Mia or Me?
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it-----
A single-car crash. Lost control of the vehicle…
Died alone…
The walls went up on my mind and the doors locked everything in, away, everything out. But somehow she finds a way in.
23 missed calls.
She was calling for your help.
She needed you, you know.
You could have saved her.
1•2•3•4•5•6•7•8•9•10•11•12•13•14•15•16•17•18•19•20•21•22•23
She slipped underneath the sheets, wrapper her arms around my waist and pulled me in/ she breathed into my ear/ and stroked her fingers through my air.
You did this to me,
I needed you.
Why?
I breathed in the decay of ages and the cycle of purification that laid next to me in my bed, only signifying death and its unearthly presence. Again, she stroked me hair, out of the way of my ear and blew the stench of death into me. Cloudiness into my head, then the spiders appeared. Their long webs lowered them to the ground; on the silky string they carried the ghosts. A hot gust came through my room, sent down from the heating system. Slicing the spiders in half they multiplied and multiplied. Crawling up the legs of my bed they too joined me in under the covers. Their legs dug into my skin as if it was sand and they hauled themselves up me, slowly sinking into me. I tried to move, to shake them off. But she held me in place. Immobile. Helpless.
You let this happen, you should have saved HER. But you didn’t, you didn’t.
Deal with it.
The vibration of my phone jolted me to consciousness, the dim, murky light filtered through my sheer curtains, signifying some freakishly early hour. Around here, however, that amount of light could have indicated anything from sunrise to high noon. After four rings I finally deigned to answer, accidently knocking Freya (my cat) out of the bed. She landed with indignant mhew and stalked off to clean herself. The caller ID on my phone announced my friend Ava, I opened the phone expectantly waiting to hear her signature salutation “hey, what’s happening?” followed by an update on a life so full she could have her own sitcom.
“Hello?”
“Hey, what’s happening?” blast through the receiver, for an obscene hour in the morning, you could not deny that she had a fair set of lungs on her.
“Sleeping or at least I was until this insomniac decided to call me…” -I turned over to see my clock- “…at 5:45 am…you are a freak, you know that?”
I heard laughing coming from the other end of the line “You can sleep when you’re dead.”
“Which is what you will be if you call me at this time again…” I rubbed my forehead and turned on the lamp, and flipped my sheet of, on spiders insight.
“Hey, hey , hey have respect for the dead” she said, narky.
I stood up and walked over to my bathroom to pee “I believe in respect for the dead: in fact, I could only respect you if you WERE dead”
“Well I hope your this nice to me when I see…soon”
I disconnected the phone cringing. What the hell? She was so weird, especially when she spoke in code.
I clutched my phone, shuffling through the call log.
1•2•3•4•5•6•7•8•9•10•11•12•13•14•15•16•17•18•19•20•21•22•23
11:45/11:46/ 11:48/ 11:51/ 11:55/12:00…and it goes on and on the last call from her just before the accident.
Why didn’t I answer, after everything that happed why didn’t I take the time to answer my phone, she might still be alive if I did? She could still be here.
She could still be here. Her voice echoed as she returned.
The Dark thoughts seep through the ceiling, drip down the walls and burn my skin. It seems easy, it is easy. Chair/rod/curtain cord.
Will it hurt?
Sure, it will. Death wasn’t meant to be comfortable. Why don’t you just drive your car into the Hudson and see what it would have been like for her.
Haunting.
My hand wipes the wet salt off my cheeks, my tongue licks what’s left on my lips. My stomach churns a familiar feeling inside of me.
Fat• weak• fat• no good• fat• bitch• fat
I ease myself away from the wall, shaking off the thoughts, the darkness in my mind and the cobwebs in my hair. I crawl across the floor to the bathroom, the feeling in my stomach is more urgent now, I stop slightly to turn on the lights. The florescent bulb shines through me, revealing my insides, all that I am; what I don’t have.
What you will never have, because you’re weak.
I wrap myself around the toilet seat, sticking my fingers down my throat. They brush my esophagus and swirl around in my stomach. I heave, and my stomach is emptied. Pancakes/syrup/strawberries. I shove my fingers further down, it comes quicker. I whip my mouth, and rub my hand on my top.
Each time I lose more of my insides self, they come up my throat and are pulled out by my fingers. Each time I’m stronger, there is less inside to be weak. Empty is happy and I should must remember that.
More• fat• more • useless• fat• worthless, worthless, worthless.
“Shut-up” I whimpered “Just leave me alone”
You’re worthless.
I turned the shower on, the bathroom filled up with steam. I pulled off my clothes, and examined myself in the mirror. My only enemy is my reflection and a thing called the ‘Weightier 3000’.
I breathed in, and breathed out emptiness. Happy.
I’m strong. Your fat. I’m a stick. Your fat.
99.2 lbs.
I’m strong…
…But not strong enough. I see what I see, not what they tell me too see. Thighs that could be mistaken for a tree in central park. A stomach that would makes me look like a teen parent, hips like an elephant and arms like plain dumb fat person. They say I’m a twig, but I know what’s right.
At 88 lbs and I’ll be strong, I’ll be perfect.
The pictures on my walls, ripped and torn from the woman’s bibles bought from every newsstand, show the skeleton I want to be, the body I will never have…
Not when you’re weak.
Cruel.
My account on CalorieKing.com is my real home and I live amongst a nation of girls who want to strong, want to be perfect. The united states of Mia’s and Anna’s. The winter-girls. The girls who are in danger-land but are happy and girls who can’t shake those final 25lbs that hang off them like sticky burdens.
They create a better home for me, than the one I have. What do I know of a real family when I live with people that I’m not related too?
How can they smile at me and call me their own when I’m not?
The water is hot and burns my skin, burns away the pounds the calories the unwanted information. I shake down my happiness and it washes through the drain, dejection climbs up the pipe like the itsy-bitsy spider. It bites me on the foot and the venom sinks in. It’s cold, familiar and welcomes me back. I invite it into myself. My hands press against the tiles and prevent me from slipping, my eye lashes stick together and water runs from my eyes. Down my cheek, I lick my lips, taste the salt and let the rest of it joined the water down the drain.
Why? How? Why?
I don’t understand.
Was my mother so sick that I had to find out through the 6am newswomen, I mean, come on! That’s how they find out in books, television shows and movies, but not real life…
Alone, always. Alon-
Evaporated by Ahlia at my bathroom door, “Lacey?”.
I turn off the shower, wrapped a towel around myself and start swathing my lashes with mascara. She stuck her head in the door, eyes closed for my privacy “Are you ready? We’re leaving in five minutes” she says, then leaves with the gracefulness of many years of skill acquired under blood and sweat.
The bathroom door closes. I rinse my mouth out with water/ brush my teeth/ flush the toilet/ brush my tongue/ hide the evidence/ brush my throat flushed, down by orange blossom/ brush my stomach.
I take my tee and hide it in the bottom of my washing basket. I slip into my lycra corset, tie the transparent sheath around my waste. My hair is pulled back my neck/ my throat/ my ears… Exposed.
Then I hide myself away.
Long-sleeved top/sweater/tights/track pants/jacket/scarf/ hat. I examine myself in the mirror. I’m a snowman, cold inside and out, broken twigs for arms and feet. Soon over time my clothes won’t hide me, I’ll melt away and become nothing.
“I’m leaving!” Ahlia says coming back past my room.
I pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulders, on my way out I grab my point shoes.
* * *
Winter had come early in Manhattan, the leaves of Fall died away under the snow that dusts the surfaces. And once more, I become a secret winter-girl; I wrap my scarf around my neck and pull my coat tighter around myself. Ahlia walking beside me, her effortless grace peels away my self -esteem, everything comes easily for her, she doesn’t need to work as hard as I. She is skin/she is bone/ she is the air that I breathe because she is so pure/ so untouched. She doesn’t give herself up to her emotions and is pulled down by her food. She nibbles on a blueberry muffin (430) and sips an Evian (0-)
So easy.
It’s warm inside when we arrive, American Ballet Academy.
I’m home.
The girls who come in around us are my sisters, winter girls/ ghosts/ Mia or Anna?
No difference.
We sweat/we bleed/ bend and snap/ break our bones.
Sleeping Beauty Ugly Beauty- cast list
King Florestan XXIV- Cooper Hardiman
Queen- Anna-Beth Brown
Princess Aurora, - Lacey Mair
Carabosse- Ahlia Lightwood
Prince Désiré- Xavier Grey
I realized that my interpretation of reality was at a close point when Ahlia hugged me “You got Princess Aurora! Congratulations”
“Well…” I said “You got Carabosse, you’re going to do great!” I felt warmth on my back I turned around to find, Xavier standing behind me.
“My dearest Princess Aurora, would you be obliged to accompany me into the studio” he linked arms with me; I felt the full weight of his body/affections/ my decisions.
“I would be honored Prince Désiré” We walked up the stairs and down the hallway past the studios the classrooms. I stared upward and immediately had the disorienting feeling I always did in here: that the ceiling and walls were closing in around me. Like I couldn't breathe. Like the sides of the hall would keep coming toward me until no space remained, pushing out all the air. ..
One, two, three, four…
Pirouette, arabesque, attitude, gallop grand jeté.
Five, six, seven, eight.
Piqué and Fouetté rond de jambe en tournant.
I follow the robots in front of me, and keep in time with the moves. My legs, my arms, worn in by the steps polished with eminence and worn down by expectations. The music slows, and I fall into the finishing position.
Ms. Karia stood at the front of the class, her scowl examined the contours of our thighs and arms the straightness of our legs the curve in out point. “That was pathetic.” Her eyes zoom on me “Lacey, that wasn‘t dancing that was flailing. What‘s wrong with you?... You look fatter today”
The girls around me scatter, and I’m left to face her alone. “I‘m just not feeling myself today” I walk away, trying not to think about her words, trying not to look into the mirror and stab my self-esteem. I sit on the studio floor and press
my back into the mirror, hoping that the glass will break and cut me. I pull off my shoes, and feel my heart beating in my toes and pulsating through my feet.
“ABA doesn’t accept fat people” she said stalking away, sizing up the rest of the dancers searching for her next prey. Xavier cam and sat down next to me, he took my feet in his hands and began rubbing them.
“Just relax,” he whispered. “You’ll get better”
She found her way into the back of my mind, Worthless, I pushed her away. Back to Xavier “It’s only the first week of rehearsals.” I set my feet back on the ground and he stood up and held out his hand, I stared at it in hesitation then reached out to take it. We fell in line behind the other dancers as they piled out of the room to go to lunch.
“Lacey, Xavier?” Ms. Karia stopped us on the way out. “May I see you for a moment?”
Trapped! Trapped! Anyone? Anyone? Psycho in a leotard about to murder two innocent people! Help?
Xavier pulled me back into the studio before I could make a run for it. Ms. Karia examined the two of us, the space between our bodies that nearly didn’t exist. I had known him for a long time but I never thought of him as anything more than a friend.
“I would like to bring to your attention” Ms. Karia began, -when she started talking with more formal language then necessary I knew that she meant serious business- “You are Princess Aurora, Lacey.”
‘I had no idea’. I wished that I could have said it out loud.
“…and Xavier you are Prince Désiré. You two have to display emotion, lust, intimacy on stage. And love, you have to display love, at this moment I don’t see that at all. In you particularly Lacey, you look drab, and I seriously doubt my beliefs in you as someone who is able to portray this character.”
I felt like she had just stabbed me with my own point shoes. She was in no position to tell me if I had the passion for this or not.
“Do the final Pas de deux for me again,” the pianist had long since left the room, regardless she put a CD in the player and the music began at the start of the scene towards the end of the ballet where Princess Aurora and Prince Désiré kiss.
Pas de deux-
One, two, three, four…
Chassé Pirouette, arabesque, attitude, gallop grand jeté.
***
Lunchtime.
Cheap/ manufactured/uneatable/talking/people/friends/popularity/hierarchy.
Lonely, lonely, lonely.
She slowly crept back to me.
Lonely/ fat/ lonely, lonely.
The steady hum of the three-thousand five-hundred and ninety-two students all talking at once, was enough to drown out the food that laid in front of me. Around me, fellow dancers crunched/munched/and sloshed there food around in their mouths temporarily filling their voids with carbs/ cholesterol/ saturated fats. On a nearby table I watched a group of girls who danced in the chorus who clearly knew how the academy worked, these girls seemed to have it worked out. Two of them crunched on celery stick (15) + (15), one munched on a lentil burger (531), one sloshed a diet coke (2) and another nibbled on a lettuce leaf (4).
Celery stick1: leaned in a said something.
Diet Coke: said something else
Celery stick 1& 2: laughed
Lentil burger: said something else, stuck her tongue out and sprayed her friends with morsels of her lunch.
Lettuce leaf: nibbled…
…and it went on and on like that in all the other cliques that filled the food hall that mass produced stereotypes and served them up as specials. My personal choice went to with lettuce leaf. It clearly says ‘I have a problem, but what do you care of it?’
Ahlia approached with a tray of celery and a single carrot stick and a bottle of water. (15) + (10) + (0) = (25) not too bad.
Again, she pushed herself back into my mind, this time there were no words to whisper, but shrieks. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat. Must. Not. Eat…
I pushed away my tray of food that would have only gone uneaten anyway; there was plenty of food left in my stomach form earlier on in the day and made for a quick escape to the toilets. I found familiar salvation in a cubical amidst the generic toilet product.
Welcome home. She returned. Took you long enough, I have been waiting.
I’d left the cafeteria before I could eat my lunch, but there was still something left in my stomach from earlier on in the day. Something to cement my strength.
I the toilet bowl; instead of my patented sticking my fingers down my throat my gag reflex took over and this time, however, the overwhelming scent coming from the toilet dispenser caused me to heave without covering my fingers with my insides.
She held my hair back from my face while I emptied myself and slowly rubbed my back.
My stomach emptied. Remains of breakfast=pancakes (522) + syrup (312) + strawberries (26) = (860) I choke, breath in deeply, the toilet refresher, it comes quicker.
And I’m empty.
Rid of the (860) that plagued and dragged me down, I wiped my mouth, and rubbed my hand on my top. Stain.
Weakling.
Each time I loose more of my insides, they come up my throat and are pulled out by my fingers. Each time I’m stronger, there is less inside to be weak.
Empty is weak/ lonely/ dead happy…
… I must remember that. Weakling.
I stand up and flush the toilet, pull some toilet paper out of the dispenser and rub it against my forehead, it’s rough and absorbs any signs of weakness.
I exit the cubical, the light glowing from the bulb, shines through me, my skeleton sprouts wings and flies away. Every curve and bone that I desire to hide, exposed, my rib cage sawed away like bits of charcoal. The rickety faucet bestows the water that washes away my feelings, they try to cling to the pipe and crawl their way back up like harrowing spiders.
***
Lady Lazarus, in the flesh
2 months later…
Sitting on my desk holding an array of pens, pencils, nails files and a ruler is an old coffee mug with a rather oblique aphorism ‘Piss me off, pay the consequences’ the mug was a gift from my mom, last birthday. Who, in an acute piece of characters assessment said I had a black and white sense of right and wrong.
Back then I took it as a compliment, but obviously my mother didn’t know me well enough. I wouldn’t have had the balls anyway to ‘Pay the consequences’ to anyone. Had my highly calibrated sense of right and wrong blinded me from the myriad shades of gray in between?
Google.
www.CalorieKing.com.
Welcome PixieStick!
I sighed with relief as I was happily welcomed home to the cries and pleas for the starving realm of my sisters…
-------------------
FoodEnemyEmily:I cracked today, 1000 calories I feel dirty, paying it all back tomorrow.
-------------------
AngelSkeleton911:I can’t to this anymore, I’m not strong enough
-------------------
@AngelSkeleton911:You are strong enough you can do it!
These girls know how I feel; they console me, tell me I’m fine.
Empty is sad happy.
Empty is weak strong.
Empty is nothing/feeling nothing/thinking nothing/being nothing/remembering nothing/
Empty is happy-
I jumped, when a knock at the door brought me out of my thoughts, my hand bumped over the mug, pens and pencils spread across my desk.
I closed my laptop, with near primitive force and spun around.
Xavier stood at my bedroom door, swinging my pair of point shoes, he smiled. His hair slick to one side stuck down with tons of gel and hair spray and the amount of make-up on his face made him look more feminine than I.
“We have to go” he said, I stood walked over to him, taking the point shoes off him, I became replaced as the valuable item in his arms. He kissed me lightly on the lips. I took his hand we left, “Why don’t you have you make-up on yet?”
“They’re going to do it when I get there” I said, catching a pin that was falling out I pushed it back into my bun fiercely, the tip long since worn off i felt the skin peel away from my scalp, the memories seeping away slowly.
I turned off the light and left her behind, double bolting the door on the way out.
***
“Lacey” exclaimed the make-up artist when I came through the door, “Your late” She pulled me into the chair, I leaned back, my face, exposed to her magical hands as they moved over me covering me with powder and pastes
After some time, raised a mirror to face, the reflection staring back at me was stranger. Pale as a sheet of paper , with gleaming cheeks and sparkling eyes, the vision of happiness yet, I couldn’t see anything happy about this person.
She came to me in the mirror, how she found her way there I won’t know, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. She whispered the knowledge of Plath at me. I commended her for it, before letting go, I dropped the mirror, it fell to floor. Smashing into a million little pieces upon impact, the make-up artist jumped. What a million filaments.
“Go away” I spat through my teeth. Stepping back from the mirror on the floor I moved to the door and left, briefly stopping outside the door. I put my head in my hands.
What was happening how is she able to get through my walls? I’m strong.
NO YOUR NOT!
“I’m strong!” I said, I felt something warm on my shoulder. I looked up to see Xavier Prince Désiré.
“Hey, you okay?” he said consoling, I shook my head, relieving everything out of my mind, it opened. Letting my him, pushed her out, I hope. I sunk into his hug.
He whispered, when he buried his head into my hair “You going to be great”
Corps de ballet, please ensemble to opening positions. This is our 2 minute call, 2 minutes.
He released me from the hug, “See you on the other side” he smiled and left me in the hall way.
…The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot ------
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone…
The curtain lifts…
…
…
…
Pathetic
Horrible
Disgraceful
I turned on the light of my dressing room, decorated in dozens of roses from respected admirers. I locked the door, she came back, in full form.
Hollow blue eyes, no lips, no noes. Wet hair fell across her face. Her top and pants were ripped, and drenched. She shivered, opened to say something, but nothing came out. Water ran down her arms and dripped off her fingertips. She moved her arm up and pushed pushed the hair off her face.
Mom.
Me?
Her faced changed back between and finally settled on me.
You did this to me, she breathed water seeping out of her mouth.
I turned around to the sink, the mirror above reflected her.
You did this to me.
•2•3•4•5•6•7•8•9•10•11•12•13•14•15•16•17•18•19•20•21•22•23
I turned on the faucet, the water started to steam, I covered my hands with soap and started rubbing it across my face. Harder and harder I rubbed/scrubbed and scrubbed. I rinsed my face under the water rubbing some more. I rubbed and rubbed and scrubbed. Pressing the soap to my face I moved it over my face. Ride of the make-up, back to myself.
I rinsed my face once more, grabbing the towel, blind. I wiped my face with the towel. Looking up at my reflection I, started to shake, I moaned and cringed away from my reflection. Pale as a sheet of paper , with gleaming cheeks and sparkling eyes, the vision of happiness yet, I couldn’t see anything happy about this person. I had not changed.
…Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical…