Late into the evening Kevin sat at his desk, labouring over his letter. One after another he discarded his drafts, completely dissatisfied with the feudal relationship between the words on the page and the words in his heart.

Kevin glanced at his bedside alarm clock. A quarter to midnight; his mother would be coming home within the hour. If he was going to do it, it would have to be soon.

Taping his note to the refrigerator, Kevin hoped Steve would be the first to find it. If he bothered to read it he could probably break the news more gently to Mom.

A few minutes later saw Kevin in the bathroom, staring wistfully into the mirror. What he saw was a reflection of himself, both outwardly and inwardly. He saw a poor white boy from the wrong side of town whom nobody liked. Keven let his eyes stray downwards to where his belt strained under the weight of his bulging midsection. He saw a fat boy from a broken home whose parents indulged him in sweets and snacks in an attempt to compensate their own guilt. Kevin stepped closer to the mirror until his nose was touching the smooth glass. Behind the vapour caused by his laboured, asthmatic breathing, he saw the face of a person he'd loathed for as long as he could remember.

But not for much longer!, Kevin thought.

Running some warm water into the dingy bathtub, Kevin took one of Steve's razors from his drawer under the sink. Fully clothed, he lowered himself into his sanctuary. Kevin was holding the razor in front of him, trying to keep his arm from shaking, when something downstairs caught his attention. Kevin slowly extricated himself from the bathtub and left the room.

When Kevin's mother and her boyfriend, Steve, returned that night from the bars, the sight that awaited them in the front hall caused them both to gasp.

"Kevin, you fuck!" Steve bellowed, "You've dripped water all over the fucking house! Your mother's not cleaning up this fucking mess, you are!"

Hearing no reply, Kevin's mother walked unsteadily into the den where her son sat with tears streaming down his cheeks. He was rocking back and forth, clutching the telephone to his chest.

"Kevin, honey, whatsch wrong?" she asked, the night's alcohol colouring her speech.

Kevin looked up into her searching, but slightly glazed eyes. Wiping the tears away with one chubby hand, Kevin replied, "She asked me to take her dancing."