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Laz in the mm...

Newark, New Jersey

L A Z A R U S M O R E A U

Lazarus belched loudly as he rubbed his firm stomach, now filled with his grandmothers missed home cooking.

"That food was good grams." Laz cheesed, calling his grandmother by the nickname he'd given her long ago. As a child he could never fully pronounce "grandma", so she'd been given the title grams instead..

His grandmother smiled, "Anything for my grandson. You should come by more often, you've got some fattening up to do."

Laz chuckled deeply, "Why you always trying to make me fat, grams?"

They shared a laugh, but Lazarus was serious. Since he was a young boy his grandmother had always been trying to make him fatter. He'd always question her, but she would never directly answer him. "You must be stronger." She'd say, whatever that meant. Little did Laz know, at the tender age of 8 he was fighting anorexia. Not by choice, rather. His body would reject so many foods that all he could ever keep down was a simple vegetable soup and biscuits that his grandmother took pride in making for her grandson. She and her husband--Laz's grandfather--never told Laz, for they didn't want him to feel different or like an outcast for his medical condition.

Looking at her grandson, she felt good about what she'd done. She thought that she'd made the right decision in hiding his anorexia from him because today he stood tall and healthy. His frame wasn't muscular; he had gotten his weight up, credit given to a personal trainer and a full year and a half of constant workouts and healthy eating. He was no longer the young, thin, baby faced Lazarus that she knew. He'd grown to be very handsome and healthy to her. When she saw him, she saw her husband. There wasn't one feature that they didn't have alike, aside from their frames. If they were to look each other directly in the face, it'd be like one looking into his past and the other looking into his future. She loved them both; however, she prayed to God that Laz would not follow the footsteps of his grandfather, and looking at Laz...it seemed as if God wasn't listening to her cries.

"Grams, why you staring at me so hard?" Laz questioned. "Do I have food on my face or something?" He picked up his phone to look at himself.

Viola smiled at her grandson. She didn't know where to start. "Oh, it's just that...you've just grown so fast." Her gray eyes began to gloss over.

"Aw, don't cry." He rushed over to comfort his grandmother. He didn't like to see her hurt, he'd seen her do that enough.

"They're tears of joy, my boy. It's hard not to cry happy tears when you've grown to be a fine young man. You'll always be my little Lazarus."

Laz chuckled. "Grams, I'm 23."

She waved him off. "Oh, I know how old you are. Don't remind me. Just know that I'll still chastise you in a heartbeat. I've done it recently."

Laz rose an eyebrow. "Grams..." he said more as a question than a statement.

"Don't look so surprised. Remember when you had that little pregnancy scare?" She said.

He sighed loudly out of frustration. How could he not remember such a thing? "Yes, I remember."

"Well it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't poked some holes in your condoms."

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