Reasons to Be Happy (7 page)

38. Chocolate-dipped strawberries

39. Rock climbing

40. The way ducks sound like they’re chuckling

41. The scent of vanilla

42. Revenge movies

43. The word “peevish” (I just like it)

44. Manatees

45. The way patriotic marches played by whole orchestras make me feel like I’m going to cry

I sat on the plane, on my way to Ohio, flipping through the list I’d started way back in seventh grade. I hadn’t added anything to my purple book since the blue icing day. I tried to think of something to be happy about: getting away from Dad (but that didn’t count because he’d forced me to go), getting away from the B-Squad…but those weren’t things worthy of my list. They were only temporary reasons. I needed
real
ones.

Starting a new adventure?

Please. Brooke would laugh at that. I was going to
Ohio
. What kind of an adventure could I possibly have in Ohio, I could hear her mocking.

Brooke was going to the Bahamas for the two-week vacation. Brittany was going to her condo in St. Thomas, and Bebe to Mexico City. Me? I was being banished to Ohio. Woo-hoo.

There were two saving graces in the B-Squad’s eyes: Aunt Izzy won an Academy Award for her last documentary
Need
, which was about addiction
.
Even though none of those losers watches documentaries—they’d think I was an even bigger geek if they knew I loved them.
Watching
documentaries
is #76 on the list
—
an Oscar is an Oscar and carries clout. That and the fact that Izzy was in an inpatient program for eating disorders when she was in high school. (I didn’t tell them that—they knew because it’s always in the coverage about my mom and dad.)

“Cool,” Brooke said, with wide, admiring eyes as we waited for algebra to start. “That’s hardcore. That’s serious.”

I nodded.

“Maybe,” Brooke said, “she could teach you a thing or two.”

I thought my face would explode.

“Ouch, Brooke,” Bebe said, but her eyes were bright and gleeful.

Brittany just stared down at her book.

My eyes burned.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry
. I could not bleed for these sharks.

“Oh, for God’s sake, lighten up,” Brooke said. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or Bebe. “I just meant that your aunt really knows what she’s doing, if she had to go into a hospital. Wouldn’t we all love to be anorexic? I just meant that you’ll be with a master, so pay attention. Bring some tips back for the rest of us.”

When the plane finally took off, my chest convulsed as I fought not to cry. I missed my mom. I should’ve been nicer to my dad. I should’ve stayed home to help take care of him. I shouldn’t be such a monumental screw-up. If I was a normal, good daughter, he’d want me around.

Dad had been scaring me lately. I hated that he scared me—a father’s supposed to comfort you. He drank way too much. He forgot to do basic stuff at the house, like buy groceries and have the grass cut, and his publicist and assistant were around a lot more than they used to be, doing things like picking me up from school, doing our laundry, and bringing me takeout dinners. Sean and Laila had become a daily presence too, and I knew they were as scared as I was because they were both
way
too cheerful and perky all the time.

Kevin stopped me in the hall the other day. He’d grabbed my arm, hard, and said, really close to my face, “Your drunk dad better not wreck my movie.”

“You better not wreck
his
movie,” I shot back, but the taste of rust rushed through me. Was my dad falling apart enough to derail a film? What Dad did in our house was one thing. What he did in front of my classmates was another.

L.A. disappeared from view in its perpetual brown smog. We rose above it to pink cotton candy clouds. When the sky looked like a field of snow, I closed my eyes.

I wanted to hurl myself out of the exit door when I remembered the conversation I’d overheard at home. Aunt Izzy called the landline and Dad and I both picked up at the same second in different parts of the house. He spoke first, and even though I hadn’t deliberately planned to do it, I stayed on the line, feeling more horrible and creepy with everything they said.

Aunt Izzy got right to her point. “When are you going to get Hannah in treatment?”

Dad sighed. “Izzy, you never quit.”

“This is urgent, Caleb. You can’t ignore it. You both need help.”

“What’s next, Iz? You going to tell me
I’m
anorexic?”

“I’m talking about your daughter. Your daughter who is in a lot of pain.”

“Of course she’s in pain! Her mother just died! That doesn’t mean—Izzy, you think
everyone
has an eating disorder. It’s just your thing.”

“When have I
ever
suggested that someone else had an eating disorder?”

“You just—you just, I mean, come on, Izzy, Hannah’s
overweight
.”

I feared they’d hear my intake of breath from that punch to the gut.

“You’ve never said that to her, have you?” She sounded like she might kick him if she could.

“Well, not so bluntly…but, yeah. Annabeth…and I talked to her about it.” Dad tripped on my mom’s name.

“Oh, Caleb, she’s in trouble. The stealing at school, the shoplifting, all of it is related.”

Dad groaned. “Please. She just wants attention.”

“Of
course
she wants attention!” Aunt Izzy snapped. “Her mother just died!”

Silence. I bet my dad felt punched in the stomach too.

“Think about it,” Izzy said. “All she wants is attention, Caleb, and is she getting any from you or are you—”

She didn’t finish, but I knew what she was going to say and I knew my dad did too, because I’d heard them argue about it before.
Or
are
you
just
drunk
all
the
time?

That’s when I’d hung up.

A lot of good my little secret friend did me.

But still, the SR was as close to a real friend as I had. I actually pictured her as a person.

At least she never betrayed me like my breathing, living friends did. I probably shouldn’t even
call
them friends. I probably only did because otherwise I’d have to face the pathetic fact that no one who actually existed liked me.

There
had
been someone who actually existed who’d liked me.

Or maybe not
liked
me, but treated me like a human being. But I’d destroyed that the day before. It wasn’t enough that I’d said I didn’t like him in front of a whole art room of people. Or that I’d told him I liked Kevin. No, I had to make it worse.

Oh God. I shrunk down farther in my seat, wishing I could curl in on myself and disappear. Jasper’d
seen
me. He’d seen me on a binge. It
hurt
me to remember the look on his face.

I’d been standing in the corner by a trash can, in the tiny room between the kitchen and the cafeteria, the room where the doors could open for the delivery trucks. I stood there scarfing down trash—a bunch of grilled cheese sandwiches we hadn’t sold, about seven of them, one after the other—and a sound had made me turn.

The sound had been Jasper.
Oh
God, the look on his face
. He was appalled. Horrified.

I froze, my mouth full, my cheeks stuffed out, grease and crumbs all over my face I’m sure.

“Hannah?” He asked it like he wasn’t even sure it was me.

I couldn’t chew. I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.

“What are—are-are you okay?” he whispered.

A whole year passed before he moved. He stepped toward me and I bolted. I dropped the grilled cheese sandwich in my hand and ran. I ran to the bathroom and threw up, then I ran outside. I just ran and ran and ran. I ran until I got lost and had to leave a panicked message on my dad’s voice mail.

Laila came to pick me up. When she hugged me, I tried not to cry.

“Where’s my dad?” I asked, missing the smell and hug of my own mother.

Laila looked away and said, “He’s working, hon, so he called me.”

I knew she lied. What, was he too busy to be bothered if I was lost and wandering L.A.?

Maybe Sean and Laila could adopt me. They didn’t have any kids of their own.

I wasn’t brave enough to ask her, though.

Maybe the plane would be hijacked by terrorists. Maybe we would crash. Maybe I’d never have to deal with Brooke or Brittany or Bebe or Kevin or any of them again.

But then…I’d never see Jasper again.

I’d never see
Dad
again. I thought about my dad at another funeral. That wounded defeat in his eyes at Mom’s. The desperate way he’d held my hand through the whole thing.

Okay, plane, I take it back. Don’t go down
.

I was nervous for the rest of the flight, afraid I’d jinxed us with my thought.

Reasons to Be Happy:

None
.

My dad got arrested.

Again.

He’s all over the news and Internet, even here in Ohio. I’d been here for one week already. Things were actually going well. Aunt Izzy was awesome. She was letting me log videotape on her Africa documentary. We were having a blast.

Well, except for the fact that for four days, Dad hadn’t answered my emails or calls. I just thought he was tired of pretending he cared enough to talk to me. Tired of listening to me blather on about canoeing on the Little Miami, climbing at the Urban Krag, taking Latin Dance class at El Meson, or having a picnic on the lawn of the Dayton Art Institute.

Then came the morning when Aunt Izzy came into my room while it was still dark. She sat on the edge of my bed in a T-shirt and yoga pants, her hair still all messed up. “Hannah Banana,” she whispered, “I have some bad news, sweetie.”

Dad had been drunk. He’d been drunk for days, apparently, and hadn’t shown up for work on the vampire movie. He’d crashed our Land Rover into a rental car of tourists from Indianapolis. One of them had to go to the hospital with a broken arm, but the rest were okay except for needing some stitches. Both cars were trashed. The pictures in the paper made me feel sick.

They’d been on the Pacific Coast Highway.

All the times we’d driven that highway, all the times I’d thought
just
one
wrong
move
and
we’d end up in the ocean
. He could’ve fallen over the cliff, been trapped in his car, and drowned.

He could’ve killed that whole family from Indiana.

His mug shot was hideous.

I bet Brooke wouldn’t say he was hot when she saw
that
picture of him. He looked like he actually
was
a vampire—so pale with black circles around his eyes, cheeks all gaunt, eyes bloodshot. It hurt me to look at him so
ashamed
and small.

He’d spent the night in jail. Who wants to picture their dad in a jail? In an ugly blue jumpsuit? With maybe a scary cell mate? I couldn’t sleep I was so terrified for him.

His publicist had called Aunt Izzy. So had Sean and Laila. Dad hadn’t talked to either one of us yet. As much as I wanted him to call, I had no idea what I’d say to him. What could you say after something like that?

What was
everyone
else
saying?

Oh my God, how could I go to school and face Brooke and the B-Squad? Dad was the only thing I had going for me.

The confusion made me feel sick; I wanted to kick Dad at the same time I wanted to hide him away somewhere and protect him.

Aunt Izzy understood how freaked I was. “What do you need to do?” she asked.

I knew what I needed, but I couldn’t tell her that. With my SR, I wouldn’t have to feel anything. It would take away all this panic.

My SR wasn’t so secret. Aunt Izzy talked about it all the time. She called it what it was.

I couldn’t stand to be in my hot, itchy skin, but I held it together most of that first day.

Aunt Izzy took me to Sugarcreek, this great nature preserve. We’d gone there with my mom once years ago. They’d taken me to see the Three Sisters, these enormous oak trees that were over six hundred years old. Me, Mom, and Aunt Izzy together couldn’t wrap our arms around
one
of the trunks, that’s how big they were.

That day, when we climbed up to them, my eyes filled with tears and my back started shaking. Aunt Izzy put her arm around me, but I shrugged it off, hard.

“Don’t touch me,” I said.

She nodded. She didn’t seem mad.

“I can’t stand to be in my own body,” I whispered. “I want—”

“What?”

“I wish I could zip it off, my own skin. I want to run. I want to run
really
hard.”

“So run. You know where the car is. I won’t leave without you.”

I left her standing there at the Three Sisters and I ran as fast as I could, more like fleeing. Like I was running
from
something. But, the problem is, you can’t run away from yourself. It felt good anyway, to sweat and breathe hard. Made the panicky swirl in my chest spin less.

The muscles in my thighs and
fat
butt
warmed up, then burned, as I kept running running running on the muddy trails.

When I’d been on the track team, I almost always won.

I missed track. I missed losing myself in the laps. It would’ve been a comfort. It was a comfort as I ran all the way down to the big wide creek—the actual Sugar Creek the place was named for—before I slowed to a walk, panting. I’d run almost three miles without stopping. Not bad for not having trained for over a year. I clutched my side and gasped for air.

Maybe if I wasn’t so fat, Dad wouldn’t drink so much. Maybe if I wasn’t so gross and had to shoplift and do my disgusting habit, I’d still be in my own home and Dad would be fine and working and we’d be sad without Mom but okay.

What was going to happen to me now?

I limped my way back to the car where Aunt Izzy sat on the hood, cross-legged, leaning back, looking at the sky. She looked all content, like she would’ve waited all day for me.

• • •

We went to dinner at the greatest restaurant, The Winds, which we could walk to from Izzy’s cool purple house. Later that night, while she and her assistant Pearl discussed something in her office, I loaded my gym bag full of food from her cupboards and fridge. She’d stocked the house with all my favorite things which I shoved into the bag: a loaf of rye bread, a roll of sugar cookie dough, slices of provolone cheese, sliced turkey, the leftover chicken enchiladas we’d made last night, the leftover guacamole, the pasta salad, the tapioca pudding.

I hid the bag in my room. After Pearl left, we went to bed. I lay awake until I was certain Aunt Izzy was asleep.

It took over me again. It had been so long. Well, long for me anyway. I almost wept with relief, it felt so good, so comforting.

The trance took over.

I stopped feeling.

No shame. No worries.

Nothing
. Lovely, wonderful
nothing
.

• • •

But the nothing didn’t last. When I came back to myself, my stomach strained with all I’d forced into it. Sharp pains stabbed me as I crawled to my feet, clutching my belly, and snuck to the hallway bathroom. Aunt Izzy had her own bathroom in her bedroom. Since her bedroom door was shut, I thought I was pretty safe.

I quietly closed the bathroom door and turned on the light. I looked repulsive in the mirror, my face so bloated, a smear of something dark on my chin. I turned away.

I rubbed my bloated gut. Revolting. Vile.

I lifted the lid on her toilet and went through my ritual.

Once.

Twice.

Then flushed.

Ah, there it was.

Relief
.

Twice more.

The tingles began. The floating. Numbness tickling my fingers and toes.

Now. Now, maybe I could sleep.

But the sliding sensation began deep inside my face. Red splatters fell on the toilet seat, startling against the white porcelain. I snatched up a handful of toilet paper to plug up my nose, then used my other hand to try to clean up the mess.

I sat on the floor, leaning my head back against the tub.

The helium-light floatiness faded away. Queasy shakiness took over. The nosebleeds ruined everything and they were happening
every
time!
My limbs trembled. This sucked.

By the time I got the bleeding to stop, my head throbbed like someone played a drum inside it. My arms and legs had a heavy flu-like stiffness.

I avoided the mirror, ducking my head as I passed it to open the door.

Aunt Izzy sat on the floor in the hall.

She sat there in flannel pajama bottoms and a tattered sweatshirt. She had the same I-could-wait-forever air about her, just like when I had gone running that day—was that just earlier that same day? Was my life really crawling along so painfully slowly? A spray bottle of disinfectant cleaner and a rag sat near her left hand.

“Feel better?” she asked, squinting up at me in the light.

Was this a trap? But she asked it kindly, no judgment in her voice.

“I know it was a hard day,” she said, her voice even and calm. “I know that the bingeing and purging is an old standby in tough times. I have to be on the lookout for my own self-destructive habits when I’m having a rough time.”

My jaw dropped. “You…you knew what I was doing?”

She shrugged, her expression one of
hello, of course I knew what you were doing
.

“Why didn’t you try to stop me?” I wanted to
kick
her. “You should’ve tried to stop me!”

Izzy shook her head. “You have to stop it. Not me.”

Unsteady, I stared down at her.

She gestured to the cleaning supplies beside her. “I understand you’re going to do this. You know we all want you to stop, but sometimes it’s going to happen. When it does you’ll need to clean up after yourself, okay? You have to take responsibility for your habits.”

I stood there with my mouth open like a cartoon of a girl in shock.

“It’s okay,” Aunt Izzy said. “You can get over this. I’ve been there, sweetie, I know.”

“You were…bulimic?” The word was bug spray in my mouth.

She shook her head. “Nope. That wasn’t my thing.”

I leaned against the wall, then slid down it across from her. “I wish I were anorexic! How did you
do
it? I wish I could do it!”

Aunt Izzy’s face pinched up like she’d smelled rotting garbage. “
What?
Why would you say something so stupid?” Her mean, harsh tone slapped my face. She’d
never
called me stupid.

Tears scalded my eyes. “I-I just meant that…”

But Aunt Izzy’s eyes were bright, like she had a fever. “You just meant
what?
”

“I want to be thin. I-I just want to be pretty. A-and anorexia is
better
. It’s not so disgusting. If I could only pull it off, I—”

Aunt Izzy was on her feet so fast, it scared me. She yanked me up by the arm and pulled me down the hall, her nails digging into my skin.

She opened the attic door and turned on the light. She didn’t release my arm until we were at the top of the stairs. The rough wooden floor chilled my bare feet. She dug around in a couple of boxes, muttering under her breath. When she found the one she wanted, she hefted it up from behind some tubs of Christmas decorations. She dropped it into the dust at our feet, where it hit with a heavy
whump.
“Sit.”

I did.

She opened the box and handed me a manila envelope. “Open it. Take a look.”

I undid the envelope’s clasp. A pile of 5x7 black-and-white photographs slid into my lap. I frowned, then brought the top photo closer to my face in the weird light. It was Aunt Izzy, as a girl, standing naked except for a pair of panties. She looked like someone in a concentration camp, like those documentaries we’d watched before we started reading
Anne
Frank: The
Diary
of
a
Young
Girl
. My nose wrinkled. She was a
skeleton
; every single rib stood out in stark relief, her hip bones protruded like shovels, her elbows and knees were grapefruit-sized knots, wider than her stick thighs and arms.

“
That’s
not disgusting?” Aunt Izzy asked.

The next photo was a back view. Her shoulder blades were alien wings. Every vertebrae in her spine bumped out like a pop-bead necklace embedded under her skin. At the end of that spine…I peered closer.

“Looks like a tail, doesn’t it?” Her voice cut me with its iciness. “Look at how scabbed and gross my tailbone is. I got bruises just from sitting in a chair.”

My post-purge headache throbbed behind my left eye.

She took the stack of photos from me and shuffled them, handing me another, a close-up of the empty bowl of her stomach and another of her face. “You don’t think that’s disgusting? You’d actually
wish
for that? I look like some circus freak! I couldn’t create internal heat anymore. Your body tries to protect you, so it grows
fur
.” There it was on her belly and cheeks, white fur like a cat’s pelt. “Yeah, that’s
really
pretty, isn’t it?”

In the photo, the skull under her transparent, mummy-like skin was clearly defined, her eyes sunk in their cavernous sockets. The grain of her facial muscles was visible, like an anatomical model for science class. The intersection of cartilage turning to bone in her nose was as sharp as two pieces set together in a puzzle.

Most of her crown was bald, and other bald patches showed through her thin hair.

“You look like Mom,” I whispered. “After chemo.”

Aunt Izzy’s voice lost that nasty, hard edge. “Just think, your mom lost her hair fighting to save her life, and I lost mine basically trying to kill myself.”