“OK,” I squeak.
Maggie smiles. I walk in. There are two seats and a kind of bed/sofa thing, no back cushions, just a big headrest and pillow at one end.
Dr. Fuentes sits on one of the seats, Maggie on the other.
The only one who’s relaxed is Dr. Fuentes.
Now what? I’m supposed to lie on the bed?
I sit on it. At the edge.
I feel like I’m the one in therapy.
A minute or two of small talk, then Dr. Fuentes opens a notebook and takes a pen in hand.
Maggie starts talking.
And talking.
I’m waiting for the Tale of Gloom & Blume, and she’s yakking away as if life is great.
She’s telling Dr. Fuentes about the good stuff. The adventures of her brother, Zeke. Her pets. Her school projects. Her songwriting. Inner Vistas, the school literary magazine she edits.
Dr. Fuentes seems totally entertained.
Me too. I feel like I’m beginning to know her more.
Maggie moves on to the details of her life. Her piano lessons, her singing, Vanish, the Battle of the Bands.
And I’m beginning to realize something.
She’s stalling.
She’s here to talk about a problem, and she hasn’t even touched the subject.
I look at the clock. 37 minutes have gone by. The session is supposed to last only 45.
Dr. Fuentes hasn’t said much at all. Just “Mm-hm” and “Well!” and “How does that make you feel?”
Finally, when Maggie runs out of breath, Dr. Fuentes puts down her notebook. “Maggie, it sounds to me like a wonderful life.”
Maggie nods.
“I mean, what 13-year-old girl wouldn’t trade with you in a minute?”
Maggie nods again.
“The glamour. The parties. The music. I’d say you were a lucky kid.”
No.
This can’t be happening.
My stomach is sinking.
This is her therapy?
Telling Maggie that her life is perfect? Things aren’t as bad as they seem?
They are bad. That’s the point.
LOOK AT HER BODY! I want to scream out.
It’s dawning on me that Dr. Fuentes is just like everyone else. She sees a rich girl and assumes that nothing could possibly be the matter.
And I’m thinking Mami was wrong. Going to Dr. Fuentes is a big, big mistake.
I’m not done yet.
But I’m beat. More tomorrow, Nbook.
Thurs., 10/1
Morning
Way, way early
Back again.
Where was I?
Dr. Fuentes’s office.
Maggie has just been told things are great.
She doesn’t like this at all. Her smile vanishes.
She says it just like that. Gently. Not a question, not a ridicule. Just a word.
“That’s how I feel,” Maggie explains. “I…have this problem with eating. It’s like torture to me. I hate the sight of food. I hate the sight of myself. When I was 110, I wanted to be 105. When I was 105, I wanted to be 100. I feel like nothing comes easy to me—not weight, not school, not friends….”
“Maggie,” Dr. Fuentes says, “what does come easily to you? What do you really enjoy?”
Maggie thinks a moment. “Writing. My poems. My songs. I mean, I’m not that good at it, but I love it. I get lost in myself. Like I’m in a private little room where every-thing’s perfect.” She sighs. “Sometimes I just wish I could stay there.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I can’t be lazy all the time. I have work to do. You can’t be the best if you’re locked away from reality.”
“And you have to be the best.”
“I try.”
“And what happens if you’re not the best?”
Maggie’s looking annoyed. “I don’t think about that.”
“The world would end?”
“No. But things would…I don’t know, fall apart.”
“Your grades?”
“Yes.”
“Your lessons?”
“Yes.”
“Your band?”
“Yes.”
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“Your body too?”
Maggie opens her mouth to say yes. But nothing comes out.
I can tell the comment has hit home.
Her eyes have become red.
“You don’t get it,” Maggie says. “You don’t have my family. You don’t have the pressure of—”
“Of what? Of having to fix things? Of having to make it all better? Being the shining star? The one who makes everyone smile? ‘We Blumes may be falling apart, but Maggie’s acing her exams and playing a recital and singing in a band and winning awards and looking thin and beautiful.’ Is that it?”
Maggie’s shoulders heave a bit. She shudders.
Don’t cry, I’m thinking.
Maggie is a rock. She never lets her anger or sadness or frustration show. Seeing her like this is scary.
Then I realize something, Nbook. Now I’m being like everyone else. I’m expecting her to be perfect.
“You don’t like to cry, do you?” Dr. Fuentes asks softly.
Maggie shakes her head.
“You hate when every-thing feels out of control. Especially your emotions.”
Maggie nods.
Then, finally, she breaks down into sobs. Kind of pent up and squeaky at first, then louder until she’s practically gasping for air.
I walk over to her and put my arm around her shoulder. We rock back and forth. I’m pretty weepy myself.
I know it’s time to end the session, but Dr. Fuentes doesn’t mention it.
Finally Maggie says, in a tiny voice, “You’re right.”
“Maggie, some things are beyond our control,” Dr. Fuentes says softly. “You can’t solve everyone’s problems. Yours are hard enough.”
“I want to get better,” Maggie says.
Dr. Fuentes nods. “I believe you. You’re here. That means you want to change. Which is a good thing. Because anorexia can be very serious.”
Maggie blanches. “What can I do?”
“First of all, realize it may take awhile,” Dr. Fuentes replies. “What’s causing the problem—the tension, the family trouble—none of that will magically disappear.”
“Which means what? I won’t get better until it does?”
“No. You can get better. In our next session, we’ll begin mapping out a plan. To put Maggie first. Friday sound okay?”
“Sure,” Maggie shoots back.
“Meanwhile, try not to be so hard on yourself, Maggie. That’s step one. And remember, we’re born to eat. Our bodies want food, and they deserve it.”
“Okay,” Maggie murmurs.
The session has gone way overtime, and Dr. Fuentes leads us back to the waiting room. She shakes hands with both of us and says to Maggie, “Beautiful people attract beautiful friends.”
That, Nbook, is her good-bye.
Homeroom
Yesterday, as we leave the session with Dr. Fuentes, every-thing seems fine. Maggie’s happy. Her smile is back. I realize I’d practically forgotten what it looked like.
Ducky’s waiting for us outside and she flies into the car.
“So, how’d it go?” he asks.
“Fine,” Maggie says. “She’s a good therapist, Ducky. For future reference.”
She doesn’t go into detail. And Ducky doesn’t pry. I give him credit for that.
Well, we’re all in a good mood until we reach Maggie’s neighborhood. Somewhere around Pine Canyon Road, her smile disappears.
Ducky and I both notice it. We start telling jokes. Trying to lighten it up.
But when she gets out of the car and says good-bye, her face is all glum. She’s worried.
She’s home.
I can tell she’d rather be anywhere else in the world.
Later on, I call Dawn and te
ll her what happened. Dawn is amazed that I stayed for the session, but she’s glad I did. She tells me I’m a great friend.
I don’t see Maggie again until this morning at the lockers. She’s subdued. She mentions that she likes Dr. Fuentes but doesn’t seem to want to say much more than that.
I hope this works, Nbook.
I hope the atmosphere at her house doesn’t ruin every-thing.
Study hall
Brendan spots me with you in homeroom, Nbook.
The bell has already rung and I’m still writing.
He’s not snooping or anything, just waiting for me.
When I finish he asks, “Are you okay? You’re looking sad.”
“I’m fine.”
“And you didn’t say hi. You always say hi.” He smiles. “Even to me.”
“Just…busy,” I say. “With plans for the Homecoming Bash.”
Which isn’t totally true. (Yet. But it will be.)
We walk out of class together. He’s being so friendly to me. And when we start talking about Vanish, he’s totally enthusiastic. Asking all about our set list and saying nice things about the tape. I can tell he’s trying to cheer me up.
Unless it’s more than that.
Do you think he’s flirting with me, Nbook?
Should I care?
Nahh.
He’s a guy. He fits the qualifications for my No-Guys policy. Nothing he says will make a difference. One James is enough for a lifetime.
That’s not fair. Brendan does seem a lot nicer than James.
Although James seemed a lot nicer than James at first.
So you never know.
Oh. Later on, Cece asks me why I’m so hostile to Brendan.
(Can you believe this, Nbook? She was spying on us.)
I tell her I wasn’t hostile. I didn’t feel hostile. Maybe matter-of-fact, that’s all.
She says Brendan’s cute. And nice. And she’s positive he likes me.
I tell her I’m not in a boyfriend mode.
Hey, if she’s interested, I won’t stand in the way.
But she’s not.
At least I don’t think so.
Rehearsal
Oh, Nbook. I don’t know what’s going on.
I don’t believe in miracle cures. I’m a realistic person.
But shouldn’t Maggie be feeling a little better?
I mean, we have not gotten through one whole song without stopping for her.
Her throat’s dry.
The keyboard keys are sticky.
She’s forgotten the words. The cues.
She can’t hit the high notes.
The Homecoming Bash is in 10 days. We’re supposed to be getting tighter.
Maybe the garage is too crowded and noisy. Dawn’s here. Marina. Bruce’s cousins from Fresno. Patti’s parents.
Should I throw everyone out?
No. This is a rock band—they’re supposed to perform for noisy crowds.
Maybe it’s Justin. Is he making her nervous?
WHAT’S GOING ON?
Dawn is shooting me looks.
I’m going to talk to her. Don’t go away.
Sorry. Didn’t mean to be gone so long.
LOTS to report.
First. I meet Dawn at the trough, where the Chavezes are setting up for break. And eating. The band is in the middle of “Fallen Angel.”
Dawn’s about to say something, but the music suddenly stops.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Maggie calls out. She’s massaging her neck, looking pained. “My fault.”
Rico’s removing his guitar strap. He seems tired. “Let’s break, guys, okay?”
Everyone heads to the trough.
Except Maggie. She’s at the keyboard. Just sitting.
Dawn and I walk over to her.
Dawn tries to talk to her. I try to talk to her.
Nothing works. She’s a nervous wreck about the Bash. Which she is now calling her “professional debut.”
She’s magnifying this, Nbook. she’s digging herself into such a deep hole, I don’t know how she’ll get out.
Now Justin decides to get into the act. He’s walking toward us now, a half-eaten doughnut in his hand.
I figure, (former crush) + (junk food) = (just what Maggie doesn’t need).
But he’s being very sweet. Saying don’t worry, you sound great, you look great, you’re going to steal the show, yada yada.
Dawn and I jump on the pro-Maggie bandwagon. We’re all complimenting her. Persisting. Maggie’s nodding her head, listening hard.
At one point Justin gently touches her arm. “Hey, just let the music take control.”
She flinches a little. (What’s with these two, Nbook?)
Soon the band heads back. Rico plays the opening chords to “Hey, Down There.”
And Maggie misses her entrance.
Dawn and I are looking at each other. The Homecoming Bash is crashing before my eyes.
Then the song starts again.
Maggie’s stiff as a plank. She looks as if she’s taking a math exam. But something happens when she begins the lyric.
Maybe it’s because she wrote it. Maybe it’s the topic—a girl who can’t give herself comfort and love until she steps outside herself.
Whatever. As the emotion takes over, Maggie leans into the keyboard. Her eyes close but her fingers aren’t missing a note.
The chatting in the garage peters out. Then it stops.
Maggie’s voice is soaring. The words are ringing clear and urgent, yet somehow they sound like a whisper in deepest confidence.
I’m so swept up, I don’t want the song to end.
And when it does, the garage is dead silent.
Maggie’s hands are resting on the last chord, her eyes still closed.
When she opens them, she looks a little bewildered. As if she’s just awoken from a dream in a place she didn’t expect to be.
I think Justin is the first to start clapping.
I know I’m the first to cheer out loud.
But in a second, we’re all screaming and whistling and stomping our feet.
Rico plants a big wet one on Maggie’s cheek. She’s turning red.
“She did it!” Dawn yells.
I have to sit down. The tension has turned me into a sack of jangled nerves.
But I’m relieved.
For the first time all night, I’m thinking, She can do it.
You know what? The rest of the songs are just as good. The band even plays through the scheduled break (and they never miss a trip to the trough).
When I call the end of rehearsal, we give them a standing ovation.
“You finally got your mojo working!” Mr. Chavez shouts.
Must be some ’70s term. (NOTE TO ME: Find out what a mojo is.)
Everyone’s happy. Maggie’s happy.
I’m really happy. Mainly because of Maggie. But also because of the band.
I HATE to admit this, Nbook. But I haven’t heard them sound this good since James was kicked out. For the first time, I don’t miss his playing.
So I’m dancing around, praising everybody, telling them the Homecoming Bash is going to be fantastic.
And for some reason, I start thinking about Brendan.
I don’t know why.
Then I see Maggie. She’s talking to Justin and Dawn.
She’s beaming.
Thank God.
Wed. 10/7
Study hall
Hey. Remember me, Nbook?
Don’t be hurt. After last week, I needed a break from writing.
OK. Update. The latest headlines:
FLASH!
VANISH LOOKING GOOD
Friday’s rehearsal sizzles. Saturday is a little ragged. Sunday we rest, Monday we’re hot again.
Only 3 more days, Nbook!
Maggie’s singing much better. Still slipping in and out, though. Saturday’s rough for her. Some big fight between Mr. and Mrs. Blume the night before, I gather.
Anywa
y, right after “This Is War,” I discover
FLASH!
JUSTIN STILL CARES
About Maggie, that is. He leans over to me as Rico’s tuning his guitar and asks, “Is she okay?”
He’s got this really concerned look in his eyes.
Last week I suspected he liked her. Now I’m sure.
Hmmm. Maybe Maggie will get a second chance with him after all.
Anyway, I tell Justin that Maggie’s fine.
And in case you’re wondering…
FLASH!
FUENTES STILL MAJOR FORCE IN BLUME’S LIFE
Well, a force, anyway.
Before Friday’s session, though, Maggie almost freaks out. Papi has said I can’t go with her because Tio Luis is taking the family out to Café Con Leche. Mami says that Maggie should go by herself anyway.
Breaking the news to Maggie is not easy. But she ends up going. And surviving just fine.
And going back on Monday.
She says she’s not feeling much of an improvement yet, but she’s learning a lot about herself. Dr. Fuentes is helping her plan meals with the advice of a nutritionist.
(Oh. Guess what? I finally ask how she’s paying for this. Turns out her father is paying. Maggie just tells him she’s seeing a therapist and he doesn’t bat an eye. She does not, however, tell him why she’s going.)
I wish she were eating more by now. She’s not.
Which is frustrating.
You know, Nbook, sometimes I still don’t get it. I mean, eating seems so easy. Like walking. Or breathing.
Maggie can play the piano. Ace math exams. Sing.
But a simple thing like put-food-in-mouth?
I guess it’s just not so simple for some people. Maybe I’ll never fully understand it.
I just tell myself: If she needs to take it slow, she needs to take it slow.
At least she’s on the right track.
Oh. One last
flash
(Just a mini.)
BRENDAN IS NO LONGER A GUY
Guys are in the doghouse.
Brendan has moved out.
In my estimation, he has risen to another level.
He has become a Pal. Pals have certain qualities not found in mere Guys.
They don’t deceive. They don’t think only about themselves. They listen. They’re thoughtful and friendly and have senses of humor.
They’re more like girls.
Diary Two Page 22
