Paperweight (23 page)

Thursday, July 31, 7:45
A.M.

“ARE you ready?” Shrink asks.

Just like that. We're sitting on the lawn, on her ratty picnic blanket at the very edge of the green and the sky is so blue it could be the ocean, vast, with just a few white caps. Breakfast and supplement sit on a tray in front of me. Quesadillas, which means past-their-prime bananas mixed with generic-brand peanut butter and brown sugar, slathered on wheat tortillas and grilled. I'm full, up to the very back of my throat, even though I haven't taken a bite.

I press my lips together. I shrug.

“I want to empower you to use your voice to express whatever
you need to express to him today.” She sits cross-legged, in loose black pants. “First off, where do you feel it in your body?”

“Feel what?”

“Your words. Your story.”

My hand flies to my throat. She nods.

“Your throat chakra. The home of honest expression. Speaking your truth.”

“Jesus, Anna. Today?”

“Today is the perfect day to speak your truth, Stevie.”

I don't want to speak my truth. It will hurt too much. I thought about calling Dad this morning but didn't, for that very reason.

“I'm going to challenge you to speak without judgment,” she tells me.

I take a breath, a free breath, but it feels like I'm breathing through a straw.

“Okay. I hate that this is a day,” I begin.

“Tell him.”

“Josh.” I stare at the empty space next to her. I'm supposed to imagine that Josh is there, to see him in his faded jeans and T-shirt, his messy towel-dried hair and his freakishly long middle toe. I want to see him, I do.
Please, Josh
, I plead silently.
Just today. I'll never ask again.

“Josh,” I say again. “I hate that this is a day. I hate that there is any reason to remember this day, and the truth is that almost all of the time I feel like it's my fault, that this will be a day every year, forever.”

“Good, Stevie.”

“You probably know I was going to kill myself today.” I can feel Shrink's eyes on me. “Of course you know.” I touch the blanket.
“And I've thought a lot about it and I'm just wondering, if it would be okay if I didn't. If I didn't do that. Today.”

I wait for an answer. The air is hot and thick, sagging with anticipation.

“I mean, I know you wouldn't actually want me to die. That's not what I'm saying. I guess I'm just telling you that I don't have anything for you today. To, like, honor you. Or whatever. I don't know what that would be.”

“I wonder if it would be possible,” Shrink says carefully, “to honor him with your life. Instead of your death.”

“The truly shitty part of all this is that if I don't die today, then I have to deal with this . . .” I rub the back of my neck. “This.”

“What's this?” she asks. “Tell it to Josh.”

“I'm sick, Josh. And it really sucks to be sick without you here.” I laugh, more of a choking sound. “Oh, fuck. I'm really sick.”

“Okay.” Shrink stops me. “What does it feel like to say that out loud?”

I shake my head. Jump when the tears hit my collarbone. “I don't know how to get unsick, you know? It's been a really long time.”

“I know. And it will take time to get healthy.” Legs still crisscrossed, she scoots closer to me. She stops once our knees are touching. Rests her forearms on her thighs. “I believe, Stevie, that human beings . . . we're oriented toward health.”

“Meaning . . .”

“Meaning, your body wants to heal. Your mind wants to heal. If you can get to a place where you let your mind and body do what they want to do, you will start to move toward health.”

“Yeah.” I sniff and stare over her shoulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What's the deal with the paper cranes?”

“There's not a deal, really. I like the process. I like making something with my hands. And the cranes themselves are meant to symbolize peace. Some believe that they symbolize recovery. I like that idea.”

“Oh.”

“If you'd like, I can teach you.”

I nod. “That would be . . . Thanks.” If I let my eyelids drop just a little, the desert gets hazy. I try to conjure up an image of Josh. Not even Josh as a teenager. I'll take Josh as a little kid, at the lake. With the Mickey Mouse towel and the paperback. I'll take any version. I'm desperate that way.

“I also want to tell him I'm sorry. Not just for the accident and for not saving him. But for Eden, too.”

“Tell him.” She reaches out, and squeezes my arm.

“She sucked me in, Josh. It's not an excuse, I know. But I think you get it.”

“She manipulated you both.”

“Yes.”

I steady my breath to tell him the most important thing. “I love you, Josh. I never loved her. Not . . . I love you in a real way.” My head is thick with tears and all the waiting for the Anniversary. This day that can't be erased or unremembered.

“So what has the day been like for you so far?” Shrink asks.

“Different.” I pluck two blades and twist them together.

“Different how?”

“Different like I thought I'd be dead, for one.” I keep talking fast so she won't have room. The last thing I need today is to end up in that tiny room in the villa. “And different like I just pictured myself crying a lot and getting really mad and stuff.”

“Maybe those things will come. Grief is like that. Cold and fast and insanely unpredictable. But right now, it sounds like you're in a place of acceptance.”

“Acceptance . . .”

“Acceptance of the fact that your brother is dead. Acceptance of your eating disorder, of needing to be in this place for a little while. Acceptance doesn't mean you like something, doesn't mean you're comfortable with it. But it does mean that you acknowledge it for what it is.”

“I guess.”

“And today marks the one-year anniversary of the night your brother died.”

“It does.” I'm exhausted suddenly, like I could flop back into the grass and let it swallow me up. Sleep for days.

Shrink checks her watch. Noticeably, which has to be some sort of rookie mistake. “Listen, Stevie. I have a little something for you. Something to acknowledge the day. I'd like to give it to you, if you don't mind.”

“Huh? Okay.” I push myself to standing and brush the dried bits of grass from another girl's jeans. Then I pick up my tray and follow her into the villa and down the red-tiled hall. She unlocks her door.

Inside, there's a paper crane sitting in my seat. It's gold, and heavy when I pick it up and turn it over in my palm.

“Hey. It's beautiful. Thank you.” I swallow the lump in my throat, but it bobs right back again. It takes effort to keep my palm flat, open. Not to crush this beautiful thing in an effort to keep it close.

“My pleasure. And one more thing.”

I look up. Look away and look back again, even though I was right the first time. “Wait.” I'm not dreaming.

He's standing in the doorway. “Hey, Stevie. Hey, little girl.”

I forgot how much he looks like Josh, or Josh looked like him, with his wavy, almost curly hair and broad shoulders. He's wearing a dress shirt. He never wears a dress shirt.

“I'm not supposed to say you look good,” he tells me. “But I'm . . . you . . . it's good to see you.”

I walk slowly, afraid that if I move too fast, he'll be gone. I wind my arms around his neck and press my face into his chest.

“Okay. Me, too.” I press my palms against his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, and every time he's still there. “What are you doing here?” I pull back and glance behind him, half expecting to see her lips: perfect and red like desert dust. “Where's—”

The corners of his mouth fall just slightly, and I feel stupid.
Of course.

“She's still in Paris,” he says. “She wanted to come.”

“It's okay.” When I whip my head around, I see Shrink standing in her office, and suddenly I'm embarrassed.

“What are you doing here?” I ask again. “When did you—”

“Well, Anna here called. And she said that she knew it was gonna be a tough day today, with—” His voice wobbles. “So she asked if I wanted to come out and start the family part early.”

Shrink raises her eyebrows. “What do you think? You'd have
to stay here for meals and sleeping and such. But we could start early with your family sessions.”

I can't take my eyes off him. “So, like, when?”

“Now?” Shrink says.

“Fine by me.” Dad's laugh is shaky. Nervous. I can't blame him, and I don't.

“Me, too,” I say.

“Let's get started, then.” Shrink sits in her red chair.

Dad closes the door behind us and I carry myself across the threshold, suddenly, hopelessly aware of my weight. The weight of all the parts of me: beating heart and bone and flesh and things that have happened and things that are happening now. And Josh, resting still between the folds. I carry it all, and it's heavy enough that I'm tired and need to rest. Just heavy enough that I know: I am here. I am alive.

note from the author

I have done my very best to make Stevie's story authentic, in terms of her experiences of enduring an eating disorder and in terms of the realities of life in a treatment center. That said, her story is just that: a story. The characters that make up her world and her treatment journey are fictional, even if this fiction is based in large part on what I believe to be true as a writer, a therapist, and perhaps most importantly, a survivor.

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, I hope that you will educate yourself about available resources. The National Eating Disorders Association is a wonderful place to start. You can visit NEDA's website at
www.
nationaleatingdisorders.org,
or call their help line at 1-800-931-2237.