One Hundred-Seventeen

The alarm buzzes and I open my eyes, turning to check the time. I hit the alarm clock to stop the beeping, and rub my eyes. Like every other morning, the clock reads five-thirty; I yawn but still move the covers off of my body. The cold air instantly hits me and goose bumps form everywhere. I’m used to being cold all the time; I glance down at my arm and see the fine hairs standing up.
         I grab my hair brush and run it through my hair, getting out the knots that have accumulated overnight. Every day, I am thankful that my dirty blonde hair is so thick; it doesn’t look like my hair is falling out, which it is beginning to do more and more now. Once all of the knots are out, I pull it up into a loose pony tail, to keep it out of my eyes.
         My tennis shoes are next to my bed, and I put them on before walking to the room next to mine and beginning to run on the treadmill. Treadmills never really made sense to me; you could just as easily go outside and run, but now I understand; I hate the feeling of knowing that someone could be watching me run, judging me. I prefer being alone and at home.
         After only twenty minutes, my muscles are sore. I am exhausted, but I keep pushing myself. I can’t quit now, I can’t give in. But after ten more minutes, I can’t handle it anymore; my muscles are always sore and I always feel tired and weak. I hate feeling weak, it is almost as bad as when you know people are judging you, judging the way you look. I wipe the beads of sweat off of my face and then go back to my bedroom and into my bathroom to take a shower.
         I always take long showers; it is the one time during the day in which I am not cold. But as soon as I turn off the water, the rush of cold takes over me. After a while, I have gotten used to it. I walk back into my bedroom and stand in front of my full length mirror. I stare at my body, examining every inch of it.
         I look at my upper arms, examining the flesh that hangs off of my biceps. I smile, seeing that there is barely any fat when they are pinched; it’s mostly just skin. I have spent way too long doing dumbbell and weight exercises at night, along with my morning treadmill runs. There was some muscle, but that’s not what mattered; I hated the way that the fat moved whenever my arm moved a little.
         I pinch the skin on my other arm and feel about the same thing, virtually just skin. When I started with my arms, I decided that I would reward myself when I got to this point— a boiled egg, just the white, no yolk, and a small handful of blueberries. But as soon as the thought of the blueberries came to mind, it was pushed out. Look at your thighs, see how they touch. Other girl’s thighs don’t touch. There it is that voice again; it doesn’t control me or anything; it just helps me pay more attention to my body.
         I examine my thighs more, and now, I can’t ignore how they touch, how the fat jiggles a little when I take a step, and I knew I didn’t want them like that. I told myself that once my thighs no longer touched, then I could have the blueberries. I can’t waste the calories now. I will still eat the egg white though; I haven’t eaten in two days and I know that I need to eat today.
         As I continue to pinch my stomach, my phone goes off; the alarm even louder than the one to wakes me up. I turn it off and then go to my dresser to find something to wear. I need to set an alarm telling me I need to get ready. If I could, I would stand in front of my mirror for hours, finding and picking at every flaw on my body and figuring out my plan of fixing it. I grab my baggy jeans and an old shirt. I pull on top a sweatshirt; this one was my dad’s; he used to wear it all the time back when he was actually home. My nightstand holds a small spiral notebook, and I take it, noticing that almost all of the pages have been used.
         Slowly, I walk out of my room and glance out to our driveway as I go down the stairs. It’s not surprising to see that both of my parents’ cars are gone; they both pretty much live at their jobs now, my mom working at some powerful law firm and my dad, the chief surgeon at the hospital. It used to bother me that they were always at work, but now I don’t mind so much; it gives me more freedom and privacy.
         I make my way to the kitchen and grab the egg carton from the fridge and then grab a pan from the shelf. I put an egg in the pan and then cover it with water and then turn the stove on. I get a small glass out of the cabinet and pour orange juice in it so that it is about halfway full. The water begins to boil, and I turn off the stove and move the pan away from where the fire is. I fill a bowl with some water and ice and then transfer the egg into the bowl. As the egg cools off, I slowly sip the juice. Orange juice is my one daily treat; I make sure that I drink only the kind with extra calcium added; my bones are getting weak. It’s easy to control how much I drink to prevent any extra calories.
         I finish the juice and put the glass in the dishwasher and then pull the egg out of the bath. My hand is shaking from being submerged in the ice; it is already cold enough. I peel off the shell and then cut the egg into two halves and scoop the yolk out. I hate the yolk; it tastes gross and that is where all the calories and cholesterol come from. I eat the two halves slowly; I have to make myself chew and then swallow each small bit of egg.
         When I’m finished, I put all of my dishes into the sink; I can wash them when I get home later. Then, I opened the notebook and found the first free page and wrote the date at the top of the page. I scribbled down the egg white and orange juice; I’m already at seventy calories. I go back upstairs and to my bathroom. My medicine cabinet is where I keep my stash of vitamins. Despite how little time my parents are home, they spend most of their time in the kitchen and would question me if they knew how many vitamins I took. I pull out three different bottles and pull a vitamin out from each of them. After swallowing them, I grab my toothbrush and spread some of the mint whitening toothpaste onto it. I’ve had to switch to whitening because my teeth have begun to yellow and get brittle. I rinse out my mouth and then pull out a piece of gum, and stick it in my mouth and begin to chew it. Chewing gum helps to take the edge off of hunger.
         I glance up at my mirror and pinch my face a little, paying attention to how dry my face is and how tired my eyes look. I splash some cold water on my face and instantly regret it as it just makes me even colder. My watch beeps and I glance down and turn off the third alarm of the day. After one last glance at the mirror, I walk back down to the kitchen, grab my water bottle from the fridge and then walk into the living room and pick up my backpack from its spot, next to my desk.
         My keys sit on the table right next to the front door; I take them as I walk through the door and then close and lock it behind me. I check to make sure that the door is locked two times before walking away from my house and towards my school.
         Back when I was a freshman, I hated the fact that I had to walk to school, even on the coldest days, but now I don’t mind, it’s an excuse for two more fifteen minute walks every day. And on days like today, it is really cold. And when it is cold, I shiver even more. That burns more calories, doesn’t it?
         I walk towards the front door of the school as someone calls my name. I turn and see my friend Rachel walking towards me from her car. Most of my friends drive to school and have offered me a ride, but I always manage to come up with a reason of why I am perfectly fine walking.
         Rachel walks over to me and sticks her arm around my neck. I duck a little and move so that her arm is no longer touching me. “Are you okay, Alex?” she asks, glancing over at me.
         “Yeah, just a little cold.” I look away from her. It is easy to lie to everyone, well almost everyone. It is hardest to lie to Rachel; we have known each other our whole lives.
         “Damn, it seems like you are always cold nowadays.”
         I shrug and look back at her. “So did you do the history homework?”
         “No, but I hear that Stevens is doing a lecture today and so he is not going to collect the homework.”
         “Great, well, at least I can probably take a nap during his lecture.”
         We walk through the front door and feel a wave of slight heat come over us as the door closes behind us. “You are already planning a nap? It seems like you sleep a lot now.”
         “I’m just always tired.” I pull on the sleeves of my sweatshirt to make sure that my wrists won’t show.
         “Well, no wonder, you wake up and walk over here. I don’t get why you don’t drive here; it’s not like you don’t have your license or a car.”
         “It’s a two-minute drive; it’s pointless to drive when I can just as easily walk.”
         “Whatever, but if you ever want a ride…”
         “I’ll let you know.” I finish for her; she has offered to drive me to school about once a month since she got her driver’s license last year.
         “What are you doing after school today?” Rachel asks me, and I think for a moment trying to think of what to say. “A bunch of us are going to the library to study for the French test and then getting pizza. Wanna come?”
         “I can’t…” I begin to think of an excuse. “My mom wants me to study at home tonight.”
         “What is going on? I know that your mom is never home and she doesn’t care what you do. Why don’t you want to go?”
         I just don’t,” I say and then walk away from Rachel.
         I walk into my French class, and sit in my seat, and watch the other girls walk in. Despite it being late fall, almost none of them are wearing jackets. Their clothes cling to their bodies, showing how thin they are. I try not to watch them; doing so is fuel for the voice. He reminds me how maybe I can look like them, how it will only take a little longer and I will look like them. I don’t just want to look like them; I want to be more like them, popular with lots of friends and more confident. Losing a couple of pounds will help me get closer to that.
         Soon enough, my teacher begins her lesson, but it’s too hard to focus. I keep hearing his voice. It’s getting harder and harder to focus; I am either falling asleep, or he is invading my thoughts. I hate him, but when he isn’t there, I feel lonely and miss him. I just want to look more like everyone else. Is that so wrong?
         Lunch is the worse part of the day. Everyone is eating and watching you eat. I can’t stand it. The only thing worse than people watching you eat is people asking you why you aren’t eating. I walk over to the normal table and sit down at my usual seat and began to drink more of my water.
         Rachel sits down next to me. “What the hell is your problem?” Her tone matches the glare she gives me.
         “Nothing,” I say a little too defensively. “I just can’t do anything today.”
         “You never do anything with us anymore.” She begins to pull out her lunch. I watch her take out her normal turkey on wheat with lettuce, tomato, and some mayonnaise. She takes out a container with sliced apple wedges and then a baggie of chips. “Well?” I glance up at her, realizing that I haven’t said anything to her; I have just stared at her food.
         “Sour cream and onion today?”
         She eyes me for a moment a little apprehensively. “Yeah. Why?” she asks slowly.
         “You usually have salt and vinegar.” I shrug and take a sip of water.
         “You pay way too close attention to what I eat,” she says and begins to eat her apple. “So why are you being so anti-social now?” she asks me in between bites.
         “I’ve just been so busy with homework.”
         She glances over at me. “Did you forget your lunch again?””
         I look down and realize that my water bottle is the only thing in front of me. “No, I just need to outline a chapter for psych. And I’m not that hungry.” I pull out my textbook and begin to read. Rachel begins to talk to whoever is sitting across from her. I read the chapter and take notes, going into more detail than I need to. Doing homework is a good excuse not to be eating.
         After lunch we walk to History and sit down in our seats. Sure enough, the projector is out and PowerPoint is on. This means we will be hearing a lecture. As soon as the bell rings, Mr. Stevens turns out the lights and begins to talk.
         I rest my head against my right hand, my eyes automatically begin to close, and I feel myself drifting off. Suddenly there is a jab in my side. I glare at Rachel who had just poked me. “We have a quiz on this tomorrow,” she whispers. I groan a little, knowing that I would have to pay attention. I let out a big yawn and try to take notes and focus.
         The lecture is really boring; he is talking about the economy. I manage not to fall asleep again. I know if I do, Rachel will jab me again. I can’t risk her touching me anymore.
         The rest of the day seems to pass by relatively quickly. I go to the rest of my classes and manage not to fall asleep in any of them.
         I come home at three, check the mail box, bring in the paper, and set my keys down on the table right next to the door. I go upstairs and into my room where I plop down in the oversized arm chair, next to my floor lamp. My book is on the side table and I pick it up, beginning to read it. I have always loved reading; it is a great distraction from whatever is going on and it keeps me calm. The only problem is that I sit on my butt the whole time when I read and it burns like no calories. So I have had to reduce the amount of time that I read. After an hour I go downstairs and to the living room to begin working on my homework.
         At six, I put down my pen and then go into the kitchen. I pull out another small glass and fill it with skim milk. Milk is good; it has a lot of nutrients but doesn’t have a lot of extra calories. I drink the glass slowly; milk goes down easily, but it’s nice to savor it, and somewhat enjoy it. I finish the glass and then stick it in the dishwasher. I pull my notebook and add forty more calories for the skim milk and then stick it back into my pocket.
         I go into the mud room and open the drawer closest to the back door. It holds my old baseball mitt and football, the things I used to play with my dad before he worked 24-7. I grab my old elementary school tin lunch box with Disney Princesses on it.
I walk through the backdoor and across my backyard towards the big tree. When I was seven, my dad and I built a tree house in it. I climb the old ladder and settle myself in the blankets that cover the floor of the tree house. They manage to keep me from getting too cold, even on the coldest nights.
         I open the lunch box where my pack of Camel Blue Lights, my red bic lighter and an ashtray are sitting. I pull my first of the night out and hold the end of it in my lips as I run my thumb against the lighter causing the flame to shoot up. I hold it up to the cigarette and then put my lighter back in the lunch box.
         Only a month ago, the smell of smoke made me sick, but now, I have gotten used to it. I enjoy inhaling and feeling the smoke filling my lungs. Besides, smoking curbs your hunger and it a great way to relax. I don’t have to worry about any one catching me; no one else comes up here, I do my own laundry, and probably won’t see my parents before going to bed.
         After putting out my second cigarette, I put the lid on the ashtray and then put both that and the pack back into the lunch box. Slowly, I slide out of the blankets and climb back down the ladder and towards where my mom’s garden used to be. The hose sits next to what is left of the plants that have not been taken care of in months. I grab the hose and rinse the ashtray out into the flower bed, and wrap the cigarette butts up in a tissue. I shake the water off of the tray and then go back inside the mud room.
I finish up by using a paper towel to get any remaining drops of water out, then throw both the paper towel and tissue away. I stick the ashtray back into the lunch box and then stick the whole box back into the drawer. I walk back into the living room and continue to work on my homework.
         At a little after nine, most of my homework is done, leaving just a couple of trigonometry problems that I could do during lunch. I walk back up to our home gym and go on the elliptical machine for ten minutes. After finishing, I move onto the floor. Tuesdays are my day for crunches; I hate crunches, but I know they are good for me. I manage to do thirty before I am too exhausted, I used to be able to do fifty, but I just don’t have the stamina that I used to.
         I regain my strength again and get off of the floor, and drink the rest of my water bottle and then walk back to my bathroom to take another shower, getting the sweat and all the germs from today off of me. It’s also nice to feel the warm water rushing over me again, making me feel warm for the first time since my morning shower.
         I get out of the shower and brush my teeth, twice. Then I walk back over to my mirror. Again, I begin to examine my reflection, pinching at every inch of fat that I see.
         “Alex!” I hear my mom’s voice though the hallways. Quickly I grab some sweatpants and pull them on and then find a big sweatshirt and pull that over my head. I hear her call my name again, and check my breath, becoming somewhat relaxed; there aren’t any traces of smoke on it.
         I walk out of my room and down the hall to the steps. “Hi, Mom,” I say walking down the stairs.
         “I am guessing your father is not home.”
         “Not that I know of.” She walks into the kitchen and lets out a deep breath. I quickly follow her. “Is he supposed to be here?” She opens the fridge.
         “He told me that he was going to get off early tonight.”
         “It’s still early for him,” I mumble.
         “What was that?” She pokes her head out to look at me.
         “Nothing.” I sit down on a barstool by the counter.
         “Did you eat, dear?” she asks, pulling out some leftover pasta. I nod as she takes out a bowl and scoops some of the noodles into the dish. She sticks the bowl in the microwave and then turns back to me. “You sure you don’t want some?”
         “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” Luckily the microwave goes off and takes her attention away from me. “So why are you home early?”
         “My assistant did the paperwork quickly today, so we finished early.” She continues to talk but I just watch her beginning to eat the pasta, focusing on her eating each cream sauce-covered noodle. “Alex, honey, are you sure you are alright?”
         I look up at her. “Yeah, totally. Just tired.”
         “I can tell; I mean you have dark circles under your eyes. And you look like you are getting thinner; have you been eating enough? I can hire someone to cook for you if you don’t have the time.”
         “No, I am good.” I pull on my sweatshirt sleeves more so that they cover part of my hand.
         “I feel bad that you have to do all of this stuff yourself.”
         “It’s no problem. I like cooking; it helps me relax.”
         “And you’re good, too. This pasta is delicious,” she says, her mouth full of noodles.
         “Thanks.” I glance down at my watch and see that it is almost eleven. “Well, I think I am going to go to bed.”
         “Goodnight.”
         I get off of the bar stool, say goodnight, then walk up to my bedroom.
         I lie down in my bed and cover myself with my thick blanket. My notebook is on the nightstand and I take it and look at today’s page; a hundred ten calories. But I have to add about seven to ten more calories because of the gum and vitamins. My count was higher today than it was the rest of this week, but I knew I had to eat something. Tomorrow I will make sure to work out even harder. I plug my phone into the charger, put it down on the table next to my bed, close my eyes, and wait for sleep to come.