“Are we there yet?” I asked my half-sister’s dad, looking over at him from the passenger seat. I already knew the answer: we still had at least three and a half more hours in the car.
We had just gotten onto the Jersey Turnpike, and I was desperate to be out of the car. To Boston University we went for my oldest sister’s graduation. We took more than enough cars for all of our stuff, because we had to make sure we could get all of hers back. My sister, the prissy packrat. Bethany.
Once we checked into the hotel, I dibbed the couch in the suite, absolutely refusing to share a room or a bed with anyone I couldn’t stand the way people breathed in their sleep.
That night, as she sat on the floor in hysterical tears over her graduation cap, she stopped, eyed me up and down, pursed her lips and said, “You’ve lost a lot of weight recently.”
I nodded and looked down at my new and improved body. Since that Christmas I had been Paleo and dropped twenty pounds. She was proud, I though. “Yeah, I suppose I have.”
“You aren’t throwing up, are you?”
“What? No!”
My mom chimed in then, vouching for how strict I was on my diet. Beth stopped commenting on my appearance, and changed the subject to her friend’s eating habits. “Yeah,” she said, “Hilary is totally bulimic and everyone knows it. She’s tiny.”
My mother’s face froze in shock, like she had just found out that unicorns were real, except the surprise was much darker than the equestrian society. My thoughts mirrored hers; eating disorders weren’t real. They were just something you learn about and forget about.
“What?” Beth continued, “She’s tiny, a coxswain for the crew team here.”
“Why don’t you say something?” Mom asked.
“What would I say?” Beth had already had a lot to drink, and at this point she sat on the couch while Valerie finished the cap.
She had a point.
We went to dinner the next night after graduation, everyone together. My grandmother and grandfather sat next to me. Their eyes dug into my plate, then my fork as I shuffled food into my mouth. My sister’s too. My shirt suddenly felt too tight and my hands to plump.
And I met Hilary. She looked happy, and her collar bones stuck out. I watched them as she talked, admiring the way the skin was pulled taut over the bone. Her phone rang and rang until she turned it off.
Mine never did that.
At dinner, I ate and ate until I felt nauseous. It wasn’t until halfway through the meal that I knew what I was doing. I smiled to myself at the realization, and after downing another glass of diet coke, I excused myself to the bathroom and shut the door. The lock clicked into place, and I tied my hair back.
Bracing my arm against the toilet seat, I hinged at the hips and brought the number two into my mouth, into my throat.
At first, it hurt. The acid stung and particles splashed in the bowl. My eyes watered. My teeth scraped along my fingers. My wrist and ankles started to go numb.
I wiped my mouth, and washed my hands. Wiping my eyes, I took a step back to admire myself. Ugly pig, I spat. But don’t worry, one day you’ll be just like Hilary. One day you’ll be pretty.
