by Alona Jarden
I arrived at my house long before I hung up the call with her. In fact, I didn't lie to Noel when I said my words weren’t directed at her.
When I said them, in the final minutes of our conversation, I looked at myself in the mirror and made every effort to let those words sink deep inside me. As deep as possible. So deep, it was unpleasant to hear them and even a little deeper than that.
It was late already, and the visit to the hospital, the support meeting, and the confusing encounter with Don left me tired and exhausted.
I opened a new Excel file on my computer and stared for a few seconds at the flashing cursor, asking me to name the file.
I was trying to determine what it should have been called. I didn’t think naming the file would be such a challenging task in itself, but there I was, staring at the monitor. For a moment, I wanted to call it “Michelle losing the weight.” but I immediately reminded myself that my health was at stake and not my appearance. I wondered if it would be better to call it “Michelle's healthy life,” but that headline scared the shit out of me. A failure to achieve it meant I would lead a sick life, or worse. In the end, I decided on a title that wouldn’t allow me to feel that I had failed no matter the outcome. I called it “Michelle's new path,” and opened the file.
In the title bar, of the first column on the left, I wrote “Date,” and on the top row I wrote “Weight.” Even though these were the things I intended to track, I felt as if something was missing.
I looked at the empty square slots, and a hard realization hit me. I suddenly knew I would have to weigh myself, an action I had always hated to do, and immediately realized what the missing title was. “Mood,” I wrote in the third and final headline and approached the shocking task ahead of me.
My mother thought she was doing me a favor when, for my thirty-first birthday, she bought me a professional scale, like the one at the doctor's office. She justified the purchase by my body's' size, not allowing me to see the digits on the floor scales and even added she feared it would break while I tried to stand on it. I clearly remember how I kept quiet, even though all I wanted to do was point out the insensitivity of that as my birthday present. I wanted to tell her that for one freaking day a year, I didn't want to be seen as a fat woman, but simply as a woman, yet I didn’t. I actually smiled politely and thanked her, because I believed her intentions were good and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, even though in retrospect, she hurt me.
I swear I saw the world upside down.
I threw every piece of clothing that was on me into the laundry basket, including my panties and my bra. I even peed so that my set-off weight would be as low as possible before stepping on that dammed scale.
"May God help me," I blurted out loud when the monitor showed I weighed a whopping two hundred and ninety-seven pounds.
"Maybe the infusion they gave me in the hospital added fluids to my body? Could that have added ten pounds to my weight?" I turned my question to my reflection, and it looked back at me rather confused. "No, Michelle. You just went too far. You had avoided weighing yourself for a few months now, and the two hundred and sixty pounds you remember, are a thing of the past."
I didn't feel the need to answer the girl in the mirror, but I certainly squinted my eyes at her.
I wrote down the date and my weight in the Excel file, and in the “Mood” column I wrote “Sucks.”
I knew it was pointless to search for harmful surprises, which would make me relapse to my distractive lifestyle in the refrigerator. I remembered that Noel said she did that for me. Although she believed she had found all the places where I hid my snacks, I knew she couldn't even think of some of the other places where I stored chocolate bars stuffed with strawberry cream.
I took a large garbage bag from the kitchen and began to go from room to room, filling and loading into it the self-destructive ingredients I kept in the various corners of my home. Once I finished, I placed its contents in the neighborhood trash bin, which was located right under my bedroom window.
I was sure that as soon as I got into bed, I would fall asleep, but the truth was that I had laid there for hours, debating whether I should rush to the trash bin and take out a few of the snack bars I threw away.
In the early hours of the morning, I glanced at the clock on the nightstand next to my bed. I consoled myself by the fact that I could sleep late the following morning, but my eyes opened wide as I heard the sounds of the garbage truck.
There was no other way to describe my feelings except fear. I was scared to get out of bed before I knew for sure that the trash bag I threw in there last night was gone. I wasn't sure if I would be able to stand in my kitchen knowing that ten yards away from me was the official comforting team of my life, and I wholeheartedly believed I shouldn’t start my date with Don by sharing with the group how I had eaten chocolate or how I took it out from the trash.
For a half-hour, I laid there without making any movement and waited.
I got out of bed only after I heard clearly that the garbage truck was moving down the street.
Having no workday to worry about, I took my time getting ready and then went into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator door and was amazed to see how empty it was after Noel aggressively attacked it.
"I got up, got out of bed, and I'm hungry. You didn't leave any food in the fridge, you crazy bitch!"
I kept to our protocol and sent Noel a written text message as if she hadn't refused to be the one who makes sure I was still alive every morning.
"Before I answer, I just want to make sure you're actually texting me and not everyone who ever spoke badly to you."
"I knew you took offense! Why did you say you were okay if you weren't okay?"
"Apparently, we're not so different from each other, Michelle. Surprisingly, even though I'm not fat, I still do and say what I think those around me would rather hear."
"I know you love me, Noel."
"I do, you dumb ass. I really do love you."
"And I want you to know that I love you too, even though you threw away all of the food from my fridge!"
"I wouldn't call what you had in there 'food.' It was mainly processed garbage, and you should thank me for throwing it away."
She responded almost immediately, but the lack of smiling emojis that she would usually send me was very evident and made me feel bad.
"I may need your help with shopping. I swear I thought I was eating healthy."
I reached out, trying to make it clear that her place in my life was very important and necessary despite me having set very clear boundaries between us in our last conversation.
"With pleasure, Michelle. Just say when and I'll be there. Whatever you need, however you need it, whenever you need it."
I made myself a single egg with some chopped vegetables and tried very hard to swallow the saddening dish. I wanted to add some cream cheese sauce above it or to make myself a side dish of toast in order to help me start the day with a smile when I suddenly remembered my regular breakfast was waiting for me outside my door, like on every other day.
"Damn it!" I said aloud as I looked at the brown bag, and it smelled like heaven on Earth. "Oh my God, this is too big of a temptation," I mumbled as I closed the door behind me.
I wanted to eat all the sweet pastries, and yet, I wanted to throw them away. I inhaled the intoxicating aroma and couldn't make up my mind about what I wanted to do, so I found myself sitting for some long minutes, staring at the closed brown bag.
"Three butter croissants, three chocolate croissants, a finely chopped vegetable salad, a vegetable omelet, and a bottle of orange and carrot juice. May it be a magical day for my favorite customer."
I had neither the willpower to throw the sweet pastries into the garbage can nor the courage to open my mouth and gobble them up. The alert on my phone, which said it was time for me to get going, led me to place the bag, as it was, in the fridge and postpone dealing with this fateful decision until later that day.
/> I thought way too hard about the clothing items I chose that morning and felt very silly about it. I wanted to get dressed for myself and not for anyone else, as I had done my whole life, but on that morning, as I chose the first camping tent that stood on top of the pile of shirts, that idiot made me think about it. He made me think twice about which of the tents I called shirts I should wear. Only after I found the tent that I hoped would leave a positive impression on him, did I feel ready.
With a heavy heart, I set off on a first date with a complete idiot trying to figure out if he was my idiot or just another idiot, like the rest of them.
Chapter 8
Don
I reserved the seat next to me for Michelle, but she, like before, arrived late. As soon as she entered the meeting, I waved my hand in the air, signaling her that she was supposed to cross the circle and take her place, but the unbearable Janice scratched that option off the board.
"Here you go," Janice said as she gestured to a vacant seat that was right next to the entrance.
"I'm just… I mean… If I could simply…" Michelle stuttered and shrugged her shoulders as if asking me for help with just her gaze.
"Well, come on,” Janice rudely insisted. "You're already late, so try to be as little of an interruption as you can."
"You can sit here, Michelle. I saved you a seat next to me!" I called out.
"This is not a fourth-grade class gathering, Don." Janice pointed again to the empty chair next to her. "Michelle, please sit in the nearest available seat and let the meeting continue as planned."
I wanted to kill her. Both of them, to be precise. Janice for making things so difficult and Michelle for looking down awkwardly and sitting in the chair far away from me. I did, however, find comfort in the fact that she had arrived and chose not to leave me in that God awful meeting all by myself.
It didn’t take long for me to understand what she meant when she said that the evening people were different from the morning people. What I couldn’t for the life of me understand was why she chose to come to this shocking group rather than the amazing one we both attended last night.
"...So I stared at the buffet in the hotel and just froze in my spot," one of the attendees was saying, describing her experiences from a family vacation she'd just returned from, and I tried pantomiming for Michelle how that woman looked when she stood shocked in front of all that food, in the hope of making Michelle laugh. "In the end, I left without eating anything and returned to our room. I couldn’t bring myself to eat just a salad, but at least I didn't shove a Belgian waffle with whipped cream and maple syrup down my throat like I wanted so much to do."
As she finished her touching story, I tried to imitate with hand gestures and facial expressions how little I thought about the minor achievement of that woman and immediately regretted it because that time, I actually did manage to make Michelle laugh out loud.
"Am I just a joke to you?" The woman turned firmly to Michelle.
"No, you're not. I'm sorry. So sorry." I quickly tried to pull her rage in my direction and continued. "It was me. I amused her."
"No, Don." I was surprised the woman remembered my name as I had no clue what hers was. "It wasn't you, it was her. It's always her. We're all just a joke to her."
"Gia, I'm sorry. I truly am. That wasn’t kind on my part, and I apologize." Michelle murmured, and once again, flush painted her cheeks as she gave a name to the fat woman who attacked her.
"No, no. It really was my fault," I insisted. "I made faces at her. I told you it would have been better to let her sit next to me," I added in an amused tone to Janice and wasn’t very surprised that she didn’t find my claim funny.
"It has nothing to do with you at all. She was disgusting before you joined us, and she’ll continue to be disgusting. She thinks she’s better than all of us."
"Me?! I'm really not. I'm no better than anyone here in the group, and I know it."
I was sorry to hear Michelle testifying in that way about herself. Ian's words saying that the way I chose to introduce myself to others would be the way they see me suddenly seemed so exact.
"Oh, I know you're not too, Michelle. I don't need you to confess or acknowledge it. I just need you to look at yourself. You're in worse shape than me, woman. I don’t believe you’ve peeked in the mirror lately."
"I think we should all take a deep breath." Janice tried to calm the spirits down, but was unsuccessful.
"No, I've had enough, Janice. I'm calm enough," Gia continued. "I don't understand how she can sit here and roll her eyes at anyone who dares to share their difficulties. Seriously, Michelle." Gia turned to her again. "What is it with you? Do you really think you're not in the same situation as the rest of us? Can you really not see it?"
"I... It's..." I was willing to do anything to draw everyone’s attention to me, but those emotions seemed to have nothing to do with me. "Actually, I don't think I'm in the same situation as you, Gia." Michelle took a deep breath and focused her gaze on the angry woman in a fierce way that surprised me. "This morning, I'm willing to admit that I'm in much worse shape than you. I hope this helps you forgive me."
"You damn right, you are! You're a lot worse." Gia crossed her arms and huffed.
"I am, and I'm sorry." Michelle took the blame that wasn't hers to begin with and broke my heart.
I'd been so excited when I left home that morning. I was sure I was going to see the cheeky, outspoken and uncompromising Michelle again. The woman that fascinated me in the previous encounters, but unfortunately, she wasn’t there. Instead, there was a push-over shadow of a woman who was acting so shy and insecure. I wasn’t sure if she was still worth leaving home for, or better yet, if she was worth returning to the silence that waited for me in it.
In one second, my head was filled with fateful thoughts, and I lost interest in the meeting, going on around me.
My gaze focused on some distant spot on the floor, and I let myself wander back to the first time I met Sarah, my late and beautiful wife.
"Shhhhhhhh…" The librarian tried to silence my noisy entrance to the university library.
"I'm sorry, but it's not me. It's her." I gestured to Natasha, the exchange student I was able to convince to come inside and make-out with me. "You need to control yourself, Natasha." I smirked and rushed to the back aisle, the one that was the perfect discreet place for a burst of passion on campus.
When the most beautiful woman in the universe came to that specific aisle, Natasha was already missing her top, and I was eager to see how far she would let me go.
"Oh... I'm sorry... I… I'll come back later." I heard an angel talking to me and, just for a moment, managed to look into her eyes and felt they were full of embarrassment, before she turned around and ran away.
"Did you see that?!" I widened my eyes in amazement at Natasha, who rushed to find her shirt and cover her perfect breasts.
"See what? That nerdy girl who runs at the sight of boys and girls touching each other?"
"Yes. Her. Did you see her?"
"I did. Did you see these?" she asked, lifting her arms and bravely shaking her breasts in a circular motion that left me no other option but to put her nipples in my mouth one after the other and to spend many more minutes with her there.
Once Natasha reached the line she wasn’t ready to cross with me in a public place, she asked me to stop, and I did. I convinced her that she should leave the library first and that I would follow a few minutes later, claiming that I didn’t want anyone to know we were there together, but the truth was, I wanted to stay a little longer to look for those angel eyes that gazed at me earlier and left some unexplained feelings burning inside me.
"It's a public place, you know? There's a reason why people get a room for… For that." Her voice sounded heavenly from behind me.
"Sure, I know. But what's the rush in that? Anyone can touch Natasha's breasts in private. That's not much of a challenge, is it?"
"Typical." She pushed me aside into
the wall of books standing behind me and passed me by as she walked away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've waited long enough for you to finish, and I want to return some books to their shelves."
I stood stunned by her indifference to me and examined every part of her.
Natasha described her as a nerdy girl, and that description was fitting, but in addition to being nerdy, she was tall, shapely, gentle, and beautiful. Oh my, God, she was so beautiful!
"Um..." As Michelle cleared her throat, she woke me from daydreaming. "I... I would like to share something with you," she said to the group.
"I can't believe it." Janice put her hand on her chest and replied. "Michelle? Are you saying you want to take an active part in our group? Are pigs flying in hell?" Her reaction caused everyone other than Michelle and me to smile.
"Okay, I guess I had that coming." Michelle intended to continue and share something with them, but I couldn't let her do it.
"Stop!" I hurried to say and made everyone look directly at me. "I understand I'm new here, but I have to ask, Michelle why on Earth would you think you had that coming?" I looked away from her to the other people sitting in that circle and went on blaming them. "Why? Just because she was bitter? Because she got angry at the world? Because she’s obviously going through a difficult time, and the only thing that made her feel a little better about herself was the disparaging remarks she blurted out in these morning meetings?"
"You really are new, Don." Gia nodded patronizingly at me and continued like she was drunk with the power gained by Michelle's breakdown. "You'll learn to get to know her, and once you do, you'll understand why we reacted this way."
"Agree to disagree, Ms. Gia. If you can't accept the fact that each one of us here is dealing with his or her own difficulties differently, how do you expect to accept yourself?"