A Trick of the Light

by Lois Metzger

  • 8:15–8:45 a.m. Exercise class.

  It’s a joke. You sit on a hard floor and reach for your toes, then you stand up and bend. Mike looks around and sees that several girls have serious muscles and probably exercised for hours at home. But other girls seem to find even this amount of activity strenuous. One girl breathes so hard, Mike is afraid she’ll pass out.

  • 9:15–9:40 a.m. Personal time.

  Mike sits on the enclosed porch, which overlooks the grounds. A nurse is at a desk just outside.

  • 9:40–10:10 a.m. Snack.

  Another bottle of Ensure.

  Cheryl and Allison talk about missing their pets. Cheryl has a ten-year-old yellow Labrador who needs hip surgery, and Allison is deathly allergic to dogs but has a poodle because (it turns out) poodles have hair, not fur. Mike, bored, mentions his cat. Nina is smart. She doesn’t say a word.

  • 10:15–11:45 a.m. Group therapy.

  Mike sits in a circle with ten girls from his wing and a doctor named Richard. Richard has a ponytail. He introduces Mike to the group. Then the girls talk. And talk. And talk.

  One girl just got caught hiding high-fiber bars in her hair dryer where the batteries are supposed to be.

  Girl who hid high-fiber bars: “Looking in my personal belongings constitutes illegal search and seizure.”

  Richard tells her that because high-fiber bars are laxatives, she has lost the privilege of walking her tthe grounds tomorrow.

  Another girl says she used to eat everything in sight and then throw up so much at home that all the pipes in her bathroom had to be replaced.

  Girl who destroyed the pipes: “It cost a hell of a lot of money.” She grins.

  It makes no sense. Mike has such sublime control, and he’s stuck here with girls who are nothing like him, compulsive girls who have zero control.

  • 12:15–1:00 p.m. Lunch.

  More Ensure.

  Mike is starting to panic. He can’t handle all this stuff in his system. He feels it, taking up space.

  Amber was always such a big help. Maybe Nina can help you, too.

  After Cheryl and Allison get up, Mike turns to Nina.

  Mike (quietly): “Do you know a place I can go, to work out a little? Is there a room somewhere that’s not locked, where they can’t see you?”

  Nina: [nothing]

  Mike: “C’mon, tell me. Don’t keep it a secret.”

  Nina: [nothing]

  She would tell you, if she knew. She’s on your side.

  Nina looks down. Mike realizes he’s got his hand wrapped around her forearm. He feels like he’s holding a bone. He lets go.

  • 1:15–2:30 p.m. Individual therapy.

  It’s Mike’s first appointment with his one-on-one therapist. She looks Indian. She’s not unattractive, with long dark wavy hair, a silky scarf around her throat, big eyes like a cat’s, and jasmine perfume that fills the air. She sits on a couch, and Mike sits opposite her in an armchair.

  Therapist (with a slight accent): “Hello, Mike. My name is Darpana.” And she spells it for him: “D-a-r-p-a-n-a.”

  Mike: [nothing]

  Darpana: “Do you know how sick you were, to be brought here?”

  Remember Dr. Steiner? Tell her what she wants to hear. You didn’t know what you were doing, but you’re here now and you want to get well.

  Mike: “I didn’t know what I was doing. But I’m here now, and I want to get well.”

  Darpana looks at him. She might not be as stupid as Dr. Steiner.

  Darpana: “Why do you think you went from one hundred fifty-four pounds last spring to one hundred three in November?”

  Well, you needed to burn off a lot of fat. But you can’t tell her that.

  Mike: “Wow, that’s really bad.”

  Darpana: “You were starving yourself, Mike.”

  Mike: “I was wrong to do that.”

  Darpana: “I saw the results of your blood test.”

  Don’t listen anymore. She is not worth your attention.

  Mike is able to tune her out. I listen, so he doesn’t have to. Darpana says Mike’s electrolyte levels are abnormal; his serum potassium levels are too low; the hair on his shoulders and stomach is called lanugo, and it sprouted, apparently, because Mike has zero body fat, and getting heat to the heart, lungs, and kidneys takes priority over the rest of the body, and the body is doing whatever it can to keep warm. She has no idea, of course, how good Mike felt, how the cold doesn’t matter, how none of it matters when you’re fit and strong, a master of chaos, in total control.

  Darpana: “Are you listening to me, Mike?”

  Mike: “Definitely.”

  • 3:00–3:30 p.m. Snack time.

  More Ensure.

  • 3:45 p.m. Walk around the grounds.

  Everything feels unfamiliar, alien—how the air smells of trees, how the late-afternoon sun slants on rolling hills, leaving long shadows because winter is approaching. Back in Belle Heights, the only birds are pigeons and sparrows. Here the cardinals, blue jays, and crows are louder than any car alarm. Mike never thought he would miss the whoosh of planes and cars, or pigeons.

  You are not really here. This is not your real life.

  • 4:30–5:30 p.m. Activity period in the rec room.

  Mike sees a girl at the drawing table, carefully choosing the color of a marker like she’s deciding her future. Mike sits on the itchy couch. He wants to work out so badly. His body aches for it.

  I was so close, Mike thinks. I was almost there.

  • 6:00–7:00 p.m. Dinner.

  More Ensure. Cheryl and Allison talk about food. Cheryl says she used to eat Sara Lee frozen cheesecake, still frozen, one sliver at a time. Mike notices something about Nina. Sometimes she whispers to herself.

  • 7:30–9:30 p.m. TV in the rec room.

  They watch reruns, flipping among How I Met Your Mother and Mad Men and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  • 9:45 p.m. Snack.

  Mike drinks another bottle of Ensure.

  • 10:30–11:00 p.m. Back to his room for another supervised visit to the bathroom, and quiet time.

  Mike looks out the window. It’s dark but the moon is bright. The hills look ghostly. This is not my real life, he thinks. I am not really here.

  • 11:00 p.m. Lights out.

  At some point later there’s a powerful storm and it wakes Mike up. The rain beats against the window like it’s trying to break through and spray Mike with cold water and shattered glass. He curls up beneath the blankets.

  That therapist, Darpana, said I almost died, Mike thinks. She’s seen patients die with better stats than me.

  She was lying. She was trying to scare you. You’re not like those patients. You are full of life.

  Clearly the occasional stray remark is getting through to Mike. I’ll have to be more diligent. No room for error here.

  CHAPTER 26

  WEEK TWO.

  Mike goes through the routine. He is weighed backward. He drinks Ensure. Last Thursday—was it Thanksgiving? He barely noticed. No turkey for him, just more Ensure. He doesn’t get visitors because this place discourages it. That’s fine with Mike. The only people who would visit are the traitors who put him here.

  He’s moved to another table with Allison and Cheryl, while Nina stays at the old table. They have to eat what are called partials. The Ensure was bad enough, but this is real food and more than five bites of it. It’s very tough for him. He puts a piece of toast in his mouth. It’s like they’re asking him to put his hand in a flame.

  This is not my real life, Mike thinks while eating the toast. I am not really here.

  You are running. Feel the cool air at the back of your throat. Nothing bothers you. Strong body, strong mind, infinitely strong.

  Everything in its right place, Mike thinks.

  Mike attends lectures on nutrition: “What the Body Needs, What the Body Wants.”

  Mike knows he doesn’t have to pay attention. Amber knows way more than they do.


  Darpana insults Mike’s intelligence with her lies. She says that of the ten million people in this country who have eating disorders, 10 percent are boys and men.

  That’s one million guys, Mike thinks. Who is she kidding?

  Just tell her that’s an interesting statistic.

  Mike: “That’s an interesting statistic.”

  Darpana: “Huh. Not the way I would describe it.”

  Mike: “Right. It’s scary. Very scary.”

  Darpana tells Mike why he has insomnia.

  Darpana: “A Cro-Magnon man didn’t sleep much—he was always thinking about getting the next meal. His senses had to be at full alert, so he could smell food that was ripe, see a small animal trying to hide in the bushes.”

  Can you imagine rummaging through the Dumpsters in Belle Heights, scavenging for food like a caveman? Don’t listen to this nonsense.

  Mike stops listening. Darpana goes into a whole thing about food rituals, and cuts and bruises that don’t heal, and why eyes are sunken and lips are blue. Mike hears only the rhythm and cadence of her voice, the music t>

  Darpana: “I know about your speech problems as a kid. I know about your parents splitting up. I know you quit the baseball team. These things help me see you, Mike.”

  But she doesn’t see Mike. And she never will.

  Darpana says other things, too—obscene things. I won’t repeat them now. I wish I didn’t have to hear them in the first place and I certainly don’t want to again.

  One afternoon in group therapy, Richard asks everyone what they’d like to be when they grow up. It’s the usual boring stuff.

  Allison: “I want to invent a cure for allergies so I can be a vet.”

  Cheryl: “I’d like my own show on the Food Network.”

  Then, unexpectedly, something interesting happens. Nina speaks up for the first time.

  Nina: “I want to be a plant.” She has a soft voice, almost impossible to hear, a whisper of a voice. “I want to exist on nothing, taking nourishment from the air.”

  Richard: “We’re talking about professions, Nina.”

  Of course Richard feels a need to criticize Nina instead of praising her for joining in the discussion. But Mike finds what Nina said a little creepy.

  She’s talking about death, he thinks.

  No, she isn’t.

  Death is here, he thinks, like it’s another person in the circle.

  Does it never shut up, like the rest of them?

  Mike thinks about Amber, how she said something about standing in the sun without casting a shadow, and moving so lightly she wouldn’t disturb a spiderweb—

  Amber is more alive than anyone you know.

  Nina doesn’t show up in the cafeteria that night. She stops coming to group therapy. Mike hears that she was caught throwing up and now she’s in a private room, hooked up to an IV. This doesn’t affect me one way or the other, but Mike takes it badly.

  I have to work harder, then, to protect Mike from this place. Difficult and exhausting as it is, I do so willingly, of course. I don’t mean to brag, but where would Mike be without me?

  CHAPTER 27

  WEEK THREE.

  There’s a new girl in group.

  She’s enormous.

  Clearly she has no self-control, and Mike is appalled at her lack of discipline. A couple of girls roll their eyes at each ofet p:pag="justify"ther. One of them starts to laugh and has to cover her mouth. But it’s not funny. This girl is their worst nightmare. Some have said they’d rather die than be fat. That’s a little extreme, but I understand.

  Richard: “This is Miranda.”

  Pretty name, Mike thinks, but it’s the only pretty thing about her.

  Miranda: “I know what y’all are thinking. I’m the fattest an-orexic you’ve ever seen, right?”

  First off—“y’all”? Is she Southern? What’s she doing here? Secondly, her attempt at humor is completely lame.

  Miranda: “Okay, I’m not really anorexic. I’m a compulsive overeater. And I make jokes when I’m incredibly nervous. Which I am right now. As if you can’t tell.”

  If she thinks it’s charming to make light about being disgusting, she’s sadly mistaken.

  But Mike feels a little bad for her. It’s hard enough being here at all, but being a big girl like that—

  She’s revolting. You should have nothing to do with her.

  Richard seems to find Miranda fascinating. He gets her to talk about where she’s from (West Virginia) and about her family. I imagine they all look exactly like her, but to my surprise her mother was a beauty queen and her sister, Lydia, is one now.

  Miranda: “When my mother was eight, she was Baby Miss America and there was a whole parade just for her. Lydia came in third for Miss Teen West Virginia. Which wasn’t good enough, of course. When my sister loses, I know she and my mom blame me. Like the judges got a look at me and decided to punish Lydia.”

  She should just stay home, Mike thinks.

  Locked in the cellar.

  Cheryl: “So why do you go?”

  Miranda: “My mom thinks it will inspire me to lose weight, seeing all those skinny girls parading around in bikinis.” She grins. “I guess it hasn’t worked, has it?”

  Several girls can’t understand why Miranda doesn’t just throw up after eating.

  Miranda: “Because I love feeling full. It’s the only way I can sleep.”

  Girl who destroyed the pipes: “But throwing up is the best feeling in the world.”

  Miranda: “Maybe that’s why my cat is always doing it. I don’t know why I bother to put food in her dish. I should just put it directly on the floor.”

  A couple of girls smile at that. I don’t find Miranda anything but hideous.

  Mike doesn’t talk much in group, but he says something every once in a while so he doesn’t call attention to himself for his silence.

  Mike: “My cat throws up a lot, too.”

  Miranda: “I thought I was the only one with a bulimic pet.>

  As they leave group, Miranda looks at Mike and says, “You and I have something in common.”

  Mike: “Because of our cats?”

  Miranda: “We’re like the answer to the question ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’ I’m the fat girl among the skinny girls. And you’re a boy.”

  To my horror Mike almost gets into a conversation with her, about feeling like the odd one out. He’s lonely here—but of course he is! He doesn’t belong here. This isn’t his real life. He isn’t really here.

  This girl is a waste of your time.

  Mike: [nothing]

  Miranda: “See ya, I guess.”

  Mike takes off.

  Later in the week, the girl who used to sit at the drawing table during activity period goes home, and Mike sits there now. He doesn’t really draw, just sketches a little. I don’t like it, but it’s a small piece of time out of a long day.

  Oh, no—the fat girl is here. She pulls up a chair and joins him.

  Miranda: “Whatcha doin’?”

  You have nothing to say to her.

  Mike: [nothing]

  Miranda: “It looks like bones.”

  Mike looks down at his paper. He thinks it does look like bones, now that she said so, but to me it’s a bunch of meaningless shapes.

  Miranda: “Is it some kind of animal?”

  Mike: [nothing]

  Miranda: “I like portraits. I like going to a museum and looking at the faces on the walls and wondering what the people in those paintings are thinking about. They had to sit there for hours, maybe days or weeks, you know? All they did was think. And the artist captured those thoughts, if you look carefully enough to see.”

  She’s an idiot.

  Mike is thinking about landscapes, about Ray Harryhausen’s favorite artist, a French illustrator named Gustave Doré, who created dark, moody foregrounds and light-filled backgrounds. There’s one image of a fallen tree with steps leading somewhere. Mike has always wanted to set foot on
those steps, see where they go.

  Miranda (pointing to his drawing): “Look at that. Your animal’s got two heads. Cool.”

  Mike looks. Now he recognizes it. It’s the two-headed Cyclops he drew all those years ago, when he first met Tamio.

  Miranda: “Are two heads better than one?”

  This is so boring.

  Mike stands. He crumples up the drawing and tosses it away. He walks over to the itchy couch and sits there.

  Good for you.

  But Mike’s thinking that maybe it was kind of rude to get up and leave—

  Of course not.

  —and he’s sorry he threw away the drawing.

  Don’t be. It belongs in the garbage.

  CHAPTER 28

  WEEK FOUR.

  Mike sits at a new table now, with Allison (Cheryl is still at partials) and a girl named Sandy who is instantly forgettable. He eats veggie burgers and tuna fish with mayonnaise. They’re stuffing him like a piñata. He hates it, but he knows he’ll take better care of himself at home and get his body back. For three weeks Mike has been putting up with a lot, and now the end is in sight.

  Darpana: “You’ve got some wonderful qualities, Mike. Qualities to be proud of. You’re smart and creative. A hard worker, a straight-A student.”

  Why is she complimenting you? She’s up to something.

  Mike: “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

  Darpana: “Everything that’s good about you—anorexia loves it. Anorexia takes your intelligence and creativity and uses it to lie, repeatedly and convincingly, about why you don’t eat, why you wear long underwear in the middle of summer. Anorexia uses that work ethic to force you to exercise even when you’re famished and exhausted.”

  You can run over hunger, remember? And you felt great doing it.

  I was so close, Mike thinks. I was almost there.

  Darpana: “Anorexia takes a terrific person and turns him into a lying, moody, deceitful, self-centered manipulator.”

  In other words, an asshole.

  Thanks a lot! Mike thinks.

  Mike: “Yes, I wasn’t myself.”

  Darpana takes out a blank piece of paper and a pencil. She draws a circle.