The Big Day
by Ashleigh Bennett
People usually called him Big Boy. Nobody ever cared to learn his actual name and frankly, it really didn’t matter. He had been answering to Big Boy for so long that his name now sounded foreign to him. When he woke that morning to the pop song playing from his alarm clock to see the sun shining, he just knew it was going to be a good day; it was his birthday after all. Most days Big Boy struggled to like himself; he hated his soft belly with the long pale white stripes that ran the length of it, he hated the flesh that hung like a turkey wattle where a neck should be, and he hated the cottage cheese-like dimples that covered the tops of his thighs. In every photo in his mother’s pale pink album there he was with his sausage fingers and swollen pink face. His mother would tell him how handsome he was before she pinched his cheeks and said, “my big, sweet boy!” her words stung so much that he could barely keep the tears from falling in front of her.
Big Boy decided he was going to be recognized for his body, not with disgust but with pride. He was going to enter the local hot dog eating contest and he was going to win. Big Boy had been training for this for months. Hell, one could say he had been training for this moment his entire life. Every day he would watch old VHS recordings of the Coney Island hot dog eating competition in New York and study what they did; and every weekend he would practice. His record the day before was thirty hot dogs – only two above last year’s town record – but he was determined that he would win.
When he got to the contest, he was nervous. He saw the sea of people chanting for last year’s champion Tony, a brew master who ran the local watering hole. They were all screaming “TONY THE TANK!” as loudly as they could. He wanted to leave. He wanted to disappear into himself. He wanted to fold his body like origami paper until it became something else, something elegant and smaller than it was in the beginning, but it was his birthday, damnit! The fourth of July is about pride, and that meant he would show this town that never noticed him that he was someone worthy of pride. Big Boy balled his fists and rolled his shoulders back. Tony the Tank didn’t stand a chance again him.
The host began to call the attention of the audience and announced the rules, but Big Boy began to drown him out. He knew all the rules and he knew what he needed to do. The host blew the airhorn and the clock began to countdown. Big Boy began to take down the hot dogs two at a time taking a swig of water after each hotdog ensuring its entrance into his engorged gullet. Big Boy no longer was nervous, he was determined. The clock counted down and suddenly the halfway alarm blared. Big Boy had officially eaten twenty hotdogs and was five ahead of Tony. He barely noticed as someone in the crowd yelled “look at that Big Boy go!”. Suddenly there was a shift as the audience noticed his lead ahead of Tony. Two minutes to go and he was at thirty hot dogs. The crowd cheered him on chanting “BIG. BOY. BIG. BOY” as he grabbed two more hot dogs and ferociously slammed them down. He could barely hear the crowd; all he was thinking about was winning that trophy and finally having something to be remembered for. His drive was like fire in his veins and with thirty seconds left he grabbed two more hot dogs, his last two, and ate them as fast as he could.
The horn blew again to signify the contest was over. Big Boy won the contest having beaten Tony by twelve hot dogs. The host, stupefied by this young timid teen, went over to Big Boy to hand him his trophy. The crowd cheered as Big Boy stood and took the coveted prize, claiming his moment. The host asked him what his name was before handing him the microphone. Big Boy, with tears of pride in his eyes, took the microphone looked to the crowd and triumphantly yelled “My name is Sam!”