I tried to be a good Waist Watcher, but it was difficult. I would start off each day with the right breakfast and snacks, but sometimes I would grow so hungry that my hands would shake and I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Then I’d eat something bad. I couldn’t stand hunger. Hunger is what death must feel like.
Given my failure at dieting, my plan was to trade Waist Watchers for weight-loss surgery. The surgery was scheduled for October, little more than four months away. I was excited about it, but also terrified at the thought of having my internal organs cut up and rearranged and of the possible complications that might follow. The surgery would make my stomach the size of a walnut; afterward I’d only be able to eat spoonfuls of food each day for the rest of my life. That was the horrible part, but the miraculous part was that I would lose between ten and twenty pounds a month. In one year it would be possible to lose more than two hundred pounds, but I wouldn’t go that far. I wanted to weigh 125 pounds, and then I would be happy. Waist Watchers could never give me that. I’d been devoted to the program for years and I was bigger than ever.
When I exited the dark church, blinking into the sunshine, I expected to see the girl leaning against the tree, but she wasn’t there. I hurried across the street so I didn’t have to pass in front of the health club windows, where the smug spinners could have gawked at me.
Since I hadn’t seen the girl that day, I assumed I had scared her away, but when I arrived at the café she was there. Rather than follow me, she had begun to precede me. Perhaps she could claim that I was following her.
As I passed her table, she chewed the cap of her ballpoint pen, feigning thought. I ignored her, heaving my laptop bag up onto my usual table. With her nearby it was going to be difficult to concentrate on my work, but I logged into my account and downloaded the new messages, then opened the first one:
From: LuLu6
To: DaisyChain
Subject: step brother
Dear Kitty,
I’m 14 and a half. I hope u can help me. My mom got married last year to this guy Larry. My real dad is dead. Larry has two sons they are my step brothers Evan and Troy. I’m rilly scarred and I don’t know what to do. So many times I have woke up in the middle of the nite and Troy is in my room watching me sleeping. When he sees me awake he leaves. He’s 19. I think maybe he touches me but I don’t know. One time he came in to the bathroom when I was taking a shower naked and he saw me. He said he likes my boobs. I told my mom and she says I’m making this up so she will get divorced from Larry (cuz I hate him). What should I do?
Luv,
LuAnne from Ohio
LuAnne was my first girl of the day, so I wasn’t yet working at the height of my powers. I stared out the window to avoid the anxiety brought by the blinking cursor and started my response in my head. Dear LuAnne, I’m sorry your mother doesn’t believe you. Your mother shouldn’t be allowed to call herself a mother. The mothers of Kitty’s readers often chose men over their daughters, the desire for romance overwhelming the need to protect their child. I was tempted to respond to LuAnne by asking for her telephone number so I could call her mother and tell her that she was a horrible person. I’m glad you came to me for help, LuAnne. Contact your school guidance counselor immediately. He or she will be able to help you with your problem. No, that wouldn’t do. LuAnne deserved better than to be passed off like a baton.
With the strange girl in my peripheral vision, like a tiny bug, I placed my hands on the keyboard and began to type, channeling Kitty’s voice:
From: DaisyChain
To: LuLu6
Subject: Re: step brother
Dear LuAnne,
I’m very upset that your mom doesn’t believe you. I believe you! I would definitely lock your door before going to bed at night. If your door doesn’t have a lock, then put a chair or a piece of furniture in front of it. Pile books or other heavy items on top of the furniture. If Troy still gets into your room, scream as loud as you can when you see him. It wouldn’t hurt to keep a baseball bat or other such weapon with you at night. Do you have a cell phone? If so, call 911 in an emergency like this.
The next thing I want you to do is tell a trusted adult (your best friend’s mom or your favorite teacher) what’s going on and she will be able to help you with your problem. If you can’t find someone like this to help you, you will need to contact the police. Do you know where the police station is in your town? You could go there and explain what’s happening to one of the officers. Ask to speak to a woman.
I’m glad you reached out to me, LuAnne. I’m sending you courage through this email.
Love,
Kitty xo