Jessie's Journal (9/3/26) (Patreon)

Dear Journal:

In retrospect, Rachel’s conclusion that I was fattening Michelle wasn’t hard to reach. 

“You bring her Golden Eagles all the time,” she scoffed when I asked her how she knew.  “If you brought her iced coffees or refreshers, I wouldn’t have batted an eye, but Golden Eagles?  A few of those things are all it takes to drive someone to the corner of Diabetes Drive and Lard Ass Lane.”

I smiled at Rachel’s vivid description.  Golden Eagles were the most fattening drink on Dutch’s menu by far.  Of course, a barista there would know that.  She was basically a munitions expert in my war on sissy’s waistline.      

But she didn’t stop there.

“Then you pull strings to get her a job at Mel’s Diner,” she continued.  “Not a normal place like McDonald's or even Burger World, but the greasiest spoon in Texas, with portions bigger than what most African children eat in a year.” 

Her line about African children dripped with more contempt than Mel’s burgers did grease.  I almost repeated what Dr. Chen told me after one of my epic therapy rants: “You have the kind of righteous indignation that only comes from being a teenager.”  But I didn’t.

“And who are all these ‘nice gestures’ for?”  Rachel made air quotes with her fingers.  “Somebody you hate.”

“I don’t hate my sister,” I snapped.  My defensiveness surprised me.  Especially since I’ve probably written “I hate my sister” a dozen times in this very journal.

Rachel shrugged.  “Maybe not anymore.  Thanks to you, she’s outgrowing her bullying bitch phase.” 

“Do you think anyone else knows?” I asked.  I was long past the point of refuting her assertion.    

“How the fuck would I know?” Rachel scoffed.  Then she turned thoughtful, pondering my query like it was a metaphysical puzzle.  “All I know is, family is pretty blind to shit like this.  How many times have you seen true crime documentaries and wondered how they missed the signs?”

I resented the fact that Rachel lumped me in with stories that usually ended with a father axe-murdering his family.

“You may not actually be killing her,” she said after I challenged her.  “But you’re killing who she is.” 

Then she smiled so wickedly I wondered if I might one day see her face in one of the documentaries she referenced.

“And I want in.”   

--Jessie