back to it

Daddy sends us back to California every other summer. Two weeks of visiting friends and relatives who still look at us with sad eyes, insist on making field trips to mama's grave (to this day I've never been there alone), and in general showing us how cool our lives would have been if only we'd stayed put. Trips to spas, waterparks, the ocean, Disneyland. We stay in mansions with Mama's friends - most of whom have divorced and married rich older men.

But mostly, we stay with the Knudsens.

Joice still runs her fingers in my hair and calls me sweetie, I do not know what to do with that kind of attention, have never had it - so I pretend there is something in my eye and move my head away. She still makes grilled cheese sandwiches and Kevin still makes smart ass remarks. Dr. K watches my every move, like he is studying me. He is world renown for his work with kids - he's smooth, but I anticipated this before I even got on the plane. And I am completely prepared.

He's in the room with me whenever we eat. He says things like, "Not hungry?" and "I can make you something else."

I'm ready with my excuse, "I'm not feeling well," I figure that will buy me a good three days. But before I can say a word - little brother pipes in, "She never eats."

What an idiot.

The thing is - nobody looks surprised - they just nod, and go about their business - so I know the gig is up - know daddy told them already. Damn he has a big mouth.
But I can't say that - so I just drink my water, and glare at little brother.

But it's not until Disney World that it really hits the fan. It's 100 degrees outside. No breakfast for me, and on principal - no water. We sit down to lunch, Joice and Dr. K looking at each other. I don't eat, don't drink, and I can literally feel my eyes rolling back in my head.

Very quietly Dr. K sits next to me. "If you do not drink right now, I will need to take you to the hospital for an IV." He looks at me hard, and I know what the threat is. It is not the threat of a needle - not even the threat of being kept alive against my will . . . . it is the threat of everyone knowing - of him blowing my secret wide open. He hands me a big cup of lemonade - never taking his eyes off me, until I finish it all.

I sleep most of the way back to their house. When we get there, Joice orders pizza. I lay on the couch, feigning sleep while everyone runs to the kitchen. But Dr. K comes out - two plates - sets one on the table in front of me, and drops into the chair across from me. It is a silent dare.

I knew this was coming, and I am as ready as I can be. Without a word I pick up the pizza - eat the whole thing - even the crust. I smile at him, and he smiles back.

I take my plate to the kitchen, make a detour down the hall, to the bathroom. I have never done this before - unless you count the grilled cheese I spit out the night my mama died. I read every book in the library - the ones that tell you how to CURE this problem - I used them as istruction manuals.

I cannot stand throwing up - there is nothing worse - except maybe living. So I know I have do it. I turn on the water, my right index finger in my mouth, then down my throat. It is not as bad as I thought it would be. It only takes eight good jabs, six really good gags to get the job done. But it hurts a bit, and my mouth tastes sour. Less than three minutes later, I am still winning, and Dr. K is none the wiser.

I wash my hands, check my teeth, and open the door.

And there he is - at the end of the hall, leaned up against the wall - watching me. My heart is pounding, but I look him right in the eye - cocky - confident - I am a fantastic liar.

But he doesn't say anything. He waits until I stride past him, then follows me back to the couch. I lay down, my head on the pillow, pull the blanket up on me. He kneels down, puts his hand on my head. He takes a deep breath and lets it out hard, looks in my eyes so I know he knows.

"O.K. honey," he says. "O.K."

He walks away holding my secret. And I fall asleep.