Men, Women & Children: A Novel

by Chad Kultgen

  Brooke noticed that she was snacking on a Hostess Cupcake and said, “You off your diet?” After spending more time than usual in the past few days on the various websites that supported an anorexic lifestyle, Allison had been swayed, by various posts she found more than convincing, to experiment with bulimia. She said, “I figured one wouldn’t hurt. What are you guys up to?”

  Danny said, “Just trying to focus for the game tonight.”

  Brooke said, “In my opinion, you should relax a little. The game should be no problem, babe. Irving is a terrible team, right?”

  Danny said, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to be focused and play hard.” Danny had not told anyone about Coach Quinn’s decision to start Josh Kramer in his place. He hoped that Coach Quinn would change his mind, but Danny hadn’t noticed any indication that he had in any of the practices that week. Danny took a bite of the chicken-fried steak that had been served for lunch and said, “God, this is gross.”

  Allison said, “I’ll eat it if you don’t want it.”

  Danny said, “All yours,” and pushed his tray to her, adding, “I’m going to hit the vending machines or something.” Danny left the table, leaving Brooke to watch as Allison ate Danny’s chicken-fried steak. Brooke said, “I don’t want to tell you what to do or anything, but in my opinion, I just know you worked really hard to, like, stop being chubby. Maybe you should take it easy or something.” Allison said, “I know. One day off the diet won’t hurt, though.”

  It had been so long since Allison had allowed herself to eat anything other than celery, apples, and an occasional can of tuna that her taste buds experienced a slight amount of pain as the salt in the gravy passed over her tongue. The amount of food in the three or four bites Allison swallowed was more than she was used to allowing herself to eat at lunch. It filled her, but she continued to eat, knowing that it wouldn’t stay in her stomach long enough to be digested. After half of the chicken-fried steak, Allison moved on to the mashed potatoes and then on to the slice of frozen cheesecake that was served with the meal as desert.

  She kept up her conversation with Brooke, but wasn’t paying enough attention to what she was saying to remember anything they had talked about; by the time the tone sounded signaling the end of the lunch period, she was too focused on tasting everything she put into her mouth.

  On the way to her next class, Allison stopped in the girls’ bathroom, her stomach in pain from being overfull. She entered the nearest available stall happy that no one else was in the bathroom. Then, as she was putting down a paper toilet-seat cover, she heard the door open and Sherri Johnston walked in talking loudly on her cell phone. Allison became paranoid that she might not have enough time to vomit and still make it to geometry class without being tardy. If she had to leave the bathroom without forcing herself to vomit, all of the food she ate would be digested. It would become a part of her. This disgusted Allison.

  She heard Sherri Johnston say, “No, I’m in the bathroom, retard. Fine, meet you in front of Mrs. Ground’s room in like five seconds.” Then Sherri Johnston left the bathroom, leaving Allison alone once again.

  She had never forced herself to vomit, and although she was nervous, she also found that she was excited to some degree. She was adding a new technique to her regimen for remaining thin. Eating was something she enjoyed far more than starving herself. Even if she found the forced vomiting too disgusting, she knew she would implement the technique from time to time, if for no other reason than to allow herself the pleasure of eating with some regularity. But if she found the vomiting to be tolerable, or perhaps even enjoyable, then it might replace disallowing food altogether.

  She read a dozen or so blogs on various websites that gave instructions on the best methods to induce vomiting, and although several methods were suggested that involved drinking things like ipecac, salt water, mustard-seed water, or hydrogen peroxide, Allison assumed that gagging herself with three fingers was the most practical for speed and convenience while at school. It also seemed a waste of effort to Allison to purchase or prepare a drink that would induce vomiting if this was something that she might do only once in her life. If she responded favorably to it, then she would consider alternative methods.

  She put a finger into the back of her throat as far as she could, just to test what putting fingers in the back of her throat and holding them there would be like. Her gag reflex initiated immediately, causing her to salivate and choke. She shook her head and her eyes started to water as she spit into the toilet bowl. Her resolve weakened as second thoughts overpowered her original intent. She forced herself to think of the food in her stomach, the gravy turning to fat deposits on her legs, the chicken-fried steak being broken down into green soupy liquid by her stomach acid, the cheesecake congealing into cellulite on her buttocks. She imagined that she could feel these processes occurring in her body as she thought about them. This brought about a mild wave of nausea and helped to nullify any doubt she might have had about going through with it.

  She wiped her eyes, bunched her middle three fingers together, took a deep breath, and forced them to the back of her throat. She held the fingers at the back of her throat, despite a gag reflex that seemed to come with more strength this time. After heaving twice with no results, she forced her fingers to the back of her throat a third time, further back than she had the prior attempt, and was met with a stream of vomit that contained all of the undigested food she had eaten for lunch. She had vomited before with different illnesses, but never in this manner. It felt good, clean, made her body feel immediately lighter. It was similar to the feeling she experienced in the morning after a night of eating nothing.

  All of the pain she felt from overeating was relieved immediately. It was a strange feeling. Where Allison had become used to the constant and slowly increasing physical pain that accompanied purposeful starvation, this was almost the direct opposite—a quick buildup of pain that was relieved just as quickly. And there was no hunger. She felt just as satisfied as she had after the meal.

  Much of the vomit coated her hand, as she’d been unable to remove it from her mouth in time. She would get better at this, she thought, as she stared down into the toilet bowl, amazed by the fact that its contents had been in her body only moments before. She flushed and went to the sink, washing her hands, wiping her eyes, and swishing some water in her mouth. She chewed a piece of gum on her way to geometry. On every blog she read, this was an almost mandatory rule, necessary to mask the scent of vomit.

  She took her seat with a few minutes to spare and wondered if anyone could tell what she had just done. She smiled to herself and took out her cell phone in the minutes that were left before class began. She logged in to her Facebook account and, even though he still hadn’t accepted her friend request, she sent Brandon Lender a message that read, “Hey, just wanted to c wut u were up 2 =).”

  Don Truby, Jim Vance, and Kent Mooney stood next to one another in the bleachers at Goodrich Junior High School, just as they had at the season opener. They watched the opposing team, the Irving Aardvarks, leave their bus and jog to the visiting team’s sideline. One Aardvark stood out to them—Kevin Banks. Kevin had grown six inches and gained almost twenty pounds of muscle since his seventh-grade football season, making him easily the biggest football player on the field. Jim said, “Look at the size of that kid.”

  Don said, “Did he play for them last year?”

  Kent said, “I don’t know. If he did, he grew.”

  Don said, “Fuck, that is a big fucking kid,” then took a drink from his flask and said, “Have you guys ever heard of the Erotic Review?”

  Jim said, “No.”

  Kent said, “Jesus, Don, we know you’re hard up and everything, but all you talk about is sex and porno websites. Doesn’t it ever get old to you?”

  Don said, “Hmm. Not really. Have I been any different since high school?”

  Kent said, “I guess not. But I just don’t get why we have to talk about your sex
life every time we get together.”

  Don said, “I don’t want to talk about my fucking sex life, Kent, I want to tell you about this fucking website. Is that okay with you?”

  Kent said, “Doesn’t really matter if it is, does it?”

  Don said, “No. So, the Erotic Review is this fucking website, right, where you can go and basically read reviews of whores, and then it has the whores’ contact info and everything. It’s like an online whorehouse or something.”

  Jim said, “I’m surprised you didn’t invent this site.”

  Don said, “I know. I just kind of stumbled across it and it blew my fucking mind. You guys should check it out.”

  Jim said, “Why would I need to check out a website that has prostitutes on it?”

  Don said, “Right, I forgot, you and your wife have sex all the time. Well, Kent, you should check it out. You’ve probably been hard up for a while, right?”

  Kent said, “I have been, but I don’t think I’ll be needing your whore website. Because I actually have a date tomorrow night.”

  Don said, “What? That’s great. Congrats, man. With who?”

  Kent pointed down to the field, where Dawn Clint was taking photos of her daughter and the other cheerleaders holding the banner that the Goodrich Junior High School Olympians were preparing to run through, signifying their arrival to the field. He said, “Dawn Clint.”

  Don said, “Holy fuck. Her daughter came over to my house this week, doing some project on 9/11 with my son. She has some fucking huge tits already. How’d you swing that, you lucky fucker?”

  Kent said, “I went to this Parents Against The Internet thing and she was there. We kind of hit it off, and I just asked her out.”

  Jim said, “How was that thing? I’ve gotten a few fliers about it. Seems kind of stupid.”

  Kent said, “Yeah, the woman who runs it is a little too into it, if you know what I mean.”

  Jim said, “Yeah.”

  Don said, “Fuck, man, Dawn Clint is a serious piece of ass. I mean, for being a certain age and everything. Congrats, man. You better hit that shit.”

  Kent said, “I’ll do my best,” as the Olympians ran through their banner and onto the field.

  Running toward the Olympian sideline, Chris Truby watched Hannah Clint. As she bent over, he focused on trying to see her vagina. He couldn’t. He wondered if he could convince her to engage in some kind of sexual act while she was wearing her Olympiannes outfit. He wondered if this would allow him to maintain an erection and came to the conclusion that it might, but only if she also allowed him to penetrate her anus while he spit on her face, which was a specific type of pornography he had recently been watching while he masturbated. Something beyond the obvious demeaning nature of the act of spitting on someone was appealing to Chris, something in the saliva itself that was sexual to him in a way that not much else was.

  Although Coach Quinn was not starting Danny, he still allowed him to take center field for the coin flip, which the Olympians won, electing to receive. After a twenty-three-yard kickoff return, the Olympians’ offense took the field led by Josh Kramer. In the stands, Jim Vance was beyond confused. He said, “What in the hell is going on? Who is that kid? Is that Josh Kramer? Where’s Danny?”

  Don said, “He’s over there. Sidelines.”

  Jim said, “What the hell is going on?”

  Kent said, “Maybe it’s some kind of trick strategy or something.”

  Don said, “Or maybe they just want to see what that big son of a bitch is going to do to our quarterback before they put Danny in.”

  Josh Kramer had been instructed by Coach Quinn to run a seven-three-nine rush, a running play to the right side, as the first play of the game. He called the play in the huddle and made his way to the line of scrimmage. The play required him only to take the snap, then turn around and hand the ball to Tanner Hodge, who would run it through a hole that was to be made on the right side of the line. Overcome with nervousness at the thought of making any kind of error in his first play as a starting quarterback, Josh Kramer turned left instead of right after the snap to find that Tanner Hodge was not there. He was, instead, running in the other direction, the proper direction of the play. Having no real choice, Josh gave in to instinct, tucked the ball, and tried to run it himself, making the most out of a broken play. After three steps he was met by the defensive end, Kevin Banks, who tackled him in an excessively violent manner.

  Don said, “Jesus Christ. Is this pro wrestling? He fucking body-slammed that kid.” The crowd gathered in the Goodrich Junior High School bleachers collectively gasped as Josh Kramer lay motionless on the ground. Mr. Kemp and Coach Quinn ran onto the field to find Josh still conscious but having trouble breathing. Mr. Kemp said, “Can you talk?”

  Josh let out what seemed to be a constant exhale and shook his head. Mr. Kemp said, “I think you just got the wind knocked out of you. Give it a few seconds, you’ll be fine.” Josh shook his head again and pointed to his ribs on the left side. Mr. Kemp applied pressure to the area he indicated, and Josh Kramer screamed in pain. Mr. Kemp said, “Okay, okay. Lay still, try to breath. You might have a fractured rib. I’ll get the cart. Sit tight.”

  Mr. Kemp ran to the field house, got the golf cart, and drove Josh Kramer off the field for further examination as the crowd cheered his exit. Coach Quinn, having no choice, looked to Danny Vance and said, “You’re in. Five-two-six power left. Don’t run anything else.” As the game resumed, Danny entered the huddle and called the five-two-six power left just as Coach Quinn had demanded. It was clear to Danny that any running play, but specifically any running play to the right, would be nullified by Kevin Banks. He knew that their only hope to remain competitive in this game was to implement a strong passing game, but he had disobeyed Coach Quinn once before and didn’t want to be benched for game three or maybe even for the rest of this game. Danny resolved to follow every instruction Coach Quinn gave and to run every play he called, win or lose. He hoped he wouldn’t suffer the same fate as Josh Kramer at the hands of Kevin Banks.

  As Danny took his place behind the center, Brooke looked on from the sidelines. She was worried for Danny and wasn’t sure how she would react if he should sustain an injury.

  Danny ran the five-two-six power left as instructed, resulting in a loss of three yards as Kevin Banks effortlessly pushed two Olympian linemen aside and met and tackled Tanner Hodge in the backfield just as he was catching the flip from Danny. On third down, Coach Quinn called another running play that resulted in another loss of yardage bringing Jeremy Kelms out to punt. On the sideline, Chris Truby approached Danny and said, “If we don’t pass, we’re not going to score. That big fucker is going to pound us all night.” Danny said, “I know, but I’m doing what Coach Quinn wants. I got lucky that Josh got hurt. I never told my dad about being benched; now maybe I won’t have to. I’m not about to go through that again.”

  Chris said, “Then this fucking game’s over, man.”

  For the remainder of the first half, Danny followed all of Coach Quinn’s instructions and ran every play he called. This included only one pass play, which resulted in the Olympians’ largest gain of the game, a twenty-two-yard reception by Chris Truby that also resulted in their only first down of the half. Danny felt lucky that the Aardvarks seemed to have almost no offensive capabilities. Kevin Banks was their whole team. When the Olympians went into their field house at halftime, they trailed the Irving Aardvarks by seven points.

  Tim Mooney and Brandy Beltmeyer had been friendly at school in the days after the first lunch they spent together. They shared another lunch, and if they happened to see one another between classes they would talk. While Tim’s father was at the football game, Tim was at home, playing World of Warcraft and watching for Brandy’s alternate personality, Freyja, to log on to Myspace. As soon as she was online, Tim decided to take matters into his own hands and initiate an instant-message conversation.

  She had some pause about communicating with T
im through her Freyja account, but after spending some time with him at school, and becoming romantically interested in him again, she found she couldn’t help herself.

  The conversation began innocuously with Tim asking her why she wasn’t at the football game. Having already discussed their mutual disdain for school sports, Brandy took this a joke, and responded by telling Tim that she was at the football game, and that she never missed one. She went on to tell him that she just loved hanging out with all of the jocks and cheerleaders. With the ice broken, Tim couldn’t help himself. He wrote, “So why didn’t you ever respond to my e-mail?”

  Brandy responded with, “No one knows about this account. I wasn’t sure I should be talking to someone I actually know on it.”

  Tim wrote, “But now you’re okay with it?”

  Brandy wrote, “Yeah.”

  Tim wrote, “I’ve read your blogs. Some pretty crazy stuff.”

  Brandy wrote, “Oh shit, none of that is real. Don’t think I’m some sex fiend or something.”

  Tim wrote, “I figured. Why write it at all, though?”

  Brandy wrote, “I kind of want to be a writer like when I grow up.”

  Tim wrote, “Cool. But you want to write porn?”

  Brandy wrote, “I don’t know. Romance novels or something. Maybe porn. What’s wrong with porn?”

  Tim wrote, “Nothing.”

  Brandy wrote, “You have to have seen porn before, right?”

  Tim wrote, “Yeah, but not that much.”

  Brandy wrote, “I’m not like a porn addict or anything. I’ve just seen some here and there, you know? I mean, if you’re on the Internet at all you pretty much have to see some sometime.”

  Tim wrote, “Yeah.”

  Brandy wrote, “Anyway, I should probably log off this account. My mom is going to do a random check any second. I can feel it.”

  She had told Tim about how her mother forced her to divulge all of her passwords and how her mother monitored everything she did online, except her Freyja Myspace account. Steeling his resolve by thinking about the insignificance of any single human life or even of humanity as a whole, Tim wrote, “Okay. You want to go out sometime, like see a movie or something?”