Fatty

Ramon's little story above reminded me of the one punchup I was in. I was out with my mate Zigzag, we were both about 18, and we had with us his little sister Miss Model and her friend Fatty Hilton - the two girls were 16 or 17. We had all been at Rubber Soul, a 60's nightclub in Spencer Street and were about to catch the last train home. A bloke approached me and said, "What are you looking at?" and I said, "What?" and he said, "What did you say?" and I said, "What!" and he punched me in the mouth and it cut my lip and I bled. His mates had come along and dragged him away, apologising, and the two girls were screaming and Zigzag simply said, "Are you alright?". My lip was swollen for a few days. End of story.

But thinking of that story reminded me of the existence of Fatty Hilton. She was two year levels below me (same year level as Lewd Bob) and in the first few years of High School she was, well, just a little chubby. By no means fat though. There were lots of fat boys and girls at our school, just like any other, but she wasn't one of them. But, of the relatively attractive / somewhat popular girls, she was perhaps the biggest-boned, and so her name was Fatty. Come on, we were kids. I never invented the name.

Anyway, in about Year 10, she went missing for months and months. Turns out she developed anorexia. Mind you, this was about 1986, and we didn't really know much about anorexia, and schools back then did not have counselling and education about these sorts of things.

She came back to school an absolute stick-insect, though at least she was out of hospital and was strong enough to attend classes. And, well, you know how Australians have that irony thing going on where we call red-headed people 'Bluey' and short guys we call 'big fella' and all that... well, now that she was the skinniest girl in the school her nickname was, umm, Fatty.

Poor Fatty Hilton. Hitler was evil, but nobody is more cruel than an adolescent.

As she was best friends with my mate's little sister, we socialised a fair bit. When I was 19 and at Uni, I was at a party, New Year's Eve, somewhere in the Eastern Suburbs. I was a little drunk. I stared at Fatty Hilton as she was making cocktails. Despite the ravages of an eating disorder she was quite attractive. The eyes... so beautiful. I couldn't stop looking at her. I found desire. When midnight came I threw myself upon her and we pashed. I think I was the first man to kiss her in quite some time.

She became a little emotional later that night and talked to me about her disorder in such graphic terms that I felt ill. She cried. I comforted. She was messed up. I got her home safely and that was that.

It is was only yesterday, as I thought of Fatty Hilton, that I realise that I don't think I ever saw her again after that night. Not once. 21 years later I feel guilt, and I wonder what happened to her, but as Saramago says (and this is a quote I have on my fridge), "...whoever goes, goes, and whoever remains, remains."

UPDATE: I went to schoolfriends.com.au and she had a blank profile, which suggests she's alive. That'll do.