They were fat because they were Mama’s boys.
Matt’s mother had pampered him, babied him, stuffed him all his life. His fat was almost as old as him, congealed at his belly, a weight that anchored him to a chair. When he hurried, he swished along in a shuffle skip, like a ballerina carrying a prop offstage before the stage lights came up again.
Harrison’s fresher weight had not yet sunk. His whole body a balloon inflating a puff each day, he looked like Wimpy Oyl, just inked onto the newsprint. He was thin before leaving home, his mother exercising absolute dietary control. So once he left home, every new freedom became a habit – drinking 2 liters of coca cola everyday, playing video games all night, and asserting that he was right and you were wrong.
Yet he couldn’t break entirely from his plu-perfectly ordered former life. He kept his hair short with regular visits to the mall barber. Matt’s hair, however, was dense and long and tall. With no one to hold his hand, he couldn’t figure out when to get a haircut, when to buy new clothes, when to wake up in the morning. Were these things even necessary? These pants may be obscenely tight in the crotch and ass but they weren’t ripped. Meanwhile, all these video games have been already played…the next purchase is obvious. So Matt and Harrison had arrived in the same place. Waking long after the wife had gone off to work, a Dr. Pepper breakfast, coming to work at the same table, Matt seated with a heavy sigh, Harrison an inveterate stander, getting a comparable lack of work done. So much in common, but they hated each others’ guts.
As mentioned, both Matt and Harrison were married. Maybe they both missed Mom. No one could really make sense of why a girl would walk down an aisle towards either of them. In high school, normally rational students would take the long way, even backtrack, to avoid hall space. Someone would explain that Harrison’s wife had to marry him because he knocked her up. Normally this would raise the question of why would she sleep with him in the first place, if the recipient wasn’t knocked speechless by the super heavyweight leading right image of Harrison having sex – glasses on as always, and as always, just not trying very hard.