off his glasses, twirling them in his long,

cracked fingers. “Blake, I’m worried.”

I didn’t know when I’d last seen that particular

look in his eyes and I wished it would go away.

“I know things have been getting out of hand,” I

finally managed to answer. I could hardly tell him

that was due to stuffing myself at night after not being able to take a proper break during the day. That

would sound really pathetic and it would come

across as not being able to handle the workload. If I

hoped to get a raise soon, I’d better shut up. “Do you need some time off?” Oskar asked

when I didn’t continue. “I can’t really spare you at

the moment but if it would help, I could move

some things around—”

Instantly I held up my hand, suddenly noticing

how chubby it looked, especially in contrast to Oskar’s. “No, it’s fine. I want to be here.”

“And I’m glad that you do.” Still that worried

look. I hated that look. “But if there is anything I

can do, let me know, OK? You’ve got to get your

weight under control. I would hate to lose you.”

Lose me? I knew it was serious but ‘lose me’?

Suddenly not getting a raise sounded like the last

thing I should worry about.

“You won’t,” I managed to tell him before I

heaved myself to my feet again and Oskar clapped

me on the shoulder, the sensation startling me for a

moment. When had I developed so much back fat

that Oskar’s hand would cause ripples? Was it really

that bad? I didn’t feel bad. Sure, I got winded and

tired more easily these days and I sweated more.

Yeah, some tasks were becoming difficult to do but

I could still handle my job.

When I reentered the work area, it felt as everyone was looking at me but nobody except for Olli,

our first-year apprentice, who came up and asked

what our talk had been about and telling me the

others had guessed it already. Olli, on the other

hand, attended trade school two days a week and

hadn’t witnessed all my little incidents and accidents. I managed to make up something believable

and went back to work, my mind still snagged on something Oskar had said: he had ‘overheard some

things’ from the guys. Had anyone snitched? No, I

couldn’t imagine that. We’d always been a great

team and nobody had ever seemed to have a problem with my size. Or did they?

It was the first time I felt true panic. I had to get

my weight under control. For God’s sake, my job

was on the line here and possibly my relationship,

too. For a while now, Silke had stopped fondling

me when we went out and I saw increasingly less

action in bed either. She was on her feet a lot in her

job and went speed-walking with friends twice a

week, so she managed to keep her weight pretty stable. Watching me balloon in front of her eyes was

not what she’d signed up for, nor was my possibly

getting fired for being too fat.

I honestly meant to get a healthy dinner that

night but somehow, I found myself leaning back in

my easy chair again, the ruins of a gargantuan dinner on the tray before me. Silke’s work day started

and ended later than mine, so she wasn’t home to

witness it. I half-wished she would, though, and

stop me. Still, no need to panic, I repeated to myself over and over that night and actually managed

to pack a big but healthy sandwich and a banana the

next day instead of getting a few bratwursts from

across the street as usual. Of course, the guys gave

me crap about it but that was alright. I, for one, felt

proud of myself for eating nothing else during the

day. Still, once I opened the fridge door that night,

it was as if my growling stomach drowned out anything my conscience might have to say. No need to panic, I reminded myself again, one step at a time.

First, I had to establish the pattern of eating a

healthy lunch and then I’d take care of instituting a

healthy dinner. It didn’t seem to be working, though. My pants

kept getting tighter, as did my easy chair and even

my beloved BMW 3 coupé. Since with all the extras

it was worth a lot more than Silke’s, I got to use the

garage that came with the apartment while she

parked on the curb. That garage was pretty narrow,

though, so manoeuvring myself inside was always a

mean feat because I couldn’t open the door as far

as I would have needed to. Also, my belly kept

pushing against the steering wheel so I had to move

the seat back more and more. Luckily my legs were

long enough that I could still reach the pedals.

Even so, it felt as if every few days I had to spread

my legs more and more to accommodate my bulk.