“Didn’t you tell me once you didn’t have any cousins?”
“What? No! I have lots of cousins. Tons.” I didn’t have a single cousin. Mom was an only child, too, and Dad’s brother, Tom, wasn’t married.
I could hear the confusion in his voice. He cleared his throat. “Um, Elizabeth?”
“What?” Hang up! Hang up! Hang up!
“I’m glad you’re getting the help you need. And thanks for calling.”
“No problem,” I said, my voice barely audible.
After I hung up, I could still hear his voice in my ear. I slid off the stool and onto the floor, bringing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around myself.
I was so stupid.
*
At dinner I kept my eyes on my plate and didn’t make eye contact with anybody. I was embarrassed just to exist, like all my weaknesses and shortcomings were listed on a flashing neon sign above my head: Pathetic! Anorexic! Can’t keep a boyfriend! Makes fool of self on regular basis! Loser!
Charlie didn’t care about me. He wasn’t missing me, or thinking about me, or even worrying a tiny bit. He’d erased me. My heart hurt, but I didn’t know if it was because it was broken or because I was dying.
I needed to move. I yearned for a trail in the woods where I could sprint until I collapsed. But no one here would let me go. No one would understand how the only way to fix this would be to run the shame right out of me.
And then all of a sudden everything inside me exploded, like a shaken-up soda. The rules didn’t matter. I jolted out of my seat, overturning my water glass in the process. I made for the doors, head down, ignoring the nurses calling, “Elizabeth, sit down. The meal isn’t over yet”; Lexi saying, “Wait!”; Willa saying, “Come back! You’ll get an Ensure!”; and Margot saying, “Elizabeth, you are bold.”
I got to a door and rattled the handle. It was locked. I’d walked straight to the utility closet. The door to the hall was one over. Face burning, I yanked it open and sprinted away, my strides long and fast. I was determined to get outside. Then I’d run and let fresh air fill my lungs and then I’d be okay.
I threw open the front doors. It was dark. No moon. No stars. The cold air made my nose burn. The frost-covered driveway beckoned, and I broke into a run, but my legs barely responded. I willed my breaths to energize me, but I only made it twenty feet before I bent over double, sucking wind. My lungs have shrunk, I thought hysterically. My legs are concrete blocks. I’ve ruined myself.
I remembered how, back in July, I’d woken up early one morning unable to sleep. The sun was rising and I could tell it was going to be hot, but at that hour it was still cool. I’d laced up my blue Nikes and set out toward the beach. It was deserted at that hour, just me and the seagulls, and as I ran toward the water, my feet barely touched the ground. It had been a short run; I’d already started to tire faster, but for those few minutes, feeling the cool air in my lungs and the strength in my feet, I’d felt like I could fly. Now I wondered if I’d ever feel that way again.
I sank down on a rock and pressed my eyes into my kneecaps as I tried to catch my breath. Behind me I heard the door open and Ray’s voice. “Elizabeth?”
I heard his feet crunching on the gravel.
I wasn’t ready to go back. “Um, do you think you could give me a second?” I asked, trying to sound normal. “I just need a minute. Please? I’m not going to run anymore. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
Ray paused before answering. “Okay, kiddo. You got a minute. Not much longer, though, okay?”
“Thanks.” I put my head in my hands.
And right then I knew. If I went home and started to restrict my eating again, I would shrivel up like a dry plant. If I ever wanted to run again—to live again—I’d have to get better. And I’d have to do it for me.
I sat on the hard rock for a few more minutes until the bump on my tailbone started to ache. Then I stood up and walked inside.
Margot and Lexi were waiting for me on the bench next to the nurses’ station. They weren’t supposed to be there. Evening group had just started, and activities were mandatory around here. I shot them a questioning look and they held up two cups of fluorescent-yellow Gatorade. Of course. If you said you felt dizzy or like you might pass out, the nurses gave you Gatorade and let you sit on the bench to drink it.
“I felt faint,” Margot said, gesturing to the cup in her hand.
“You never feel faint.” I sat down heavily next to her.
“True, but tonight I did,” she said.
I looked at Lexi. “I felt faint too,” she said.
Lexi took a tiny sip of her Gatorade. Lexi was drinking calories. By choice. Just so she could make sure I was okay. I should have felt a rush of gratitude or something, but all I felt was flat.
Margot leaned over and awkwardly patted me. I leaned against her, assuming she’d put her arm around my shoulders. Instead, she jerked away. “Sorry,” she said. “Touchy-feely stuff isn’t exactly my family’s specialty.”
“It’s okay.” I sat there, staring at my hands.
“You know,” she said, bumping me with her shoulder, “when you want to run away, it helps to actually run. For more than, like, ten paces.”
I sighed. “Yeah. I heard that works. I’ll try it next time.”
“Actually, don’t,” Lexi said. “We sort of like having you here.” She put her arm around me and squeezed, hard. I closed my eyes and let my body relax.
After Lexi and Margot took their final swigs of Gatorade, we went through the foyer doors. Nurse Jill awaited, arms crossed, holding an Ensure. I sighed and took it without complaint.
23
At breakfast the next morning, day 11 at Wallingfield, I was sure all the girls would stare at me after my great dinner escape. But aside from a couple of quick glances, everybody seemed to have their own issues to worry about. Like their breakfasts.
I found a big bowl of cottage cheese on my tray. I hated cottage cheese. When I asked Kay why it was on my tray, she said I’d assigned it to myself. Sure enough, when I looked at my check sheet, there it was: ? cup cottage cheese—2 proteins—in my very own handwriting. How could I have done that? The stuff was vile, all watery and chunky like vomit.
I hadn’t cried last night, but the tears were there, just waiting for the right opportunity to spill. I could picture them inside, each little blob of salt water fighting in its hurry to be number one in line to get out. When that first spoonful of cottage cheese passed under my nose, the tears burst out of me. I bawled like a kid getting a shot while, around me, everyone tried to eat and pretend my sobbing wasn’t happening. I cried so hard that when I asked Kay if I could take my tray to Mary’s office, she walked me there herself.
After I arrived, sniveling and all snotty, Mary took one look at me and passed the tissue box. She waited until my sobs slowed and turned into hiccups before saying, “So, what happened last night?”