The bedroom, the whole flat in fact, was an industrial cube. The sort of unit prized by cost-cutting developers and lower-income tenants. High ceiling and concrete walls left provocatively naked, lined with steel pipes. More loft than apartment unit, more studio really.
Light flowed in buckets through the one window that covered the only external wall. She walked up to it and looked down onto a little patch of green, across onto the next building, up onto the third floor and window parallel to theirs. The blinds were drawn. Did neighbours know their neighbours here? There was no “u” in the word “neighbors” here. She would have to remember that.
“Flat” was not the right word either, she reminded herself. Flats here were called apartments. She was in America now.
Apartment. America. She tried both words on for size, feeling them on her tongue as she rolled them around in her mouth. This apartment was bare but it was theirs, small but luxurious by Parisian standards.
In Paris they had been living in a cupboard of a room, sharing a wall, bathroom, little stove and fridge with a philosophy major, a psychologist, their lovers, and a computer technician who was never there but made outstanding pesto when he was. Bohemian life did not scare her; she had always loved and led it happily. But this was not bohemian, or Paris. This was the American Midwest.
She had landed last night. Matthias had been waiting at the airport with a red rose. He had driven her here. Dinner, wine, sex, and this morning he had left for work …
… and had not said when he would return, Anna realized. She finished unpacking—apple and jasmine perfume, lotion, hairbrush, toothbrush next to his. Books by the bed. She had forgotten her slippers. Done. Eleven o’clock.
One more look around. The walls were not too bare. She would cover them with photographs of home. She would also buy groceries, candles, and some more wine. Would Matthias be home for lunch?
Surely not. But she would make sure dinner was ready when he did. They would have a feast, then go out to explore this new city. Till then …
She hummed notes at random and walked toward the fridge. A quarter of the pizza Matthias had ordered the night before remained. He had left the crusts on the side; he knew Anna liked them. There was also a piece of cheese, some yogurt, a few fruits. She took the yogurt and some strawberries.
Where would she eat them, though? They had no furniture yet beyond the coffee table and the bed. Coffee table then. She would just sit on the floor.
She boiled water and stirred in instant coffee. One sip. Disaster. Enough. That was not coffee. She poured it into the sink and decided she would have tea.
They did not have tea. Eleven oh five. The yogurt was the fruity kind, with syrup. She put it back in the fridge and ate the strawberries. Eleven oh six. It would soon be time for lunch anyway. She reached for the phone, then put it down; it was late afternoon in Paris and everyone was surely busy now.
Perhaps she would go for a run before lunch. Matthias just might be back then.
He was not. She showered and slowly went through her lotion routine, dried her hair, put on a blue dress, reached for a red makeup kit: face cream, mascara, peach blush. Pink lipstick applied. Twelve twenty-eight.
Fridge. Pizza, crust, cheese, yogurt, and fruit. She should buy groceries for the evening. She could make crêpes and a salad. Cheese and mushrooms. They would have the fruit for dessert.
Twelve twenty-nine. She would go before lunch.
One thirty in the afternoon and she finally had everything she needed. The store she had spotted on her run had not been as close as she had thought. Her voice had croaked mildly at the cash register; she was using it for the first time that day. A while later, the eggs, milk, flour, ricotta, and lettuce, mushrooms, tomatoes were in the fridge. Done.
Concrete walls. She took the phone and put it down. Opened and closed the fridge. She took two of Matthias’s leftover crusts, ripped them into little bits, and slowly chewed the first, looking out the large window, exhaling the anxiety away.
Nine full minutes later it was done. She hated eating alone. At 1:41 she took the blue dress off and hung it neatly with the rest of her clothes. All she owned had moved from one suitcase to twenty hangers and a shelf in cube 315 of many more in the building on 45 Furstenberg Street. She climbed back into bed.
Matthias would be back soon anyway and then she would make the crêpes.
4
I do not suffer from anorexia, I have anorexia. The two states are not the same. I know my anorexia, I understand it better than the world around me.
The world around me is obese, half of it. The other half is emaciated. Values are hollow, but meals are dense with high fructose corn syrup. Standards come in doubles, so do portions. The world is overcrowded but lonely. My anorexia keeps me company, comforts me. I can control it, so I choose it.
The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (Fifth Edition) defines anorexia nervosa as a brain disease, a mental disorder with severe metabolic effects on the entire body. Characteristics:
1.??Restriction of food, self-induced starvation with the purpose of losing weight.
2.??An intense fear of gaining weight or becoming fat.
3.??A distorted perception of body weight or shape with a strong influence on mental well-being,
as well as
a lack of awareness of the severity of the condition.
I run for eighty minutes each day, build strength for another twenty, keep my caloric intake below eight hundred calories, a thousand when I binge. I weigh myself every morning and cry at the number on the scale. I cry in front of mirrors too: I see fat everywhere.
Everyone around me thinks I have a problem. Everyone around me is scared. I do not have a problem. I just have to lose a little bit of weight. I am scared too, but not of gaining weight. I am terrified of life. Of a sad and unfair world. I do not suffer from a sick brain. I suffer from a sick heart.
Cardiac arrhythmia. Irregular heartbeat. Like falling in love, or a heart attack.
Cardiomyopathy. Loss of heart muscle mass. Yes, but only the excess.
I do not need dispensable tissue, dispensable fat or organs. But my body is greedy; it wants more potassium, sodium, magnesium. Energy.
My body does not know what it needs. I make that decision for it. In protest, my heart pumps less blood. Bradycardia. Slow heartbeat. My blood pressure drops.
The rest of my body follows suit, falling quietly, like rain, like snow. My ovaries, my liver, my kidneys go next. Then my brain goes to sleep.
5
Anna? Should I pause the movie? You are missing the good parts.
Anna?
Anna, are you all right in there? Open the door please.
Anna, open the door! Anna!
6
Matthias found me on the floor, legs like cotton, mouth numb. I could feel the bathroom tiles, freezing, painful against my back, but I was also falling through them. I could not grasp the wisps of words I needed to tell him that I was fine. I could not grasp his shirt; my hands were clumsy. My thoughts were clumsy too.
I could not move my hands, I could not move. Matthias carried me from the bathroom into the bedroom.
For a few minutes neither of us said anything. The movie was on pause too. I wanted to press Play, end the ugly intermission. Matthias had other plans.
We need to talk, Anna.
What about?
What happened in there?
I fell in the bathroom, Matthias,
I sliced.
I am fine now. I just stood up too fast.
Muscles tense, defenses up, circling the ring. He could feel the edge in my voice. He circled too, carefully.
What about yesterday, during your shift? And last week, when you hurt your shoulder?
I was tired! I slipped!
We need to talk, Anna.
We are talking!
We need to stop lying then.
Matthias was a few years older than I was, thirty-one in a couple of months. He looked older just then. Our voices had been rising, but he said that last sentence very quietly.
Another lull while he chose his words. I did not, would not, help him.
I think you need treatment. I’ve been a coward. I should have spoken a long time ago. I just kept convincing myself you were fine— I told you: I am fine!