The Pursuit of Perfection

14: I Was Sick

Jesse doesn't treat me any differently at work that following Monday. I wasn't let out of the hospital until Friday. Harry is staying at my house to make me food and to make sure I'm not going to the gym or doing the Forbidden Crunches.

I do not speak to him, and he hasn't tried to talk to me either.

Eating in the morning felt weird, and it makes me feel slightly nauseous as I begin the dance. I work through it. Jesse corrects me less than before though, and I know it's not out of pity, but because I am doing better than I have before. I will not let these doctors and Harry to set me back.

I will play their game until they let me alone. And then I will get back on track.

I will be happy.

It's not until the end of the day that Jesse mentions anything relating to the doctor. He stops me before I walk out. "Isabel," he says.

"Yeah?" I ask, turning around.

"Get yourself better. Really better. Don't just gain the weight back to please the scale." He says, and then walks away, leaving me with nothing else.

***

"Can you tell me when you first started to dislike the way you looked?" The therapist asks.

I look over at her. "Can't you low ball it?"

"Excuse me?" She asks.

"We literally just met. I never even told Harry about my self esteem issues and we used to be together all the time." I say.

"Do you want to tell me about Harry?" She asks instead.

"I hate him. There is nothing more to say." I tell her. She no doubt knows who he is from the doctor.

"Because he called the hospital?" She asks.

"Because he acts like he knows what's best for me. He doesn't. I was fine. I am fine." I tell her.

"But you do admit that you have self esteem issues." She says.

"Every fat kid does." I tell her.

"Really?" She asks.

"Yeah." I say, not giving her more.

"Can you elaborate?" She asks.

"No." I tell her.

She nods. "Okay. Tell me about your parents."

"My dad is dead and my mom is too trusting for her own good." I say.

"When did your father die?" She asks.

"I was nine." I say.

"What happened?"

"Stroke. The first one gave him Broca's Aphasia. The second one killed him." I tell her.

She nods her head. "And your mother?"

"A wreck after. My older brother Isaac took care of us until she got it together. She had to go to a shrink. The mentally deranged apple doesn't fall far from the mentally deranged tree, does it?"

"How is she now?" She asks, ignoring my comment.

"Good." I say, "I guess. I don't talk to her all that often."

"Why not?"

"Because she never believed me when I told her kids bullied me." I say.

"What do you mean?"

"She always believed people were too nice to attack anyone like they attacked me." I say. "She chose her ideals over me and I don't think I can forgive her."

The therapist, Becky, nods her head. She told me her name was Becky at the beginning of the session.

"Did it make you feel like you weren't good enough, because your mother didn't trust you?"

"Shit." I tell her.

"What?"

"It made me feel like shit."

"What about your brother?" She asks.

"He's eight years older than me. He was long gone before it got bad. He used to send me letters and postcards and call me a lot." I say.

"Why'd that change?" She asks.

"I stopped responding." I shrug.

"Why?"

"Because he started to tell me he thought I was sick."

There is a long pause before Becky asks, "When did you start losing weight?"

"Thirteen. I lost ten pounds that year, and then I started taking dance lessons over the summer and I lost another fifteen. And then in eighth grade I lose twenty pounds, and then the summer before high school I grew two inches putting my at 5'8 and I lost another twenty - one and a half pounds. I dyed my hair blonde and no one recognized me.

"Was high school better for you?" She asks.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I was the brunt of the joke."

"To everyone?"

"No. But only a few people need to hate you to ruin your life."

"Who hated you?"

"A group of girls. There were only three of them. But there only needed to be three of them. Sticks and stones can break your bones but words can tear you open, rip out your beating heart and mangle your intestines."

"What did they say?"

"After the fat jokes?" I ask, "Oh after that the rumor was that I got liposuction. And that I had sex with the gross kid who worked at the Dairy Queen and got gonorrhea."

"So if it was just those three girls, did you have other friends?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I walked around like a dog waiting to be kicked." I tell her.

"When did you move to New York City?" She asks.

"The day after Annabel and her husband moved to California."

"Who's Annabel?"

"She was my first ballet teacher. I lost all the weight with her. She helped me dye my hair blonde. She taught me how to make dye look natural. Everyone thinks I'm a natural blonde." I pause and then I say, "She was my friend, I think."

Becky nods, "And how old were you when she moved?"

"Nineteen." I say.

"Why'd she move?"

"Her husband's job."

"Do you still talk to her?"

"No."

"Why?"

"She kept telling me I was sick."

Becky now looks at me for a long while. "Are you sick?"

"No. I am not." I tell her.

We don't talk much after that.

And I don't know why but when she asks me the usual, 'is there anyone we can release your records to' question I write Harold Watson on the line.

I don't know why I did that. I don't know why when she asked if she could call Harry and discuss with him what she and I talked about I said okay.

I don't know.

But I did it.

When I get home that night dinner is cooked. It is an omelet. I quickly learned that Harry is cooking all my meals, and also that he lied to me on our date, by saying he couldn't cook. He can. I wonder who taught him.

Harry doesn't say anything to me but I know he talked to Becky on the phone. I know it from the look in his eyes when he watches me as I put my purse on the couch. She must have called him as soon as I left.

I don't say anything to Harry.

He doesn't try to talk to me either.