The Lindner Center

The Beginning

   I showed up at twelve thirty on a Wednesday. Everyone watched as the transport officers lowered the stretcher. Everyone stared as I shakily stood up. I stumbled forward, trying to take in all of my surroundings at once. It looked like a hotel lobby or something -- only there was a giant table in the middle of the room half full of other kids wearing scrubs and frizzy hair and curious eyes glued straight to my face.

"Right in here," someone directed me. It was a lady wearing a skirt and glasses and a MD badge on the front of her shirt. I started in the direction she pointed me, eager to get away from the prying eyes of the rest of the patients, when another lady walked up and stopped me.

"Ah, ah! No, I need to have a companion meal with her first," she insisted. The lady was short and stout and had an accent that got on my nerves almost as much as her tight lipped smile did. Or maybe I just didn't like her because she was the only one enforcing that I eat lunch so far.

"Okay, I'll speak with the parent first then," the MD said, waving me away. I glanced at the entrance, wondering if my mom had already shown up. But the only people walking through the doors were the transport officers, carrying off their stretcher to use on someone else.

"I'm Mrs. Ananda," the accent lady announced, dragging my attention back to her. I think I mumbled hi, or said something else equally unintelligent. I was so riddled with anxiety over the whole situation, I could barely get anything else out. "We're sitting over here," Ananda continued, leading me to the big table sitting in the middle of the room. As I walked closer, I realized it was really four different tables, all stuck together to make one long surface. Eyes followed me across the room. Every time I looked up to catch the other patient's stares, they looked away.

"Right here," Ananda instructed, pointing to a green tray with two different covered drinks and a plate covered by a lid. I felt shaky as I reached out to pull back my chair. Then I felt confused, because the chair wasn't pulling out.

"It's heavy," I said dumbly, struggling with the weighted piece of furniture.

"It's sand," Ananda said, pulling out her own chair with ease.

"Sand?" It didn't occur to me until later that the furniture was made specifically so that it could not be thrown. I finally edged the chair out far enough so that I could slide in. When I dropped down to my seat I watched the green lid on top of my plate cautiously. What was inside it? Was this food like the hospital's food down town?

Across from me, Ananda was beginning to pick at her meal. It looked like some sort of noodles and sauce. I felt my jaw clench up. It looked anxiety-provoking, that was for sure. But maybe, just maybe, it was doable.

Expecting to have been served the same meal, I reached for the lid of my plate and lifted it off. My stomach dropped.

"Potato chips?" I squeaked. Inside my head, I was screaming. There was a mound of chips covering a good two thirds of my plate, and the other third was occupied by a fat, greasy grilled cheese sandwich. I recoiled, and tried to put the lid back on top of my meal, but Ananda stopped me.

"Ah, ah! Give the lid to me. And the bottom," Ananda instructed, pointing to the base of the lid underneath my plate. I shut my mouth tightly and worked the base out from under my meal. Reluctantly, I handed the lids over to Ananda. "Thank you," she snipped. She didn't look the least bit thankful.

My eyes drifted back down to the meal in front of me. Suddenly I was too hot. It felt like my shirt collar was too tight. I felt my nerves beginning to crank up as I stared at the mass of food in front of me and thought about the possibility of trying to work up the courage to consume it. Impossible, I decided. Too hard to even bother with. So I turned away from the meal and instead sat silently, looking down at my hands under the table.

"Are you going to start now?" Ananda nagged, watching me.

"No," I mumbled. Ananda was silent. She had stopped eating too.

"What about your drinks?"

I glanced up at her, and then down at the two eight ounce glasses sitting in front of me. One was filled with what I guess was milk, the other with apple juice. I stared at the glasses, willing them to disappear. I wanted the whole building to blink out of existence, to be honest. I wanted Mrs. Ananda to fade into the background, the rest of the kids to return to where they came from. Most of all, though, I wanted my eating disorder to take off. I wanted to wake up and realize that this whole experience has been some kind of terrible dream. I didn't want this to be my life.

"Drink your apple juice, Kaitlyn."

But it was.