I am a scofflaw.
For the past seven months, I’ve blatantly ignored the laws of my state. My crime: I neglected to renew my driver’s license. I did this without guilt and for purely selfish reasons.
I could tell you I was busy or I forgot. But I’d be lying.
My driver’s license listed my weight as 260lbs. That was probably also a lie at the time. Or, at least, it was wishful thinking. Optimism, if you will.
My expired driver’s license was a reminder of how far I’d come in my “weight loss journey.” It is also my last tie to the person I once was. I wasn’t ready to let go, yet. In truth, I still don’t think I am.
I won’t speak for all overweight people. But, for me, being fat wasn’t just a weight issue or a body image issue. It was – is – part of my personal identity and it filtered into every part of my life.
When I got married, almost 15 years ago, I made my own wedding dress. I told my mom, who did most of the actual work, that it would be a bonding moment for us. I told my husband I didn’t want to spend thousands of dollars on a dress I’d wear only once. The truth is, I longed to go to a bridal store and try on dresses. I wanted to bring an entourage of well-wishers and girlfriends with me, who would tell me I looked just like a princess as I tried on dress after dress. But, I had heard the sample sizes in bridal shops are size 12. I was a size 24, maybe a 26.
The only thing my husband has ever said about my weight was when he confided that he stayed up at night, listening to me breathe. He was terrified that one night, the laborious sound would just stop.
Everything has changed since then. Before, when I came home from work, I was so tired from spending all day sitting in front of a computer screen, I’d lie down. Now, I rush off to karate or the gym. On days I stay home, I practice my kata, work on the heavy bag or pace the house restlessly. Sometimes, I even clean.
Now, strangers make eye contact with me and smile – for no reason. Before, if someone made eye contact and smiled at me, they followed it up with a flier for their church and an invitation to be saved.
Men hold open the door for me. (Some even stop to flirt.) Strangers talk to me in line at the supermarket. All new experiences.
A small part of me feels like something is missing… lost forever. So much of who I am -- who I was -- was predicated by being the fat girl. With that part of me gone, I don’t know who I am. And, it scares the hell out of me.
Tuesday night, as I drove home from work, I was pulled over. It turns out, in addition to “forgetting” to renew my driver’s license, I had legitimately forgotten to update the sticker on my license plate. (Oops.)
With trembling hands, I provided the police officer with my license and a copy of my insurance card. He glanced at the insurance card and handed it back, walking back to his SUV with my license in hand.
When he returned, explaining he’d have to give me two tickets (one for the expired license plate and one for the license), I feigned surprise. “Oh, no way!”
“Yah, it expired on the fourth.” I looked at him blankly. “On your birthday.” (Busted.)
“Oh, yah,” I said glumly.
He fingered the edge of my license for a few seconds before tucking it into his ticket book. “I’m afraid I can’t give you your license back. You’ll have to get a new one.” The weird thing is, he sounded almost apologetic, like he understood my reluctance to move on. I wanted to cry.
“You know, if it was a year or more out of date, I would have had to arrest you.”
“No,” I said truthfully. “I didn’t know that.”
He pulled my license out again and looked at it. Tapping it against his ticket book, he said, “When you get your court date, just bring in your new license and the receipt for you license plate sticker. I don’t know exactly how it works, but you might not have to pay a fine if you bring that with you.”
He began twirling my license between his fingers, moving it back and forth between his knuckles. “OK,” I said watching him, fantasizing about grabbing my license and making my escape in some risky, high-speed chase.
He handed me my tickets, reminded me to drive carefully and returned to his car, twirling my license between his fingers the entire time.
Before pulling out, through my review mirror, I looked at the police officer sitting in his SUV. Choking back a sob, I said, “goodbye” and drove away.
