Justice
"Justice is the constant and perpetual wish to render every one his due." - Flavius Augustus Justinianus, Emperor, 528 AD.
Clayton and Laura were in love. Well, that is to say, Clayton and Laura were into making out. That's what they were doing last Friday night during the football game. I was returning from the concession stand all fired up to see the second half when Laura bursts out from behind one of the supports and nearly backs into me. She was looking at Clayton, who was still sitting under the tenth row.
"You're sick, Clayton, real sick. See you in the psychiatric ward someday," she yells at him, then she turns around and slams right into me. Lucky thing I was only holding popcorn, or it could have been messy. She still curses me for being in her way, I guess it was to be expected, and then storms off into the night.
Well, I'm standing there watching her drive away when Clayton comes and stands beside me. "Well, I've done it this time, Matt," he says to me, "I don't think your sister will ever get over this one."
Yep, you heard him right, my sister. Laura Michelle Parks, to be exact. Five feet and 115 pounds of...um, of...well, of what I'm not yet sure. She's a junior at Eastside High. She makes good marks, most of the time, and she's a great gymnast. But, as you may have gathered, her fuse is a few inches too short. Takes after Dad in that respect. I don't see how she got with Clayton...well, maybe I can. Clayton Dopps. Six feet and 200 pounds of student. Clayton never got upset about anything. He was a senior, very, very bright. Already accepted into the University he liked, now he was working hard trying to get high enough grades to qualify for some type of scholarship. He used to play baseball for the school, but he quit after last season to devote his time to his studies. I don't think anyone missed him, he was pretty mediocre.
Who am I? I'm Matt Parks. I'm a sophomore at Eastside. That's probably the most interesting fact I know about me. Anyway, I ask Clayton what happened.
"Oh, I told her something she didn't want to hear, and now she's mad at me," he answered.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Well," he begins, "We were sitting under the bleachers, like always, when she asks me what my weirdest sexual fantasy is. I ask her what the heck she's talking about.
She says, 'Well, like for me, I don't know why, but the thought of a guy with really long fingernails really turns me on.' I tell her that's kind of weird.
'Yeah,' she says, 'that's the point. How about you, what's your weirdest turn-on?'
'You don't want to hear it,' I told her.
'Sure I do, I told you mine,' she replied. I tried to convince her that she really didn't want to hear it, but she kept insisting.
Then she started accusing me of not trusting her. 'I can't believe we've been together for three months and you can't trust me with something as silly as this,' she said.
So I finally gave in. 'Alright,' I said, 'if you really must know. I like the idea of women blowing up.'
'Exploding?' she asked me.
'No, nothing like that. Blowing up, you know, like a balloon, getting really big breasts and a bigger rear, becoming more of a voluptuous type.'
She looks at me kind of funny for a moment, then she says 'You're serious, aren't you?' I tell her yes. 'That's sick!' she said.
'I told you that you wouldn't want to hear it,' I reminded her.
'Yeah, but that's, that's so sick,' she repeated. That's when she got up and started to leave. I'm pretty sure you saw the rest."
"She got upset over something like that?" I asked rhetorically.
"Apparently," he replied. "Do you think maybe she's upset because she has small breasts?"
"I don't think so," I said. "I've overheard one too many telephone conversations between her and her friends where she says she couldn't stand to have big breasts, how they'd be ugly looking and much too cumbersome. I suppose it could be an act, but she's not a very good actor. She proved that back in middle high."
"She sure did, didn't she?" Clayton laughed. "I never saw a more violent Juliet." That set us both laughing for a good minute.
"Although, fantasizing about growing breasts is pretty messed up," I teased him.
"Not you too?" he asked in desperation.
I smiled at him, "No, it doesn't bother me. 'Whatever Gets You Thru the Night,' as John Lennon used to say. I'm sure she'll calm down," I continued, "she always has before."
"Yeah, you're right," he said. "I'll just give it a little time."
So, that's how Clayton and Laura's relationship hit the proverbial fan. They didn't talk to each other all weekend, and I learned (the painful way) not to inquire about it. Monday morning came quicker than I'd hoped, not so much because I hadn't done my math homework as because sis was still angry. All morning I heard the same string of muttering ".....lousy, good for nothing sicko likes ballooning women so much, he probably has one under his bed that little, lousy, good for nothing sicko....."
My hopes were not high for a pleasant day. But I was in for the shock of my life later that afternoon.
It was around 1:00 and we were all switching classes. I was at my locker getting math answers from my friend Eddie when I saw Clayton go to his locker, a little further down the hall. He looked like a man walking dead, so I assumed he must have already had a run-in with sis.
That was when all hell broke loose.
"OH MY GOD, MY BREASTS!" Not a phrase one tends to hear yelled to the rafters in a high school hallway, but nevertheless a female voice had just uttered it.
My sister's female voice had just uttered it.
So Eddie and I joined the crowd of people crowding around sis, who was running towards Clayton. I saw the cause for alarm pretty immediately, sis had breasts. That was weird enough, but these were huge. Now, for the benefit of those of you who have been de-sensitized by breast mags and porn videos, I'll say these were moderately huge, about the size of softballs. And besides, anything on my sisters 115 pound frame qualifies as huge. Clayton was staring at her, confused, while every other guy was looking at her chest, amazed.
"Laura, what's going on?" he asked her.
"I don't know," she replied. She looked like she was getting a little wild around the eyes. "I was thinking about what you said Friday night, about liking the idea of women's breasts growing, and mine did, all of a sudden! Look at me!"
He did. I did. Everyone else did.
"Do I look good now?" she asked.
"You've always looked good," Clayton was turning on the charm.
"Do I look better now that I've got boobs?" she pressed.
"Yes, you look great baby."
"Then maybe you'd like to keep them!" she yelled. She reached into her shirt and pulled out two regulation size softballs. "Maybe you can keep them in a trophy case, pervert!" She then proceeded to throw them at Clayton. As she and her friends were walking away, laughing at the top of their lungs, she handed a large bra to one of her friends. "Thanks for letting me borrow this, Cindy," I heard her say.
So, as you can imagine, the whole audience was laughing like crazy, and Clayton was more than a little embarrassed. Eddie was laughing, too, but I asked him to stop. A couple of guys ran up to Clayton and handed him a small air pump. "Maybe this'll help!" they laughed. Clayton dropped the pump, shut his locker, and left. I think he might have left the school building, I didn't see him the rest of the day.
Now I've never thought of myself as a naive person, but I guess I am, because I thought it was all over. Laura got her joke, she embarrassed Clayton to the point of making him leave school, all's well that ends well...sort of. But I was soon to find out this war was just beginning. Round two started Friday night when I overheard yet another telephone call between my sister and one of her friends.
"He does!? With who?....Incredible, he's still able to get dates.....Do you still have a key to the gym?.....Great, wait there for me, I'm going to call Bertha....Yes, Bertha.....Trust me on this one, this'll be better than Monday."
I didn't have much idea what was going on in her brain, but that last line warned me that the evening was going to go sour for Clayton. I waited for her to leave the house, and then I took off for Joey's Chunk'n'Chew, the hangout for just about everybody 14-18 years of age. If Clayton was on a date, that's where he'd be, and I had to warn him.
Clayton wasn't there. His car wasn't outside, and he wasn't inside. He must have taken her somewhere else. I jumped back into my car and drove off, having no idea where he could be.
Then Fate dealt me a lucky break. I saw my sister's car just ahead of me at the traffic light. She was in it, and so were a couple of her friends. There was one person I didn't recognize, also. I found out later that she was Bertha Garrison. Tipping the scales at 325 pounds she was the heaviest person at school. At that moment, though, she was just a fleshball sitting shotgun in my sister's car.
'This is great!' I thought to myself. 'I can follow her to wherever she's going and try to stop her from embarrassing Clayton again.' Apparently Fate had a different scenario, however, because as soon as the light turned green my sister and her iron foot had left me in the dust, and I lost her.
So now I was wandering the streets again looking for a sign. Luck must have been playing games with me that night, because I found her car, parked outside of The Fatman's Pizza Parlor, the hangout for just about everybody ages 19-24. I prayed I wasn't too late.
I was.
I opened the door just in time to see Laura sauntering over to the booth Clayton was sharing with his date. This time it looked like she had basketballs tucked into her shirt. They looked immense. I looked for a seat nearby so I could hear what she said. I shouldn't have bothered. With abject humiliation as her goal, she spoke so loudly the whole room heard her.
"Good evening, loverboy," she said.
"What are you doing here?" Clayton asked her.
"I was just wondering if I could borrow some money to buy another bra. They're not cheap in this size, you know."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, but she had already turned her attention to his date. She looked to be college age. I assumed that she didn't know about Monday's incident.
"I have to warn you about this man," Andrea said.
"What do you mean?" his date asked.
"He has fantasies about women inflating."
"What are you talking about?"
"One night, we were at his place late at night, and he tied me to a chair,"
Clayton's date looked at him quizzically.
"She's lying," he said. It didn't do any good, though.
"I am not lying," she replied indignantly. "After he tied me to a chair, he stuck an air pump needle into my left nipple and inflated my poor boob. Then he did the same thing to my right boob." She was actually crying now, and cradling her "chest." I guess she's a better actress than I gave her credit for. "I pleaded with him to stop, to reverse it, but he only smiled and gave me a gigantic bra, the same one I'm wearing now. Please, for your own sake, have nothing to do with this man."
Clayton's date was incensed. Apparently not bright enough to see through Laura's story, she got up, slapped Clayton, and stormed out of the building.
"Tough luck, lover," Laura said to Clayton after his date left.
"Leave me alone," was all he said as he slumped back into his seat.
"But, but what about my new bra?" she asked.
Clayton just gave her a distant stare.
"Oh, yes, I forgot how poor you are. Never mind about the bra, I'll find another one, or maybe I'll get reduction surgery." Then she took one of the basketballs out and left it on the table. She kissed Clayton on the cheek and left the store, handing a truly immense bra and another basketball back to Bertha.
I came up and sat across from Clayton. "You okay?" I asked him.
"I don't believe it. I really don't," he said to no one in particular, still staring off into space. He sat there for about a minute before focusing his eyes. "You want a slice of pizza?" he asked me.
"No thanks," I said. "You gonna be alright?"
"I don't know," he replied. "This morning, I would have said yes, but now..." he drifted off into silence again. "I mean, I thought it was over, after Monday, ('Hey, I wasn't the only one') but now, I just don't know."
"Come on, Clayton, let's get out of here," I suggested.
"No," he said, "I paid for this pizza, and I'm damn well going to eat it." It was the first time I'd ever heard him swear.
So, it's all over now, right? If you think so, I have some stock in a gold mining business that I can sell cheap. Apparently emboldened with her 2-0 record, she decided to go for the kill. It all came to a head Sunday morning, when I woke up and saw Laura awake, dressed, and eating breakfast.
"What are you doing up so early?" I asked her.
"I'm going to church," she replied.
"Church?"
"Yes, you little heathen, church. You want to come with me? I'll give you a ride, save you some gas."
Two things were wrong with this picture, well three, actually. First was the whole church thing, we haven't been to church in years. Second was her offer to drive. She was in way too good a mood to not have something up her sleeve. And third, if she was going to church, she wasn't very dressed up. Jeans and a T-shirt, with a button front shirt over it. I decided I'd better go along just to see what she had planned. "Sure, I'll come with you. Thanks."
Well, I was barely awake and not thinking too clearly, or else I would have known what was going on. Clayton was a pretty devout guy. If I hadn't been half asleep maybe I could have done something, but I didn't see him until after services, and by then it was too late. I was once again I was a spectator to Laura's theatrics.
She had really outdone herself this time with her costume. Apparently she had brought a couple of punch balloons to church with her, you know, giant balloons that you blow up for little kids to hit. They get to be about 20 inches in diameter. Well, she must have taken these to the bathroom and filled them with water. And since she didn't have a bra that size, she just untucked her T-shirt and rolled it up under the balloons, kind of a makeshift sling, and then buttoned up the outer shirt a little more. There must have been 40 pounds of water balloon on her chest, and it showed, because she was having trouble walking. Church people engaging in pleasant conversation stopped to stare at the jiggling mass that preceded my sister by 15 minutes. For a moment I had to agree with Clayton. The sight of my sister's 60 inch, quivering "chest" on her small frame was exciting. Of course, I remembered she was my sister, but if I ever saw a quaking mass like that on any other woman....um, well, anyway, she slowly moved towards Clayton, who had buried his face in his hands by this time.
"Please, leave me alone," he begged her.
"But honey," she said, idling up to him, "I wanted to show you that the surgery you told me to get was a success."
Various phrases could be heard coming from the churchgoers, whispered to one another 'Surgery?....huge...' and 'disgraceful' being most prevalent.
"Please, Laura, enough is enough," Clayton said.
"But honey, don't you want to touch them?" she asked, grabbing his hand and thrusting it into her "cleavage." It was enough to make one old woman faint.
Clayton yanked his hand out of her grip, "Go away," he told her.
"But honey," she continued, pushing him against a wall and mashing her "breasts" into his face, "I thought this was what you wanted."
That crossed the line. The preacher asked them both to leave the building. It was kind of embarrassing for me, too, having to leave with them. Once I got outside I saw I was late for the shouting match.
"What the hell are you doing, Laura?" Clayton yelled.
"Just administering a little justice," she said evenly.
"Justice? For what?"
"For being a sick weirdo."
"For being...for being a sick weirdo? You're still hung up on that? For crying out loud, embarrassing me Monday in front of the school wasn't enough? Ruining my date Friday wasn't enough? Now you have to get me thrown out of the house of God, too? What's next?"
"Nothing," Laura answered.
"Nothing?"
"Nope, I'm done. Just making sure your life is ruined. Now I can quit."
The look on Clayton's face was heartbreaking. Confusion, disgust, resignation, and finally defeat registered on his face one after the other. He walked away without a word, got into his truck, and left. I haven't seen him since.
Laura was laughing all the way home, it was disgusting. I would have refused to ride home with her, except that the church was 20 miles away. So I had to listen to her all the way back.
"Did you see that look on his face?" she laughed. "It was priceless." I didn't trust myself to say anything, so I kept quiet. The worst part was that she didn't take her "breasts" off. She wore them while she was driving. Besides being a potential hazard to our lives, it was giving me a hard on watching her jiggle every time we hit the slightest bump. I berated myself, but my, um, 'best part' didn't seem to care what I thought.
We got home and she changed out of her boob suit. I spent the rest of the day in my room, thinking about the events that had happened. I played over every word, every act, wondering if there was something I could have done to stop it from happening. I fell asleep that night with the same thought running through my head "It's just not fair."
Monday morning held the biggest surprise yet. I've heard the story, so in the interest of understanding I'll relate the facts as they happened in real time, not as I became aware of them. Apparently Laura woke up on Monday morning feeling a great weight on her chest.
"I thought I took the balloons off yesterday," she said to herself. She reached down and felt the weight. It was warm, unlike the water balloons, but it still sloshed around when she shifted it.
"I guess not," she said to herself, "how silly of me." She continued to explore the balloons until something gave her pause. It felt like there was a Tootsie Roll at the tip of each balloon. She looked down at herself, but it was too dark to see anything.
"Something is weird here," she said to herself. She noticed that she couldn't move the balloons very far off her chest. "I need to get a light on," she said. She tried to get up out of bed, but she lost her balance and fell forward as she was trying to stand up. She laid there for about five minutes, wondering why the balloons hadn't fallen out of her shirt, before she tried to stand up again. This time she was successful, barely. She wondered why her T-shirt from Sunday was lying on the floor, and yet the weight was still on her chest. She finally managed to stagger over to the light switch.
I bet the scream could be heard for a mile around. It certainly woke me up.
We never found out the explanation for it. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with her, except the obvious, but he explained to her that reduction surgery would be impossible, as they didn't dare cut the breast tissue for fear of what it might do to her system. She must have cried for a week. Then, eventually, she had to go back to school. She kept saying that she felt ugly and ridiculous. All her friends tried to console her, saying that she was the envy of women everywhere, but she wouldn't hear it. Her life was ruined, as far as she was concerned.
I can imagine that somewhere, out on the plain of Ideas, there's a small woman, wearing a blindfold and holding a pair of weighing scales that have just evened up. Vindictive little cuss, isn't she?
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