Marshmallow Memoirs

By Garrett Heaton

Marshmallow Memoirs is a deliciously funny story about the trials and tribulations of a seventh-grader, Linsey Allen. First time author, Garrett Heaton, delivers a hilarious and touching first-person narration of a remarkable kid that readers will relate to and won't soon forget:

"Not only am I a thirteen year old boy, going through the toughest years of my life.... middle school... Oh yes, my name is Linsey, and to add insult to injury, I'm pretty much a fat kid"

In Marshmallow Memoirs, readers of all ages will become captivated with Heaton's comical voice and fun loving characters:

"People use to call us the S'More brothers. At first, I thought it was pretty cool, 'til I realized it was because I looked like a marshmallow next to those two graham crackers. Mmmm! Graham crackers! Doesn't that sound good?"

Experience how Linsey survives his many hysterical and embarrassing predicaments, from being roped into entering a dance competition and having a crush on his best friend's sister to enduring Eaglewood's relentless bully, Shane Zimmerman, and the infamous dodge ball "incident". After reading this amazing story of friendship and loyalty, readers will want to read S'MORE!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532043833

Garrett Heaton

I'm Garrett Heaton, a 34 year old trophy husband/father. Married to the beautiful Nora Jean and father of the gorgeous Joey Mae. I've been in the fire industry for over ten years, and currently work in a King County organization as a firefighter EMT. I've never really been known as a reader, but I understand the importance and knowledge that comes from it. I only really remember one book as a child that struck my funny bone. My favorite book to date; Skinny bones by Barbara Park. This is why I chose to write a book (Marshmallow Memoirs). My goal is to make at least one, but hopefully a lot of reluctant readers crack up and laugh out loud. Not only reading, but I've also struggled with my weight since childhood. Marshmallow Memoirs is truly a win for all of us "Fat Kids" at heart. I hope you enjoy and I really hope you find it as glorious as I do. Garrett Heaton

Book preview

Believe it or Not

I HATE TO SAY THIS, but about 90% of this story is actually true. Now, I’m not going to tell you what parts are true and which are not. I’ll let you decide. But what I will tell you is that, I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you. Also, most of the names are switched to protect the guilty.

Enjoy………

1

Here We Go!

D ON’T ASK ME HOW, but there I was, Linsey Joseph Allen, sitting in the waiting area of Principal McDonald’s office. I know what you’re thinking; Why does she have a boy’s middle name? Well, that’s not the case. Not only am I a 13 year old boy going through the toughest years of my life, middle school, but oh yes, my name is Linsey. To add insult to injury, I’m pretty much a fat kid. I’m not one of those pudgy kids who still fits in and gets to go to the school dances. I’m the kind of fat kid who fakes a sickness every other Friday ’cause those days are conditioning days in gym class, and we’re supposed to run a mile on the track. Apparently, I’m the only person on earth who doesn’t know this, but that’s FOUR TIMES AROUND THE TRACK! I mean, what does Coach Hall think, that we’re all superstars on our way to the Olympics? Yeah, dream on, buddy.

The principal’s door burst open with fury, and I literally jumped out of my seat. I’m pretty sure I might have had a drizzle of urine on my tighty whiteys. My heart, I swear, skipped a beat, not from the door, but from what followed: Anessa Bernstein, the most beautiful girl in our school. It was like slow motion. Even though I could tell she was furious, she was SO hot. She hurried to the exit, looked over at me and said in an angry voice, Good luck with that A-hole!

Now, I know that doesn’t really sound like the most ideal first conversation, but to me, it was dreamy. I mean, Anessa Bernstein telling me, Good luck. WOW, I can’t wait to tell Ralph.

Ralph is my neighbor and has been my best friend ever since I can remember. He’s the typical fat kid’s best friend. He’s skinny as a pole. So is his older brother, Frankie. Back in the day, when Frankie used to hang out with us, people called us the Smore Brothers. At first, I thought it was pretty cool ’til I realized that it was ’cause I looked like a marshmallow next to those two graham crackers. Mmmm… graham crackers. That sounds delicious. But anyway, it really messes with a boy’s insecurities when his parents start using that nickname, too.

Well, I’ll get into that later. All I could think about was Anessa’s beautiful, long, blonde hair blowing through the wind as she stormed out. And those eyes…Oh my God, if you could see those eyes. They were brighter blues than the tropics. I could get lost in a sea of happiness just by staring into those beauts. And then our conversation when she told me, Good luck. Aaah… I could hear those words, Good luck…. Good luck going through my head, and I could see that poetry flowing out of those soft, juicy lips like a pristine waterfall in heaven. Just as I found myself daydreaming about our first kiss, I heard a scratchy beep over the intercom. Then Mr. McDonald’s voice followed: Linsey Allen. In my office…NOW!

I had almost forgotten why I was sent to the office in the first place. I finally got the nerve to get up and open the door, and I suddenly remembered when I saw Mr. McDonald’s face. Now before I get into explaining why I was sent to the office, I gotta let you in on a little background about what happened this past week. Otherwise, you might read this out of context and think I’m kinda weird. It all started on…well, Monday morning.

2

Monday

T HE SUN BEAMED THROUGH my window and gently woke me with a hint of warmth and a bright, yellow ray. It reminded me of the spotlight on center stage, and I was ready for my big scene. Now on any other Monday, I would probably try to fake an illness or make up some other excuse for not going to school that day, but today I felt great! I turned over and looked at my alarm clock. It read 7:14. I was excited ’cause before the clock flipped over to 7:15, I reached over and shut off the alarm. I didn’t have to deal with that obnoxious buzzing. I don’t understand why alarm clocks have to be so annoying. I mean… I get it. It has to be loud, but every morning do I really have to wake up to dying birds screaming into my ear? I don’t think so. Why can’t it be some hot girl’s voice slowly whispering into my ear, L-I-N-S-E-Y. Wake up and gradually increase in volume ’til I’m ready to get up? That would be the life!

Not only did I get to count that whole alarm situation as a big fat win, but when I got out of bed this morning and put on my shorts, I could tell that even with my belt on, they were a little loose. I almost had too much room. About a month ago, I had to pry a screwdriver through my belt to give it an extra hole. Since then…well, I wouldn’t call it dieting per se, but you could say that I’ve been keeping an eye on what food I eat. So when I found a little wiggle room in my trousers, you can imagine the joy streaming through my body.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that last night my mom made me take a shower. Sounds horrible, I know. Yeah, and get this, she said that I smelled like a week old gym bag. She has no idea. She should smell the bag in my closet: way worse! So that means that yours truly was clean and that you know who didn’t have to hurry up and take a shower that morning. Man, I felt on top of the world. And it’s true what they say; good things do happen in threes.

I opened my door and headed for the kitchen. As I was walking down the hall, I felt a little skip to my step. It was probably ’cause it was only 7:20 and things were already going my way. I had a good fifteen minutes before I had to leave, so I thought I’d treat myself to some of Eggo’s finest: their blueberry waffles. I’ll tell you what: pop a couple of those bad boys in the toaster, top them off with a dollop of butter and bring it home with some heated up Mrs. Butterworth, and you’ve got yourself a mighty fine meal. The only thing that tops that is a tall glass of ice cold milk to wash it down. Suddenly, the fifteen feet from my bedroom to the kitchen seemed to go on and on forever. When I finally reached the kitchen, I grabbed my super-sized Batman mug out of the dishwasher. I’m not so much a huge fan of Batman, but this bad boy can hold about forty ounces. A.K.A.: Forty Ounces of Freedom. One of my pet peeves is when you’re right in the middle of a suspenseful action flick and you run out of fluids. You can’t pause during the get-away scene, so I load up. The only downfall is that you have to use the bathroom a lot more. Huh…I really didn’t think that one through, did I? Well, either way, it’s always better with an ice cold beverage. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

I filled my mug about half way and then put the milk back. I opened the freezer, and to my surprise, I found an empty Eggo box. Who would do something like that? I thought. Just before I got too mad about the whole situation, I realized that I was the only one in my family who likes them in the first place. I got a little chuckle out of it and then put the box back into the freezer. What was I gonna do with all that milk? I thought. I couldn’t use it for cereal. We never have any good cereal.

My mom, A.K.A. Debbie, A.K.A. Deb to most people, thought she had this great idea. The whole family should go on a diet together. This usually happens about two or three times a year. Once at New Years and again when she runs into Susie Baker. Susie is my mom’s old friend from high school. I don’t know why my mom cares so much about what Susie thinks anyway. She’s probably just like her daughter, Emily: a big snood. This year’s New Year’s diet lasted until about… Valentine’s Day: about a month and a half. Not bad, even though I gained three pounds. This last great idea started about two weeks ago. Mom came home with about 40 grocery bags full of crappy health food. OK, maybe there weren’t 40 bags, but there were definitely a lot. Amongst those bags were four boxes of Healthy O’s. Apparently, Healthy O’s are a healthy alternative to Cheerios. A healthy alternative to Cheerios? Really? I don’t think they need to get any healthier than that. Yuck!

I searched every cupboard and drawer in that kitchen, inside and out, and all I could find to eat were three boxes of Healthy O’s. Of course, I thought, Really? On this day? Today? I thought today was going to be different. I didn’t want to jinx myself, so I thought I’d just go with the flow. I remembered that soon I’d have to tighten my belt to the last hole, and that just maybe this breakfast could get me there a little sooner. I mean, come on, how bad could they be? They’re just like Cheerios. It even said it on the box. Oh boy! Was I wrong. Just pouring them into my bowl sounded disgusting. Who eats these? I wondered. I grabbed my mug and filled the bowl to the brim. Even with a full cup of sugar, they still tasted like cardboard. I suddenly questioned myself, How do I know what cardboard tastes like? But it was true. They did, and I’m pretty sure that Healthy O’s taste worse than the box they came in. I ripped off a little corner of the box, dunked it into my milk, poured a little sugar on it, and no joke; I couldn’t tell the difference.

By then it was 7:30, and I only had a few minutes before I had to meet Ralph. I didn’t want to make him late ’cause you know how Ralph gets… Wait, no you don’t. Ralph’s the kind of guy who will sit on his front porch waiting for you; the kind of guy who makes sure you know it when you’re late; the kind of guy who stares at his watch, looks up at you, looks at his watch, looks back up at you and does that whole routine way too long, which makes us even more late. It’s cool, though. He’s punctual. I ain’t hatin’. It’s just that he’s known me for so long, and anyone who knows me, knows that I’ll get there…eventually!

Ralph’s my best friend. Ralph. Ha, I chuckled a bit. You gotta love Ralph. You gotta love a guy who on his best day hits 85 pounds on the scale, and that’s soaking wet, I might add, and will still have your back at the drop of a hat. Not to say that he would do a whole lot, but it’s just nice to know that you’re not the only one with underwear crammed up your behind. Now that’s a true friend.

I choked down as many Healthy O’s as I could handle and headed out the door. Just as the door was closing, I heard my dad shout through the bathroom window, You better check yourself, before you wreck yourself. FOO!

That’s pretty much my dad in a nutshell: a big goofball. My mom always says, Oh. That’s just Rick: a big kid at heart. Which is definitely true, but my grandpa says he needs to grow up and stop acting like a child. Either way, he’s still my dad! Sometimes, I have to admit, it can be a little much. A little embarrassing at times, but we have fun together, so I can’t really complain.

Later, Pops, I replied as I shuffled down the stairs.

I knew Ralph would probably be out waiting for me any minute now, but I had to make one quick stop: Eden, my dad’s garden. I know. I get it… The Garden of Eden: very original, right? My dad says that Eden apparently holds some kind of magical powers or something. When I was a kid, I used to eat that up. Now, I kind of get the feeling that my dad’s a little full of crap. You know how it is when you’re young: so dumb, so naive, so full of life. Aw!! Those were the good old days. I help my dad in that garden every year. All the blood, sweat and tears. No, I’m just kidding. I pretty much just hold the hose.

So get this: Have any of you ever heard of fertilizer? Well, back in the day, Pops and I used to go to Harold’s Nursery and pick up a truckload every spring. Pops said that it helped Eden turn all the seeds into plants, and I thought that was pretty cool. But don’t let them fool you. Fertilizer is the code name for animal crap. Yeah, that’s right, Ladies and Gents, I said animal crap: a little bit of cow dung and a little bit of horse doo doo. Mix that all together and you’ve got yourself some fertilizer. Not only do we throw crap all over our yard, but we eat all the veggies that bake in those turds all summer long. How ironic is that? But no matter how gross that sounds, Eden never seems to let us down. She brings us the best corn, tomatoes, peppers… all that good stuff.

No. I know what you’re thinking: But Linsey, you’re too fat to like salads. You obviously don’t like to eat any kind of vegetables. Well, I’m here to tell you folks, that that whole fat people hate salads bit is all a lie. Yep, phony baloney. I’ll tell you what, if I had it my way, I’d knock out like four or five of those bad boys a day. They’re amazing. Where the real problem lies is that we love everything else, too. Just ’cause I might throw down a half rack of ribs doesn’t mean that I don’t want a salad on the side. Come on, I’m only human.

Eden actually holds a very special place in my heart. Not only for all the delicious greens, but it just so happens to be the burial grounds for all the fallen Allens that aren’t with us any longer. For instance, you’ve got Bartholomew, my goldfish, Snowflake, obviously my old rabbit and more recently, Snowball. My dad likes to call him