After we’d gone around the circle introducing ourselves and saying a word or two about how we were doing—a lot of “fines,” and a “nervous”—Marcia said, “Today we are going to do an exercise concerning food. Here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to hand out a piece of paper with a list of different foods on it. What I’d like you all to do is to write down the first thing that comes to mind when you see each one. Then, afterward, we will share. Does anybody have questions?”
We didn’t. Maria passed around the handouts and a bunch of clipboards. When Mom started to read hers, her brow furrowed. I almost whispered, Wrinkles! but managed to hold my tongue.
“There’s no need to rush. Take your time,” Marcia said. But of course the parents dug in right away. I snuck a peek at Mom, who held her pen a millimeter from the page as if she wanted to write but couldn’t.
I looked down at the list. No wonder Mom was having trouble. There was almost nothing on there she’d have been willing to eat. Here were the foods:
Ritz Crackers
Carrots
Cucumber
Strawberry ice cream
Chips Ahoy! cookies
Cheese pizza
Diet Coke
Spaghetti
I had a choice. I could be honest and write down NEVER next to everything except Diet Coke and cucumber. But as mad as I was at Mom and Dad for sending me here, I didn’t want to embarrass them. On the other hand, if I lied and answered like a normal person, the other girls would know I wasn’t telling the truth, that I was weaker than they were. I hated that I cared. I looked around to see if any of the other girls were as perplexed as I was, but they were all busy writing.
I went with the truth. Call it peer pressure, or maybe survival. I had to live with these girls. I clicked the pen open and got to work.
Here’s how I filled out my form:
Ritz Crackers—16 calories and 1 gram of fat per cracker. Nasty, fake butter taste and TOTALLY terrible for you. Processed grossness!!!
Carrots—SO MUCH SUGAR!!!! More calories than you think. I will eat a few sometimes, but you have to watch out. They add up.
Cucumber—Almost all water. Eat away!
Strawberry ice cream—Frozen fat. Scares me. Makes me feel out of control.
Chips Ahoy! cookies—Stress me out. SO FATTENING!
Cheese pizza—Disgusting fatty carby greasy fat thighs.
Diet Coke—A LIFE SAVER!!!!!!!!!! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Spaghetti—Sickening. Gross. Carbs. Never.
I put my pen down. I’d lied. The truth was, I liked pizza. Especially with spinach and sausage. And Ritz Crackers? I loved those, too. Not that I’d touch one now, but I used to beg Mom to buy them at the store the way other kids begged for Count Chocula. She always made me get the organic, boring wheat ones instead. And Chips Ahoy!? Katrina and I used to microwave them for a few seconds and, let me tell you, they were delicious. Soft, with melty chocolate chips. Yum.
But I didn’t eat that way anymore. I doubted I ever would again, even if I got better. My body would probably self-combust. Or I’d stuff myself to death.
I looked over at Beth, who was sitting next to us. Her blond parents had worry lines etched deep into their faces. I’d heard there was a good chance Beth would be getting another NG tube soon. She wasn’t eating enough at meals and was practically living on Ensure. She was also orthostatic, which meant that her blood pressure dropped whenever she stood up, so for the last two days she’d had a Gatorade in her hand all the time. She was so quiet and shy, but she seemed driven by this silent strength that kept her from eating, even when she wanted to. A part of me would have killed for her willpower. At an activity the other day, Marcia had asked us to write a list of things we liked about ourselves. Beth left hers blank. Now, on her form, next to every single one of the foods, with the exceptions of cucumbers and carrots, about which she’d written, OKAY IF PLAIN, she’d written one word—NO.
A few seats over, Jean wrote slowly. Sandwiched between her parents, she looked just as uncomfortable as I was. Her mom kept one hand on her arm, as if she was scared that if she let go Jean might fly away.
I looked over my form and added an extra Gross! next to spaghetti.
When everybody had finished, Marcia said, looking around with an encouraging smile on her face, “Would anyone like to start us off?”
None of the girls would even look at her.
And then good old Dad raised his hand. “I’d be happy to,” he said, clearing his throat. “Okay, so forgive me if my answers are off. I’ve never done something like this before. So, when I thought of Ritz Crackers I thought of Cheez Whiz.”
Most people in the room laughed a little. I smiled. Dad was a little obsessed with Cheez Whiz. Much to Mom’s horror, he ate it on Ritz Crackers and made nachos with it all the time. He kept a jar of it on a special shelf in the kitchen. Mom made him keep all of his food there, separate from hers, as if his snacks might pollute her lifetime supply of brown rice and the probiotics she took every day for what she called her “digestive health.”
When I was little, I loved Dad’s shelf. He kept tomato sauce and mac ’n’ cheese on there for the nights Mom wasn’t home and he had to cook, plus his other favorite things too: chunky peanut butter, which he loved eating with Wheat Thins for lunch, dill pickles, and his junk food—Double Stuf Oreos, Cheez Whiz (of course), tortilla chips, jars of salsa, canned baked beans, and yogurt-covered raisins, which he argued were healthy because they were raisins. And he always, always kept Twizzlers, my favorite candy, right in the front, never saying a word when a few would go missing every couple of days.
Now Dad was running through his list pretty quick, and people were smiling. “So, for carrots I thought, hmm, tasty, and that I could use a good carrot or two right now. Um, for cucumber, I said no thank you—I’ve never liked them. Strawberry ice cream is my favorite flavor, preferably served in a sugar cone with chocolate jimmies. Chips Ahoy! cookies: I like them but think Pepperidge Farm is better. Ah, well, for cheese pizza I thought, with sausage? Yes, please! And, for Diet Coke, I thought of Elizabeth, which made me think of Twizzlers, because she used to use them as a straw when she drank Coke.” Here he paused and looked right at me and smiled warmly. I saw a couple of the other parents and Jean smile too.
Dad was the best. I’d forgotten he’d kept Coke—I’d liked regular Coke back then—on the shelf. Each year on my birthday, I had a slumber party with Katrina, Shay, and Priya. Dad always put a box of brownie mix in his cabinet just so we could “sneak” it after he and Mom went to bed. We’d tiptoe into the kitchen, stir it up, and bring it back down to the basement playroom, where we’d eat the entire bowl of batter, giggling the whole time.
I wondered if the shelf was still filled with goodies, if there was a brownie mix in there from when I turned sixteen. I hadn’t gone near it in over a year.
Dad was almost done now. “Okay, last but not least, I wrote that spaghetti also made me think of Elizabeth because it’s her favorite meal.”
I flushed again and fought the urge to turn to the other girls and say, WAS my favorite meal. I don’t eat that anymore, I swear.
The counselor smiled. “That’s great, Brian. Thank you so much for sharing.”
Jean’s dad thought of carrot cake, his favorite dessert, when he thought about carrots. Cucumbers made Jean’s mom think of the spa. Willa’s mom didn’t care for Ritz Crackers, but she loved strawberry ice cream. Beth’s dad said spaghetti made him think of Swedish meatballs, which he loved. Every parent found something they liked besides the vegetables. And then it was Mom’s turn.
She cleared her throat and lifted her chin like a ballerina. “Okay,” she said, tucking a nonexistent hair behind her ear, something she only did when she was nervous. “So … I don’t know if I did this right … but … here goes. Ritz Crackers make me think of chemicals and whatnot. Carrots are great. Cucumbers are refreshing. Strawberry ice cream … well, I hope it’s okay, but I th
ought of a date—July Fourth.” She paused and looked around, laughing nervously. We spent every July Fourth in Maine. The town we stayed in put on this totally old-fashioned parade, and every year we bought ice cream cones while we watched. This past summer I’d gotten mad when Dad ordered one for me. I’d refused to touch it. He’d begged me to take a taste but I hadn’t given in, letting it melt down my hand until he angrily gave me permission to toss it. Mom didn’t even order one. When Dad made her taste his, she acted like he fed her an ant.
“Okay, so, um, Chips Ahoy! cookies—funny how they always use that exclamation mark. Well, I wrote that they are delicious, but not for me. I avoid gluten for health reasons.”
She did? That was new. And a total farce. I knew Mom didn’t have celiac disease. She wasn’t even gluten intolerant. She was just anti-calorie and obsessed with trends, and this was the latest one. She’d gone fat-free once. And then she’d avoided sugar. Once, she’d read this book on eating a special diet based on your blood type and tried that. More recently, she’d juiced, fasted, and drunk nothing but lemon water mixed with maple syrup and cayenne pepper for a week.
Mom continued. “Cheese pizza: grease and, again, gluten. Not to mention the dairy. I try hard to limit my dairy. There are all these studies that question whether or not it’s really good for you. Really, it’s no better than junk food. Am I right?”
I’d forgotten about her dairy hang-up.
She laughed a little then, but it was high-pitched and fast. I wanted her to stop. We got the idea.
“Diet Coke: necessary. Very, very necessary.” I’d written practically the same thing. My eyes started to sting a little and I worried that I might start to cry. Mom looked around as if she expected the other parents to agree, but no one did.
“For spaghetti I thought of spaghetti squash, which I eat instead of pasta since it is lower in calories and has few carbs and, of course, no gluten. Surprisingly good, I think.” She put her paper down and flushed. “That’s it.”
She’d basically said that everything except carrots and cucumbers was gross. She could have been a resident. “Thank you, Karen,” Marcia said.
It was one thing for a teenager to starve herself. It was another thing entirely for a mom to do the same thing.
“So, girls, how did it make you feel to hear your parents’ reactions to food?” Marcia asked.
Allie spoke first. “Fine. I mean, they’re parents. They’re supposed to like that sort of stuff.”
What about my mom? I almost asked, but didn’t. I couldn’t get the words out. People already felt sorry for me. I could tell.
No one would ever have guessed my mom was anything besides a naturally thin woman who’d won the genetic lottery unless they ate with her. I remembered when we were at a doctor’s appointment last June, the first time Dr. Brach told her that my weight was starting to get too low. Her response? “Okay, but how can we ensure that if she gains, she doesn’t gain too much?”
When the family therapy session ended and we filed out of the room to say goodbye to our parents, Mom pulled me aside. “You okay?”
I slipped out of her grasp. “What? Yes. Why?”
“I don’t know, honey. You just don’t look good. I’m worried.”
Took you long enough, I almost said, but I bit my tongue just in time. I didn’t want a fight. Not now, anyway. “I’m fine.”
She watched me for a long second. “I’m going to catch up to your dad.”
“Okay.” Right then, there was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted her to say. But I’d say the wrong thing. She would, too. Instead, I watched her expertly dodge the other participants. Her waist was narrow in her dress. I hated that I noticed.
18
Two days later, on Monday afternoon, Nurse Jill shepherded Lexi and me out to a white van with the Wallingfield logo on the door in big blue letters. So much for being discreet. Might as well have suction-cupped a yellow diamond-shaped sign to the back window that read, FREAKS ON BOARD.
Ray was behind the wheel. The bone scan clinic was half an hour away, and on the highway we passed two shopping malls, both bustling with people. From the van windows, the action in the parking lots—the bright-colored cars circling for spots, the people in their rainbow of winter coats walking to and from Target and Best Buy and Nordstrom Rack with shopping bags in hand—looked like a movie set. It felt like forever since I’d done something as normal as go to Target.
After we parked, Ray escorted us into the drab office building and up to the fourth-floor waiting room. Three women, all about my grandma’s age, sat in chairs. One frowned when she saw us. The second looked confused. The third’s back was so hunched she could only look at her shoes. I kept my eyes on the floor. A nurse called Lexi and me in at the same time. “Good luck, guys,” said Ray. “I’ll be right here.”
Lexi made a face at him. “Good luck? I’ve already ruined my heart. I’m sure I’ve completely destroyed my bones, too.”
Her pessimism infected me. I pictured myself bent over like that old lady, leaning on a metal walker, staring at brown vinyl therapeutic shoes. My breath came in bursts.
But then I got inside and the bone density test was fast and painless. I didn’t even have to take off my clothes. I lay on a big, padded platform as an X-ray machine whirred above me. The whole thing was over in less than fifteen minutes. Not so bad.
On our way back, the mood in the van was different. Relaxed, or maybe relieved. Ray turned on the radio and started singing along under his breath. At first, we refused to join in, but Ray is an infectious guy. He smiles, you smile. So, when “Thriller” came on and Ray belted it out, we couldn’t help but sing along. Ray rolled down the front windows and drove us beside the bright blue Atlantic. The sun glinted off the water and the cool air rushed by our cheeks and the van flew over the windy roads and for a second I forgot where we were headed.
“When I was in sixth grade,” Lexi shouted over the music, “I dressed up like Michael Jackson and sang this at our school talent show.”
“Seriously?” I said, snorting with laughter.
“Yes! I wore a red leather jacket like the one he used to have and a white glove and everything.”
Ray chuckled. “It’s hard for me to imagine you moonwalking, Lexi.”
She made a face. “Don’t try too hard. It wasn’t exactly my finest moment. But just so you know, the crowd loved me.”
We cruised into downtown Grantham, the town before Esterfall. “Ooh, look! Starbucks!” Lexi cried. “Can we stop? Please, Ray? Please? I brought money.” She turned to me. “I’ll treat you.”
Ray went serious. “Lexi, I’m sorry, but they’re expecting us back.”
“Please?” she begged. “We’ll be fast. I’d die for a real coffee, not that instant stuff we get.” We were allowed one packet of instant decaf a day. “I’ll even get it with milk—no, cream!—if that makes you happy. You know, extra calories?”
Ray glanced at his watch. “All right, don’t tell,” he said, putting on his blinker. “You’ve got five minutes.”
We took longer. It felt so good to be out, and free, and doing something normal people did. If I ignored Ray idling outside, I could almost trick myself into thinking I was just here with a friend. Just like I could almost trick myself into thinking that maybe everything wasn’t that bad after all. That maybe this moment was an omen. That our bone density tests would come out fine.
I felt the lightest touch on my arm.
I looked over, startled. A little girl, probably ten. “You’re from Wallingfield,” she said.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
She pointed out the window, at the van. Duh.
Her arms were long and pale. Her face was all angles. Her eyes were older than the rest of her. “I wish I looked like you,” she said.
When I looked at her, I saw myself.
Her mom appeared out of nowhere. “Come on, Lauren.” She pulled her away. Then, when she thought she was out of earshot, I heard
her mom say in a worried voice, “What did that girl say to you?”
Back in the van, with Lexi up front with Ray, I sat quietly. The coffee was bitter. I didn’t want it anymore. “A fast-moving storm will drench the North Shore this afternoon,” the man on the radio said, “making for a treacherous commute.” Already, the sky was beginning to darken.
As we drove into downtown Esterfall, I worried I’d see someone I knew. I scrunched down just in case.
A few plops of rain hit the windshield. Ray turned the music down and rolled up his window.
Then, abruptly, he shouted, “What are you doing, Lexi?”
Lexi was standing, her entire upper body hanging out the front passenger window. “Can you feel the air, Ray?” she yelled, throwing her arms out. “It feels like freedom!” She turned her face to the rain, which was steady now. She didn’t smile.
Our bone density tests were going to be bad. This was the real omen. The rain. That little girl.
I wish I looked like you.
People on the sidewalk stared.
Ray cursed and slammed on the brakes. Lexi fell back into the front seat, whacking her head on the doorframe. “Jesus, Ray!” she said, rubbing her head. “You could have killed me!”
“You could have killed yourself. Never stick your head out a car window. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Oh, come on, Ray.” She climbed in back with me. “He needs to learn how to have fun.”
Ray’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
“Shh!” I whispered, glaring.
Ray muttered something under his breath and eased the van back onto the street. I’d never seen him mad before.
When we got near Wallingfield, the hedges got higher and the road narrowed and it felt like the world was closing in.
The van pulled into the driveway. Thanks to the clouds, we’d lost the benefit of a late-afternoon sun. It would be night soon, earlier than usual. The rain came down harder.
I wish I looked like you.
No, I wished I’d said. You don’t.
What I Lost Page 8
