I Knew A Boy

I stared down at the address written on a small scrap of paper as my pen was hovering over a sheet of crisp, clean loose-leaf. The paper was blank, save for at the very top.

Dear Zack,

My hand was shaking as I tried to think of something to say to him. What was there that I could really say to him? I'd ask how he was but it would be pretty obvious that things were not going too well on his end of the spectrum. I didn't want to sound tedious. I didn't want to sound like a child. I wanted to write him something that would really show that I had something important to say.

I - I wanted to tell him how I felt. It wasn't that I couldn't write down that I loved him, I could. And I could go on for pages about it. But he'd never see such a letter. Just couldn't tell him. Couldn't get up the courage to do it. Just thinking about him hearing the words I had to say made my stomach twist in knots, a dizzy, nauseous feeling erupting inside me.

I wanted him to know, and at the same time, I didn't. Because he had bad for my sister. Even friends of mine, like Sam, could see it coming. Zack wouldn't take one look at me without thinking first of my sister. This led me back to how much I wanted to be her, just because of how much Zack adored her. I wanted to be so much like her for that only reason that it made me sick.

"Amanda!" I heard my mother call for me from the bottom of the stairs. "Dinnertime!"

I sighed, all thoughts of a letter to Zack completely leaving my head as I dropped the pen onto the nearly blank sheet and stood up from the floor. As I bounded down the stairs and the smell of food from the kitchen became stronger and stronger, I felt my stomach churn.

I joined the rest of my family in the kitchen, grabbing a plate and piling a minimal amount of food on it, which was normally not like me. I sat myself down at my seat at the table and began trying to eat, but the squeezing feelings in my stomach were making it difficult and as we went around the table discussing our days I toyed with the food on my plate, pushing it around with my spoon.

"So, anything new going on at school?" my mom asked both my sister and I. I was still not speaking to her. As much as she fascinated me, she also disgusted me for what she had done to Nick.

"No," I mumbled, keeping my eyes locked to the plate in front of me.

"Not really. It's just so odd not seeing Zack there every day now," my sister said and I could feel her eyes on me. I still didn't dare look up.

"Oh, and what's the news on him?" my mother then asked, suddenly becoming interested in the subject.

"Well, he's been in the pysch ward since he was well enough, after what happened. It's only been a couple days, but still. It's just weird for me. What about you, Amanda?"

I cleared my throat and glanced at my mother. "May I be excused?"

"Are you okay?" she asked, her concerned mother side shining through.

"Just feeling a little sick. I think I'm going to go.... lay down or something," I muttered.

"Oh... well, alright sweetie," she said sympathetically as I stood from the table, throwing out the uneaten food in the sink. I silently left the kitchen and made my way to the stairs, feeling my sister's smirk on my back.

I knew that I would feel the hunger pains later in the night, but it didn't really worry me much. I just laid there on my bed, my gaze locked with that almost bare, pristine sheet of paper on the floor. Still didn't know what to write, and I doubted I ever would.

My decreased appetite lasted longer than I would have anticipated. I just couldn't eat. I knew why - I was depressed. I was depressed over Zack being all alone, stuck in the psych ward without anyone normal to talk to because his only company were people who were in the same or worse state as he was.

It didn't really come to my attention that I hadn't been eating much, but I guess I should have figured out what the result of no lunches and half-dinners would be. Soon my jeans became a little less snug, not completely unfitting of my stature. I was only a measly one hundred and five pounds from the start at the ripe age of fourteen, and I figured what's the difference of a few more pounds? It didn't seem like such a big deal to me at the time. Apparently neither did my mother.

She was always one to dwell on details, and not even she had anything to say once my size one jeans no longer fit me as good as they used to. But.... a belt could easily cure the gap between my skin and the fabric, right?

I mean, what was the harm in losing five or ten pounds? I had no reason to complain. I thought I looked good at ninety five pounds, standing at five foot two.

And maybe, just maybe, if I weighed a little less, Zack would come home and see how much more perfect I would become than my sister. Too bad perfect was different to everyone else in their eyes. Pity my sense of perfect became... warped.