Skinny (13 page)

“Good, Melissa. That does sound healthy. But do you ever, say, water down your orange juice? Or have you ever secretly discarded food to make people think you’re eating when you’re not? Or would you ever do something like induce vomiting?”

Melissa looked to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mom’s hand silently clasp an open mouth.

Dr. Ferrone shook her head. “Two-thirds of all eating disorders are actually obsessive/compulsive disorders. It seems this is the root of Melissa’s problem. When everything else seems to be spinning out of control, Melissa controls her food.”

The doctor rolled her chair close to Melissa and put one hand on hers. She looked up at her and asked, “What do you think? Did I get any of it right?”

Melissa just kept her eyes on the floor—wishing she was under it right now—trying to avoid her pediatrician’s compassionate gaze.

Dr. Ferrone leaned back and clapped her hands together. “Okay, ladies, here’s what we’re going to do. We need to take things slowly. First, I’ll write a note excusing Melissa from school for the next week. That will give us a chance to start combating this thing. Second, you two need to come back here one week from today—that’s next Friday—and Melissa will need to gain three pounds between now and then.”

Three
pounds! She knew it. Melissa had done all of that work for nothing. She looked to her mom to see if she was buying all of this. Mom was watching the doctor intently, nodding her head. Melissa then knew she was outnumbered; she would never win against Mom, Dad,
and
Dr. Ferrone. But deep down, she was almost relieved for someone else to be in on her secret, someone else to be in control.

“You both have separate assignments. Mrs. Rollins, either you or your husband need to eat every meal with Melissa. I know you’re busy, and you all are probably used to eating on the fly, but it is very important to establish consistent eating rituals. Now, don’t use these times to play police.” Dr. Ferrone smiled. “Just spend mealtime as a social time to ensure everyone is having meals.”

Melissa saw Mom nod and lick her lips. She saw the wheels spinning inside Mom’s head as she mapped out their new routine.

“Your job, young lady,” Dr. Ferrone said to Melissa, patting her hand, “is to eat and to take a break from exercise.”

Melissa nodded. “I already eat. No big deal.”

“Well, you’re going to have to eat more than you’re eating now in order to gain three pounds by the next time you see me,” Dr. Ferrone answered. “And if you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to send you to a clinic for evaluation, potentially even to be checked in for treatment.”

Melissa felt a wave of nausea. The back of her throat burned. A clinic? Treatment?

“But if you
can
gain the weight, I’ll refer you to a counselor so you can start sorting things out.”

As they walked to the car, Melissa put her left hand up to her head with her index finger and thumb shaped like the letter L. “Loser,” she whispered, not being able to say anything else without losing control.

“You’re not a loser,” Mom assured her. She shoved the literature on eating disorders into her purse and wrapped her arm around her daughter. Melissa felt trapped by the weight of Mom’s arm. She didn’t want to be babied. She didn’t have a problem. She just had a lot going on.

M
om pulled the bean burrito, diet soda, and tortilla chips from the paper bag and set them in front of Melissa. Melissa stared at all of the fatty food in front of her. She winced just thinking about eating sour cream and cheese. Mom sat down and waited. Melissa felt Mom’s eyes on her. She willed Mom to stop staring. It didn’t work. How could she eat or even move under such scrutiny? She took a sip from her straw to look busy. The bubbles calmed her stomach. She looked at Mom, tilted her head, and smiled weakly.

They chitchatted about everything except Melissa’s eating disorder as Mom polished off her soft taco smothered in hot sauce and Melissa ate a few forkfuls of black beans and nibbled at the edges of her tortilla.

She started to wrap up the mostly uneaten lunch back in its foil wrapper as Mom planned all the fun things they could do with Melissa’s week off from school.

“Wait a minute, sweetie. You barely touched your food. I thought you loved El Munchitos!”

“I do, Mom. I’m just not that hungry, okay? It’s been kind of a rough morning,” Melissa snapped. Then she shook her head and said, “Month, actually.”

“Okay,” Mom agreed, but her eyes showed concern. “Try to eat more at dinner?”

“Deal.”

The next few meals were like that. Mom bought or cooked something fattening, and Melissa was grossed out by the overwhelming gooeyness or greasiness of the food.

On Saturday night Melissa felt like she was going to throw up when Dad lifted the lid of the white cardboard box to reveal a super-stuffed pizza with all the toppings. She turned away and tensed her jaw as he pulled a piece onto a plate.

“Mel, you’ve got to eat something,” Dad pleaded when he saw her cringe.

“Yeah, something, Dad, but not
that
. I’m trying, really, but that’s gross! That pizza’s so loaded with fat and cholesterol and calories and carbs. I mean, who really eats sausage and pepperoni and double cheese and hamburger all at once? It could give you a heart attack!”

Dad nodded. “I get it. Would a slice of plain cheese work?”

Melissa inhaled and closed her eyes
. God, please help! Where are You?

A wave of calm filled her.

“I’ll try.”

Dad picked up the phone and ordered a small cheese pizza. It tasted surprisingly yummy. In fact, Melissa ate a whole piece. She almost grabbed a second slice but stopped herself. She and her parents were laughing by the end of dinner. It felt nice to be a person again, for food to taste good, to laugh, and not to be worried about school, friends, or Beau for just a night.

After dinner the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Yellow.” Gracie’s voice seemed to smile.

“Hey.”

“So is everything all right? When you weren’t at school yesterday I called, but your mom said you were sick, and you didn’t call back. Lindsey said you passed out at practice. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Melissa curled her legs around herself in the wooden kitchen chair. “I’m such a loser for fainting! What did Lindsey say?”

“I don’t know, just that you passed out and Todd kind of freaked out and sent you home and made her tell your mom to take you to the doctor. We’ve all been totally worried.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you. With Beau and school and everything, I just hadn’t felt like eating much, and I got kind of dizzy. No big deal.”

“You’ve always been kind of dizzy,” Gracie teased.

“Thanks a lot.” Melissa laughed.

“So why the doc?”

“Just to make sure it wasn’t anything big.” Melissa paused. “And it’s not. She just wants me to stay home for a week to get my strength up. Anyway, I’ll need you to one, fill me in on all the gossip, and two, help me get caught up in French—in that order, of course.”

M
elissa spent the week with Mom, who cancelled all of her social and volunteer obligations. She felt like she was five years old. They went to the mall and to the grocery store. Melissa got to pick out foods that sounded good to her like salads and fruit—things she could eat without feeling overwhelmed.

After school every day Gracie came over and brought Melissa’s assignments and books. They sat and chatted in the family room for at least an hour sipping diet sodas.

“So, Yellow, how
are
you?” Gracie asked every day.

“Fine, everything’s great—really great. What could be better than getting the week off from school and not even being sick? Right?” Melissa grinned and nodded. She hated lying to Gracie. She knew her best friend could see right through her. Gracie and the rest of the crew must suspect something. It was weird that she had to stay home for a week when she looked and acted normal, but she couldn’t tell them, not even Gracie.

By Wednesday Melissa was bored of lounging around the house. She had really focused on her homework and gotten caught up in all of her classes. She stretched and practiced her dance moves every day, as if she were at real practice, since Dr. Ferrone and Todd had both made it clear they wouldn’t let her go back yet. She painted her toes electric blue and her fingernails shocking pink, and she even organized all of her photos and music on her computer.

When Melissa woke up Thursday morning, she shuffled in slow motion, went to the bathroom, and took off her pajamas. Naked, she stood on the scale.

“Two pounds,” she said aloud. Two pounds wasn’t awful, but it was so much work to lose them and way too easy to gain them back. She stepped off the scale. Sometimes if she waited for a minute, she could weigh back in at a lighter weight.

Then Melissa remembered. She screamed, covering her mouth with her hand. She stepped to the sink and in a frenzy brushed her teeth. “Maybe the toothpaste will add something,” she mumbled to herself. She slathered herself with lotion and exhaled.

She stepped back on and held her breath. Her eyes grew as wide as waffles. Now the scale teetered between a one- and two-pound gain. Melissa’s heart thumped like the bass on Todd’s speakers. She tossed on jeans and a yellow sweatshirt and scampered down the stairs.

“Mom!” she cried.

Mom wasn’t in the kitchen.

“
MOM!
”

She wasn’t in the family room, the dining room, or the living room. Melissa scanned every room. Her palms grew sweaty. Her neck prickled.

“What is it, sweetie?” Mom ran through the laundry room door with a basket of clean clothes. Her face was pale and panicked. “What’s wrong?”

Melissa stared wide-eyed at Mom, her mouth hung open like
The Scream
by Edvard Munch, and she began to bawl. She felt like the person depicted in that painting—all alone, stranded, and misshapen.

Mom put down the laundry, and Melissa collapsed into her. She was relieved Mom didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t have any answers or any words. After several minutes Melissa pulled her head up enough to eke out, “Mom?”

“What is it, Mel?” Mom whispered.

“Dr. Ferrone. You know how she said I had to gain three pounds?” She choked back a sob. “By tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think will happen if I don’t?”

Mom breathed deeply, stepped back, and looked her daughter in the eye. “How much have you gained, Melissa?”

“Two pounds. I mean, I stepped on the scale, and it said I’d gained two, but I stepped on again after I brushed my teeth and lotioned up and it said I gained one. Which is really weird because toothpaste and lotion add weight,” she rambled.

Mom laughed sympathetically and hugged Melissa tighter. “You thought you could gain weight by brushing your teeth or putting on lotion? Honey!”

Melissa wiped the saltwater smears from her face with the back of her hand and snorted. She shook her head. “What am I going to do? Mom, she can’t send me away. I can’t go to a
clinic
.”

“We’re going to get you up to three pounds by tomorrow. Now, I know you get worked up about eating, and I don’t want to stress you out, but we’re going to sit down right now and eat breakfast.” Mom squeezed Melissa. Even though her mom was small-framed, Melissa felt her mother’s strength.

Melissa nodded.

“You can have your normal bagel and watered-down orange juice. But you’re going to eat a banana, too.”

Melissa nodded again. That sounded reasonable. And to avoid the clinic, she would do almost anything.

“And then . . .” Mom put her arm around Melissa’s shoulder and guided her into the kitchen. “After you’ve looked over some of your homework, we’re going to make chocolate chip cookies.” Mom’s eyes twinkled.

Melissa grinned and twirled her hair up into a knot, loose strands floating to the floor. By now, she ignored the wads of dark silk, which seemed to fall out whenever she moved. She could never resist chocolate chips, cookie dough, or fresh-from-the-oven cookies. But they were so fattening, so full of sugar, so full of carbs. There wasn’t anything about them that fit into her diet or into who she had become. She took a bite of banana and vowed to eat the whole thing. That would be a better way to make weight.

W
hile studying, Melissa noticed her Bible on her nightstand. Even though she’d been home all week, she hadn’t even touched the soft leather cover. She had been so upset with her parents, her doctor, and herself. She had been so scared of what would happen if she didn’t eat and then what would happen if she did. Would she get fat again? Would Beau or any boy ever think she was cute? Would she even make the dance team next year as a heavy sophomore? She wasn’t ready to face God and His judgment on her. But there He was, waiting by her bedside.

Melissa knew down somewhere deep it always felt good to read the Bible, to pray, to talk to God. She plopped down on her comforter and lifted the heavy book. She opened the pages to where her bookmark kept the place of her last reading, Luke 16.

“Oh, yeah, the eating scraps passage. I knew God would try to punish me for all of this.”

Melissa was so angry she felt like daring God. She decided to read the verses over again and tell Him a thing or two about eating and all of the pressures surrounding her, but as she read her shoulders relaxed and her fingers fell from between her teeth. She leaned back against her pillow and read again.

A tear trickled slowly down her left cheek. She hadn’t read the whole thing before, and she certainly hadn’t heard God’s words until now. The point of the story was not about food at all. The point was that she needed Jesus,
now
. She couldn’t wait for another day or for someone else to warn her about the bad stuff in life. The rich man who had been condemned wanted to warn his family and friends to change their ways, but Jesus said He’d given them the tools to know right from wrong for themselves.