Fat people are hard to kidnap. At least, she hopes so.
Every night, she lowers herself into her dad’s old plaid chair and watches TV in the living room while her mom makes dinner. They don’t know she’s been stealing Little Debbie snack cakes from the corner store and hiding them in her underwear drawer. She shovels them into her mouth every night after everyone has gone to bed.
She’s gained 40 pounds since her little sister disappeared. Her parents seem even more shrunken, compared to her ever-expanding form. They have barely touched their food since their baby girl was taken; it turns to sawdust in their mouths. They are gray, and gaunt, and silent. Shadows of their former selves.
Not her. She is making up for what was lost. She is building a wall, a soft padded wall, to keep herself and her family safe.
Every night in her dreams, it happens again. Over and over, every night, it happens. She remembers just two things when she wakes. Her sister was crying, and they left in a Cadillac.