Freedom of Sketch

Lifers

In mid August, Lizzie turns eighteen. It's legally her decision whether or not to stay in treatment. She and I meet in The Lounge to discuss this, but first, all she wants to talk about are cupcakes.

She sits on the couch, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees. "They made me eat a cupcake in addition to my mandatory dessert," she moans. "It's like, 'happy birthday! Let's make you as fat as we possibly can.' God, I can't stand this place."

"Think of the progress you've made, though," I say. "You're not fainting or throwing up anymore. You have color in your face now, and your eyes actually look like... well, your eyes. They're not blank anymore."

She sniffs. "Gee, thanks."

"How are you feeling physically?"

Lizzie sighs and turns her eyes to the ceiling. "Part of me feels worse."

Me: "How?"

"Well, I always feel like the meals they stuff in me are piling up to my throat. Like what the actual fuck - there's a limit to how much a person's stomach can hold, you know? But my bones don't hurt as much. I don't get as dizzy as I used to, and you're right, I haven't fainted in forever."

We sit in silence for what feels like years. The air conditioning kicks on and I turn my face up to the vent. Outside, the heat hangs in the air like hot towels, leaving us red-faced and sweaty when we retreat inside after our trips to the courtyard.

"You don't have the tube anymore, which is a plus," I say.

"Definitely," Lizzie agrees.

I clasp my hands together and study my cuticles. "Lizard, I'll love you no matter what you decide to do. I think part of the reason I want you to stay is selfish."

Lizzie: "How so?"

"I don't want to be alone in here," I admit. "But don't get me wrong... the main reason I think you should stay is because you still need to gain a lot of weight."

"Ughhhh!" Lizzie tosses her head back and covers her face.

I hesitantly reach out and touch her arm, which remains very thin. "Talk it over with Meredith or Dr. Fox. I'm sure they'll have a better perspective than me."

"I'm actually meeting with them after art therapy," Lizzie says.

"What do your parents have to say?"

"Ha." Lizzie rolls her eyes. "They've threatened to commit me to an adult psych ward if I leave. My mom's been looking into becoming my legal guardian."

I nod slowly. "That would suck. God, I can only imagine if that happened to me."

"You turn eighteen in January, right?"

"Yeah. I could be here until then."

"You won't."

"Oh, Lizard." I stand and stretch. "Don't you get it? I'm a lifer."

Lizzie stands, too, sliding her feet into her laceless shoes. "Let's be lifers together."

I stare at her. "You mean it? You'll stay?"

She hooks our pinkie fingers together like she used to when we were little. "For now."