Sad Perfect

by Stephanie Elliot

  Her eyes bulge out in shock at seeing you there in your regular clothes and your Chucks, and not in your pajamas.

  “What in the world? What’s going on? Were you out?!”

  “Mom!” You think fast. “You scared me! I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep so I went for a walk. I wanted to clear my head.”

  “You don’t leave the house this late at night! You were in bed all day because you’ve been”—and she uses those annoying air quotation marks here—“‘sick’ … and now you’re out doing God knows what, acting like everything in the world is just fine?”

  “I went for a walk. Around the block, okay? For twenty minutes. Can I go to bed, please? I’m tired.”

  “That is totally not the point! Anything could have happened to you this late at night. This is not something that you do!” She glares at you, and you don’t answer her. You feel like you might cry.

  She senses your tears coming and softens her tone. “Honey, are you okay? Is there something more going on? Do you need to talk about anything?”

  She looks deep into your eyes like she’s pleading with you to tell her everything that’s going on, but you haven’t got it in you to tell her what’s wrong. So you tell her the only thing you can tell her.

  “Mom. I’m okay.”

  “Get some rest. You know I’m just worried about you, right?”

  “I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I love you.”

  Because you do love her. You do. It’s just so hard. So hard when the monster is telling you so many things. He’s telling you not to eat, he’s telling you to hurt yourself, he’s telling you to push away the ones you love, he’s trying to ruin your life. And he’s succeeding.

  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “Go to sleep, honey. I love you too.”

  * * *

  Saturday morning you ask your mom if you and Ben can go to Lake Pleasant for the day on Sunday to hike and swim. She hesitates for a moment but then agrees on the condition that you eat breakfast and wear plenty of sunscreen. You tell her you’ve already promised Ben that you’ll eat breakfast too. You see your mom suppress a smile and you take that as a good sign.

  Friday night when Ben asked you to eat breakfast before the hike, you said you would, and he asked what you might have.

  “I eat breakfast. Breakfast isn’t hard,” you told him. “I eat waffles like it’s my job.” You smiled, and it felt wonderful to do that. To smile.

  “Okay, eat waffles like it’s your job on Sunday morning because you’ll need a lot of energy for hiking. What do you want for lunch? I’m going to pack a lunch.”

  “A picnic?” you asked.

  “Yeah, a picnic. Haven’t you ever been on a picnic?” he asked.

  “Not with a boy I like,” you told him.

  “I like you too,” he said.

  “You do?”

  He touched his finger to your nose and kissed your lips softly.

  Then he said, “Very, very much.”

  38

  Sunday turns out to be a beautiful day and when you arrive at Lake Pleasant you get out of the car and stretch your arms wide into the sunny, open skies. It’s under one hundred degrees, which means it’s actually cool, and Ben grabs his backpack and another one that he’s packed for you. You’re not a big fan of hiking but you’ve decided that if you’re doing something with Ben, even if it’s walking on fiery charcoals, you’ll do it happily. Because you’re with Ben.

  You’d do anything with Ben.

  “How many waffles did you eat this morning?” he asks.

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Of course.”

  “Seven.”

  “Good Lord, woman!”

  “You told me to eat a lot!”

  “Is it that easy to get you to eat?” he asks.

  “Maybe I don’t need therapy,” you say. “Maybe I just need you to tell me what to do.”

  “If only it were that easy,” he agrees.

  “Yeah.”

  “I wish I understood your eating disorder better,” he says.

  He leads you to the trailhead and you start on your hike, holding hands along the way. You feel like you want to tell him more, so that he understands.

  “The stuff I did to my wrists and hands—which I’ve never done before, I want you to know that—and being mean to you … I’m not myself when that goes on, if that makes sense,” you say.

  Ben gives your hand an encouraging squeeze, so you continue.

  “I feel restricted by this ‘thing,’ almost like there’s a monster inside of me, telling me what to do, you know? And I’m sorry I’ve treated you so horribly when you’ve been nothing but amazing to me.”

  “No more I’m sorrys,” he says, and he kisses the top of your head.

  You tell Ben how you only think of food in negative ways, and how you wish you could change your behavior and rewire your brain.

  “Is therapy not helping at all?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Are you being open to it, I mean, really, really open to it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you have to be more open-minded to what they’re trying to teach you,” he says kindly. “But no more cutting. I don’t want you to cut yourself anymore. The other night when I saw that, well, it scared the crap out of me. When you left, I thought about it a long time.” He says it in a tone that makes you feel a little anxious. You feel like he has more to say but you interrupt.

  “I won’t,” you say. “I won’t do it again.” You hope you can keep that promise. You truly do.

  “I’ll try to help you any way I can. I may not say the right things all the time, or do the right things, but I care about you and want you to get better.”

  You smile. “I want that too.” And you mean it. You actually feel the monster quiver. Good, you think. Die.

  39

  Ben takes you on a trail around the lake and he actually makes the hike fun. He holds your hand the whole time and leads you through the rocky terrain so you don’t trip, which is your main reason for being apprehensive of hiking. That, and the fear of snakes. He assures you that if there’s a snake he will fight it off for you. Actually, he promises if there’s a snake he will help you get away from it so it won’t bite you.

  You trust him to keep his word.

  There are no snakes.

  Instead, you are surrounded by stunning lake views and desert foliage you rarely see near home: spindly saguaro, blooming cholla and organ pipe cactus, and colorful desert sage and marigold.

  Ben pulls out his phone, clicks on his camera, and drapes his arm around you.

  “Smile,” he says.

  You do, and he takes a few shots of the two of you, making sure to get the lake and mountain views in the background. When he’s done you both peer at the pictures, although they’re hard to see in the sunlight. He chooses the best one, puts it on Instagram, and tags you.

  “I’m hashtagging this one ‘AwesomestGirlEver.’” He grabs your hand and pulls you forward to continue the hike. You’re glad he’s leading the way because if he could see the stupid grin on your face he’d tease you the rest of the day.

  After you’ve hiked a while longer, Ben finds a clearing overlooking the lake where there are some large rocks and smooth ground, and he assures you it’s a place snakes would not inhabit. He sets out a blanket for the picnic he’s packed. He’s got apple slices and carrots, peanut butter crackers, fresh bread, and small bottles of frozen water that have just begun to melt and are perfectly cold.

  “You thought of everything,” you exclaim.

  “I even brought chocolate but that’s for later.”

  “Did it melt?” you ask.

  “I kept it near the chilled water bottles.”

  “You are brilliant,” you say, because clearly, he is.

  “What do you want to eat?” he asks.

  You take a chunk of the bread and it’s soft, safe, and delicious, and he has a sandwich
that he’s packed for himself. You eat the apple slices and carrots and then start in on some peanut butter crackers when you realize he’s beaming at you.

  “What?” you ask.

  “You’re really cute.”

  You laugh and nudge him with your shoe.

  “You are,” he says.

  “What kind of sandwich is that?” you ask him.

  “It’s turkey with cheese.”

  “I wonder what would happen if I took a bite.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “I thought you were a vegetarian?”

  “Self-imposed,” you say. You both laugh.

  He hands you the sandwich and you look at it, and then take a bite. It’s a small bite, mostly bread, but there’s definitely some turkey and cheese in your mouth.

  You chew.

  You consider.

  You try very hard not to think about what’s in your mouth because if your brain and your mouth work too hard together then you know you’ll gag.

  You swallow quickly.

  It tastes like … it tastes like nothing.

  You tell him that and then you say, “It actually tastes a little like cardboard. Salty cardboard.”

  “Yeah, but look!” Ben says. “You took a bite! You chewed it, you ate it! And nothing horrible happened. That’s awesome, babe!”

  Now you’re beaming.

  You did it.

  You pretty much know that this is what you’ll need to do to conquer the monster.

  You don’t take another bite, but you feel like you’ve accomplished something. You feel great.

  After lunch you clean up your stuff and head back down to the lake. You’ve got your my-mom-hates-this-suit suit on underneath your clothes. You strip off your shorts and watch Ben watch you as you take off your T-shirt.

  “God, you’re hot,” he says.

  He takes off his shirt and he’s already got his board shorts on and you grin at him and say, “Nice abs.” Then you run past him toward the lake because suddenly you’re shy.

  Ben follows you into the lukewarm water. You swim out neck-deep and tread water. Ben is tall enough to still stand and he grabs you around the waist immediately. You put your arms around his neck and there you both are, kissing, again.

  You wrap your legs around Ben’s waist and even though there are other people at the lake you don’t care. Holding you, he walks farther out and off to the side, near a rock formation, and you keep kissing. The kissing is crazy, the water is glorious, there is a shock of blue sky and white clouds and the two of you are locked together, your lips exploring, your legs wrapped tight around him. Your heart is racing and you think, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod …

  You’re so in love with this boy.

  40

  You text Jae on Sunday night.

  How’s your trip? You back yet?

  No, tomorrow late. What’s up?

  Ben and I are back together!

  Really! That’s great! Can’t wait to hear all about it!

  OK. See you at school on Tuesday! ♥

  * * *

  Monday is Labor Day and Ben has stuff to do with his family so you spend the day catching up on homework. The good thing about Monday being Labor Day is that Healthy Foundations is closed so you don’t have to go to therapy. You think that things are looking up for you until you get to school on Tuesday and get called to the office when you’re in Math. Your teacher excuses you and the whispers in class erupt.

  You can’t imagine why you’re being called to the office, other than maybe your mom forgot to call in your absence from Friday?

  When you arrive at Reception, the secretary escorts you to the principal’s office.

  The small room is filled.

  Your parents are there.

  Your English teacher, Mr. Owens, is there.

  There is another woman in the room you don’t recognize.

  You start to panic. Your breathing quickens and your heart smashes against your rib cage.

  You’ve never felt fear like this.

  The first thing you think is that Todd is dead.

  “Please, have a seat,” your principal, Mr. Jordan, says not unkindly, but it still doesn’t calm your fears.

  You sit in the chair between your parents, and your mom reaches for your arm.

  And then you know.

  You pull your arm away quickly but she grabs it again and looks at your wrist. Her face goes pale.

  “Mom, it’s not what you think!”

  Mr. Jordan says, “We received an e-mail on anonymoustips.com that you might be having some trouble. The person who e-mailed indicated that you might be harming yourself.”

  You think back to English class last week. Who saw you? Alex watches you all the time, but the girl who sits next to you could have sent in the tip too. It could have been anyone in class. You’re livid.

  Your dad is looking straight ahead, grasping his hands together tightly. His jaw is clenched and a vein in his neck is pulsing. You’re not sure if he’s upset or about ready to lose it.

  “Daddy.” It comes out sounding like a whimpering plea. “It’s not what you think. Please, Daddy. I didn’t … I promise you.”

  “Pea, honey, they’re all here to help you.” He cannot look you in the eyes.

  Mr. Owens speaks up. “I read your six-word memoir last night. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to get to it until last evening because I was gone for the long holiday weekend. It caused great concern. The monster inside wants me dead?”

  Mr. Jordan cuts in. “With that, and the anonymous tip that came in over the weekend, which we didn’t see until staff checked the site this morning, we had to address this immediately.”

  Mr. Jordan nods in the direction of the nicely dressed woman. “Ms. Reynolds is from the Arizona Suicidal Crisis Management Team.”

  “Oh my God! I didn’t try to kill myself!” You’re reeling. You feel light-headed and your blood pulses through every vein in your body. Your adrenaline is at an all-time high.

  Ms. Reynolds speaks then. “I’d like to take you to my office to talk, and then I’ll evaluate what will happen next. You might need to go for some psychiatric care.”

  “What? Where?” You don’t know what to think.

  “We’re here to help,” Ms. Reynolds continues. “We only want the best for you.”

  “Where am I going? What … I didn’t do anything wrong. I just have an eating disorder. That’s all! Tell them, Mom! And I’m getting better! I am! I ate part of a turkey sandwich this weekend! Mom, I did!”

  “Oh honey.” Your mom begins to sob.

  You cry hard, hot tears. The monster is looming large now, filling you with fear and anxiety.

  He’s going to end you.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m doing therapy with Shayna! I promise I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I don’t want to die. I just … I need help learning to eat, that’s all!”

  “Do you need to get anything out of your locker?” Mr. Jordan asks.

  You think for a minute. This might be your only chance to talk to Ben.

  “I have to get my backpack.”

  Mr. Jordan and Ms. Reynolds exchange glances. The principal nods his approval, and then says, “Your mom should go with you.”

  Your mom wipes away tears and you both stand up to go to your locker.

  “Come back immediately,” Mr. Jordan says.

  “Yes, of course,” your mom says.

  You leave the office and you’re still sniffling back tears. Your mom is silent.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. You know I didn’t try to kill myself,” you tell her.

  “I’m not doing anything to you. The school called this morning saying there was an anonymous tip that you’ve been cutting yourself. And that memoir? You say there’s this monster and you need to die?”

  “No, Mom. No! It’s not like that!”

  “Sweetheart, there is no alternative. Do you understand the severity of the situation? You need something more tha
n Healthy Foundations. You’re harming yourself, you’re not eating, you’re behaving erratically … Your father and I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Mom, I don’t want to die, it’s just … it’s just … I don’t know…”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Do you really think I’ll have to be admitted somewhere?” The thought of it makes your head spin.

  “I’m not sure, but something has to be done. Maybe they want to evaluate you overnight, that’s all?”

  “Okay.” You feel a bit better now, thinking you might only be away for one night. When you get to your locker, you say, “I have to text Ben.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetie,” your mom says.

  “Why not? I need to tell him what’s happening.”

  Your mom says, “All this cutting, this hurting yourself, it started when you met Ben. We’re concerned that maybe a relationship is too much for you to deal with right now. Ms. Reynolds said I have to take your phone.”

  41

  “You don’t want to kill yourself?” Ms. Reynolds takes notes on a legal pad. The two of you are alone in her office while your parents wait in the lobby.

  “Not yet,” you say.

  She glances at you from above her reading glasses. You realize that’s not the right thing to say to someone on your crisis-management team, which she has told you she is a part of—the team. She is a member of your crisis-management team. If she’s on your team, then why the fuck is she trying to get you committed? you wonder.

  “I haven’t tried to commit suicide,” you say. “Ever.”

  “What thoughts do you have?” she asks.

  “About what?” you ask.

  “About life,” Ms. Reynolds says.

  “I hate it most days.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it sucks.”

  “What sucks about life?” she asks.

  “Everything,” you answer.

  “Some examples?”

  “Let’s see, my mom drinks more than she should. When my dad’s not at his sports job, he’s at home watching sports or talking to my brother about sports. My brother is an inactive participant in our family. But my dad thinks he walks on water. I can’t eat. I have this thing where I hate food. I can’t comprehend what it’s like to enjoy eating. Now you all think I tried to commit suicide. The only thing I have going for me is a great boyfriend and apparently my parents think he’s a bad influence on me.”