I Used To Be

Chapter 10, Part 2

I made it through day 1, but I was so tired after rehearsal, I could barely even think about driving home. I wanted to curl up in the dressing room and just sleep there until tomorrow. I had basically stopped doing homework. I was failing physics and pre-calc. I managed to bullshit my way through the humanities classes, but I wasn't sure what to do about the others. Not like it mattered. I wasn't going to college anyway. Maybe next year I would just take my GED and be done with the whole shitshow.

I was sitting in my car with the heat on full-blast, shivering so hard that I was afraid that I was going to actually injure myself when I heard a knock on the passenger window. Isabelle. Of course. I rolled down the window.

"Unlock the door," she said. Usually she wasn't so direct or demanding. I decided to oblige her in case she had some news about the show, or was conveying a message from the Monroes.

"Anna, you look like hell."

Fuck you too bitch. Get the fuck out of my car, I wanted to say. Instead I stared at the windshield, watching the other dancers file out of the studio and into their cars, one by one, kicking up gravel and dust with their tires as they drove off.

"Thanks," I said. "Nice of you."

"Look, I don't really know what happened with us, but I care about you. A lot." Fuck you, you don't know what happened to us. You know exactly what happened. Do I even know what happened? Not really, actually.

"Are you eating?"

"Of course! I'd be dead if I wasn't."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm being strict, yeah; I mean, we're in rehearsal. Aren't you?"

"Of course. But there's eating clean, and then there's an eating disorder." It was the first time anyone had spoken those words to me. Those words actually made me feel something. Pride? Fear? Whatever it was spread like a warm slime through my chest.

"Obviously I don't have an eating disorder."

"What do you mean, 'obviously'? I'd say obviously you do."

"Get out of my car."

"No."

We just sat there in silence for a minute. The heat blew that sent of hers right into my face, but right then, it made me want to gag. And cry, and put my head in her lap.

"I'm afraid something's going to happen to you. And I know you don't want that. I know how important this role is to you." Fuck you, Isabelle.

"I'm FINE. Seriously. I'm eating, okay? I guess my metabolism is just faster than I thought." Yeah right. My metabolism was fucking dead.

She sighed. "I don't know why the Monroes aren't saying anything. Sometimes I could just smack them for their backwards ideas about ballet bodies."

"They aren't saying anything because they're happy with the weight I've lost. I can't count the number of times Mr. Monroe had come up to me with a smile and said, 'getting skinny, Anna.' He definitely meant it as a compliment. Do you think there's any way they would have cast me as Snow Queen if I hadn't lost weight?"

"They cast you as Snow Queen 20 pounds ago, Anna; don't be stupid." Only 13. Who's the stupid one now?

"Well if they weren't happy they would have told me."

She leaned forward and put her elbows on the dash, her fingers clenched, and rested her forehead on the heels of her hands.

"Okay," she said finally, throwing herself back into the seat. "It's your funeral. I don't know what to do." She opened the door and stepped out. Then she sat back down.

"Look, Anna, you can still talk to me. I mean it. I know things have been weird, and we don't even have to talk about that, ever. But if something's wrong, with this stuff or at home, or whatever . . ." Fuck her for bringing that up. Fortunately, my dad had actually been sober since the incident that drove me to her house that night. I was really glad about that, otherwise I might have had another lapse in judgment and ended up on her doorstep again, and that would have been bad.

I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but instead, I just said, "okay," figuring that was the quickest way to get her out of my damn car, so I could get home and get in bed with my bowl of broccoli and my laptop. I craved that ritual. I cut my broccoli up into the smallest possible pieces and took one bite, put my fork down, and took one sip of water. Then I had to wait until I scrolled down an entire thread in PAM to take another bite. It usually took me 2 hours to get through half the bowl with this technique. Then I threw the rest away and went to bed feeling strong and confident. Not like this weak fucked-up child who wanted to just fling herself onto Isabelle right now and have her take me home, tuck me in, and feed me some soup or something. With beans, and pork, and potatoes . . .

After she shut the door, I had to practice a lot of self-control not to spin the car around like a crazy person. I made myself back up and turn around slowly, completely counter to my instinct.