Lois Metzger - A Trick of the Light

Darpana: “Are you listening to me, Mike?”

Mike: “Definitely.”

• 3:00–3:30 p.m. Snack time.

More Ensure.

• 3:45 p.m. Walk around the grounds.

Everything feels unfamiliar, alien—how the air smells of trees, how the late-afternoon sun slants on rolling hills, leaving long shadows because winter is approaching. Back in Belle Heights, the only birds are pigeons and sparrows. Here the cardinals, blue jays, and crows are louder than any car alarm. Mike never thought he would miss the whoosh of planes and cars, or pigeons.

You are not really here. This is not your real life.

• 4:30–5:30 p.m. Activity period in the rec room.

Mike sees a girl at the drawing table, carefully choosing the color of a marker like she’s deciding her future. Mike sits on the itchy couch. He wants to work out so badly. His body aches for it.

I was so close, Mike thinks. I was almost there.

• 6:00–7:00 p.m. Dinner.

More Ensure. Cheryl and Allison talk about food. Cheryl says she used to eat Sara Lee frozen cheesecake, still frozen, one sliver at a time. Mike notices something about Nina. Sometimes she whispers to herself.

• 7:30–9:30 p.m. TV in the rec room.

They watch reruns, flipping among How I Met Your Mother and Mad Men and Buffy the Vampire Slayer .

• 9:45 p.m. Snack.

Mike drinks another bottle of Ensure.

• 10:30–11:00 p.m. Back to his room for another supervised visit to the bathroom, and quiet time.

Mike looks out the window. It’s dark but the moon is bright. The hills look ghostly. This is not my real life, he thinks. I am not really here.

• 11:00 p.m. Lights out.

At some point later there’s a powerful storm and it wakes Mike up. The rain beats against the window like it’s trying to break through and spray Mike with cold water and shattered glass. He curls up beneath the blankets.

That therapist, Darpana, said I almost died, Mike thinks. She’s seen patients die with better stats than me.

She was lying. She was trying to scare you. You’re not like those patients. You are full of life.

Clearly the occasional stray remark is getting through to Mike. I’ll have to be more diligent. No room for error here.

WEEK TWO.

Mike goes through the routine. He is weighed backward. He drinks Ensure. Last Thursday—was it Thanksgiving? He barely noticed. No turkey for him, just more Ensure. He doesn’t get visitors because this place discourages it. That’s fine with Mike. The only people who would visit are the traitors who put him here.

He’s moved to another table with Allison and Cheryl, while Nina stays at the old table. They have to eat what are called partials. The Ensure was bad enough, but this is real food and more than five bites of it. It’s very tough for him. He puts a piece of toast in his mouth. It’s like they’re asking him to put his hand in a flame.

This is not my real life, Mike thinks while eating the toast. I am not really here.

You are running. Feel the cool air at the back of your throat. Nothing bothers you. Strong body, strong mind, infinitely strong.

Everything in its right place, Mike thinks.

Mike attends lectures on nutrition: “What the Body Needs, What the Body Wants.”

Mike knows he doesn’t have to pay attention. Amber knows way more than they do.

Darpana insults Mike’s intelligence with her lies. She says that of the ten million people in this country who have eating disorders, 10 percent are boys and men.

That’s one million guys, Mike thinks. Who is she kidding?

Just tell her that’s an interesting statistic.

Mike: “That’s an interesting statistic.”

Darpana: “Huh. Not the way I would describe it.”

Mike: “Right. It’s scary. Very scary.”

Darpana tells Mike why he has insomnia.

Darpana: “A Cro-Magnon man didn’t sleep much—he was always thinking about getting the next meal. His senses had to be at full alert, so he could smell food that was ripe, see a small animal trying to hide in the bushes.”

Can you imagine rummaging through the Dumpsters in Belle Heights, scavenging for food like a caveman? Don’t listen to this nonsense.

Mike stops listening. Darpana goes into a whole thing about food rituals, and cuts and bruises that don’t heal, and why eyes are sunken and lips are blue. Mike hears only the rhythm and cadence of her voice, the music t>

Darpana: “I know about your speech problems as a kid. I know about your parents splitting up. I know you quit the baseball team. These things help me see you, Mike.”

But she doesn’t see Mike. And she never will.

Darpana says other things, too—obscene things. I won’t repeat them now. I wish I didn’t have to hear them in the first place and I certainly don’t want to again.

One afternoon in group therapy, Richard asks everyone what they’d like to be when they grow up. It’s the usual boring stuff.

Allison: “I want to invent a cure for allergies so I can be a vet.”

Cheryl: “I’d like my own show on the Food Network.”

Then, unexpectedly, something interesting happens. Nina speaks up for the first time.

Nina: “I want to be a plant.” She has a soft voice, almost impossible to hear, a whisper of a voice. “I want to exist on nothing, taking nourishment from the air.”

Richard: “We’re talking about professions, Nina.”

Of course Richard feels a need to criticize Nina instead of praising her for joining in the discussion. But Mike finds what Nina said a little creepy.

She’s talking about death, he thinks.

No, she isn’t.

Death is here, he thinks, like it’s another person in the circle.

Does it never shut up, like the rest of them?

Mike thinks about Amber, how she said something about standing in the sun without casting a shadow, and moving so lightly she wouldn’t disturb a spiderweb—

Amber is more alive than anyone you know.

Nina doesn’t show up in the cafeteria that night. She stops coming to group therapy. Mike hears that she was caught throwing up and now she’s in a private room, hooked up to an IV. This doesn’t affect me one way or the other, but Mike takes it badly.

I have to work harder, then, to protect Mike from this place. Difficult and exhausting as it is, I do so willingly, of course. I don’t mean to brag, but where would Mike be without me?

WEEK THREE.

There’s a new girl in group.

She’s enormous.

Clearly she has no self-control, and Mike is appalled at her lack of discipline. A couple of girls roll their eyes at each ofet p:pag="justify"ther. One of them starts to laugh and has to cover her mouth. But it’s not funny. This girl is their worst nightmare. Some have said they’d rather die than be fat. That’s a little extreme, but I understand.

Richard: “This is Miranda.”

Pretty name, Mike thinks, but it’s the only pretty thing about her.

Miranda: “I know what y’all are thinking. I’m the fattest an-orexic you’ve ever seen, right?”

First off—“y’all”? Is she Southern? What’s she doing here? Secondly, her attempt at humor is completely lame.

Miranda: “Okay, I’m not really anorexic. I’m a compulsive overeater. And I make jokes when I’m incredibly nervous. Which I am right now. As if you can’t tell.”

If she thinks it’s charming to make light about being disgusting, she’s sadly mistaken.

But Mike feels a little bad for her. It’s hard enough being here at all, but being a big girl like that—

She’s revolting. You should have nothing to do with her.