Her large sweaty body made the porcelain throne she sat on look tiny. The

cigarette lit between her small lips quivered slightly in her brown teeth as the stream

of urine fell upon the little white stick. She took one last drag from her cigarette and

threw it in the toilet. She sat the little white stick on the grimy countertop and went to

wake up her three children. Patricia never wanted kids but she was stuck with three, so

she hollered loudly out of her bedroom. "Kids, school!!!" Patricia screached. All three

children woke up and, maneuvered their single wide, disgusting, smelly trailer

with ease. Brittney, Buster, and Buba hated to wake up for school, but it was the law.

So, Patrica had no choice but to usher her very late children to school. She almost had

forgotten about the white little stick, she couldn't bare to look at before she took the kids

to school, until she saw him. Mr. Davis, a thin, greasy haired man in an old suit at

the school entrance. You see whatever the little white stick said would affect, not only

Patricia, but Mr. Davis as well.

Patricia could not bring herself to make eye contact, with the rather unattractive,

Mr. Davis as she went to sign her late children into school. He touched her arm lightly to

get her attention. "Patricia may we speak privately, it's a matter of one of your children,"

Mr. Davis said quietly. Patricia's stomached turned at the word "children". She answered

back quickly, "No I can't speak with you... I am uhh late, yeah late, for an appointment."

With that she rushed out the door, almost running back to her car, her fat swaying

slightly under her tank top. Patricia raced home, to the crummy little trailer, to see the

effects of a day that happened only a month before.

When Patrica made it home, she decided she would light a cigarette and look at

the tiny white stick. So, with a very long drag, she opened the door to the trailer, and

she waddled her way to the bathroom. She pick up the white thing and saw it was not

the minus sign she thought she would see, for it was plus sign. A delicate pink plus sign.

Patricia crawled to her bed with the cigarette dangling between her old teeth. She

took a very long drag, laid down, and thought back to the day that caused the tiny pink

plus sign.

***

"Mrs. Harold, may I speak to you in my office?" Mr. Davis asked nicely. "Actually

it's Miss, my no good husband ran off and left me with the fleabags a year ago,"

Patricia said harshly. "Erm well, I apologize. I am the new principle, and I haven't had

the opportunity to speak to you," Mr. Davis said quietly. Patricia snorted and followed

the principal to his office admiring his rear. They stepped into the rather small office and

she sat down swiftly, her fat hanging from the side of the chair slightly. Mr. Davis

admired this, he had a slight fetish for larger women. They spoke briefly on some

discipline issues with Bubba. However, before they had noticed, a whole hour had

passed with laughter and chatter. "I have to go now," Patricia said standing. Mr. Davis

took her hand to shake it "Well darn I hadn't even noticed this much time had passed,"

he said, looking at her with a dark look in his eyes. Mr. Davis could not handle her

rotund beauty and stepped forward grabbing her face with both hands and kissed her,

deeply. He tasted her foul breath and cigarettes. He continued to kiss her, and soon

enough they were fashioned on his desk in such a way that neither of them noticed that

he was not covered. Like most things, it was over before it started and Patricia left

without a word.

***

She decided then and there, thinking of that day, she would keep the little plus

sign, and Patricia wanted Mr. Davis to help her raise it. Patricia got out of the bed, put

on her best dress, a faded floral thing with multiple snags, and a pair of flats that

were stretched, due to her wide feet. She brushed her hair, and smeared some

eyeshadow on her eyelids. "You can do this Patrica, you can do this," she told herself,

with still a little uncertainty. She went outside and, for once, did not light a cigarette. She

breathed in the smell of pine, and she waddled to her beat up car. She almost felt

happy as she began driving to the school.

She pulled into the school and walked slowly to Mr. Davis's office. She knocked

on the door and opened it, only to find Mr. Davis and Mrs. Smith, from down the road,

positioned on his desk, the same way Patricia remembered herself and Mr. Davis.

"Patricia!" Mr. Davis said. Patricia couldn't breathe, and she couldn't cry. So, she just

ran back to her truck. When she got back, her stringy hair was clinging to her face

from the sweat and tears she didn't even notice were falling. She heard Mr. Davis

calling for her. "Patricia! Patricia! Please, it didn't mean anything. Come Back!" he called

to her. Patricia didn't care she got into her truck and drove.

She drove to an old creek and parked the truck. Patricia waddled down to creek

edge, panting slightly. She took out her pack of cigarettes and lit up her lighter. For a

moment, she stared at the flame and realized that if she and the little plus sign couldn't

have Mr. Davis, no one could. Just as she lit the last cigarette, she heard Mr. Davis's

truck coming down the dirt road. Before she could turn, around he was there. "Patricia...

can we talk. I know what I did was wrong, but you are so beautiful and I don't want to

lose you," Mr. Davis whispered in her ear. "I'm pregnant," Patrica almost moaned.

"What? Well, we can take care of that easily," Mr. Davis said sternly. "Absolutely not! It's

just a pink plus sign, but I love it," Patricia said, almost crying. She took one last drag

from her cigarette, dropped it, and stumbled to her truck. Mr. Davis was talking, but

she didn't here his words. She got into her truck, and she was gone.

That night, Mr. Davis's house mysteriously burnt down, and he was locked

inside. The fireman claim they found a small lighter with what looked to be a plus sign

carved into it. No one could ever find Patricia to question her. Her children, taken by

social services after that night, had never heard from their mother again. Some claim

she was inside of the house. Others say she ran away to another state, lost her weight,

and raised her new, love child. Regardless, no one knew what happened to Patricia or

why she ran away. Her story was burned into the town, like cigarette smoke in hair, or a

scar from its ashes.