Cheerio

Black hair receding from his forehead. Hazel eyes that neither Garrett nor I inherited. Tall stature, well-toned, respectable in his perfectly tailored gray suit.

He looked so similar, yet so different, from when he walked out the front door six years ago. Maybe my mind twisted my memory of him, as I didn’t remember the lines that dragged down his features, but it was possible that the time didn’t treat him as well as it could have.

My heart was racing and my palms were sweating. I wiped them as inconspicuously as possible, but it would have taken a hugely unobservant person not to notice. Even Garrett looked at me from the corner of his eye, clearly wondering why I wasn’t jumping for joy at the mere prospect of Dad being back for any length of time.

Mom cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable of how I was staring at Dad as if he was the grim reaper. “Well, Joe, can I get you something to drink?”

“Water would be fine, thanks,” Dad responded, but didn’t turn to look at her. His eyes were still locked on me, his expression confused. It seemed like he was pretty firmly on the same page as Garrett.

Mom hurried out of the room to go get some water. Dad clasped his hands together in front of his stomach, wringing them together.

“So, Dad,” Garrett finally spoke up, breaking through the thick, uncomfortable silence. Dad ripped his eyes off me and turned to my brother. “How long are you back in town?”

This question, obviously, was easier than asking why the hell he was back. “I’m not sure yet,” Dad answered. “We’ll have to see how things go.”

My eyes moved to the ground, where they fixed on my simple flats. The area behind my eyes was stinging fiercely, but it took all my effort to keep any tears from making an appearance.

I could hear Dad saying something, just a murmur behind my thoughts. In the middle of a sentence (or so I think it was), I turned around and went up the stairs.

Mom called after me, but I ignored her, my attention focused completely on just one task.

It seemed like an eternity before I burst through the bathroom door, locked it behind me, and kneeled on the ground. Over and over, my whole body lurched with force as I dry-heaved over the toilet. It hurt intensely, since there was nothing in my stomach to come up. More and more, I wished that I had been healthy enough to down a few cookies at Kurt’s house. Then I wouldn’t have been in such a terrible, draining situation.

Once my body realized that nothing was coming up, I leaned against the porcelain sink, putting my throbbing head against the cool, smooth surface. A cold sweat had broken out on my forehead.

I was just so tired, yet so revved up at the same time. My heart was beating at least three times its normal rate, and I felt hyper-vigilant, just waiting to hear Dad come up the stairs, throw open the door, and talk trash about me like he used to.

The tears started to come, and I curled up into a ball, right there on the bathroom floor, and cried as hard as I could without making a single noise that could be heard by the outside world.

* * *

At dinner, I pushed my food around on my plate. For once, I was actually avoiding eating for a reason, as my stomach was still twisting and turning, trying to devour itself or something.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Dad asked me. He turned to face me, and I swore that his eyes went right through me.

I suppressed the urge to shudder. “No,” I replied softly, directing my attention to the glass of water sitting in front of me. “I’m not really hungry.”

“She’s, like, never hungry,” Garrett spoke up, rolling his eyes. “Such a teenage girl.”

At that, I threw my napkin over my plate. “I have homework to do,” I lied before running up the stairs to my room.

The hours passed by very quickly as I worked to absorb myself in the schoolwork I had once hated so much. Once I finished with everything, I looked over at the clock and saw that it was one in the morning.

My stomach started to grumble loudly, and an urge came over me that I hadn’t had in years.

I peeked out into the hallway to see that the entire house was shrouded in darkness. They all had turned in early, probably to prepare for some kind of family venture that they all planned to go on. Just a happy little family doing happy family things.

I tip-toed down the stairs, careful to keep the steps from squeaking at all.

When I turned on the light switch in the kitchen, the whole room was bathed in the light. And then, it was like different items of food started to glow, beckoning to me.

My stomach tried to leap out of my stomach, not wanting to wait for me to pick out the food and chew it first.

After gathering up a box of cookies, a carton of ice cream, left-over fried rice from a few nights ago, a couple of cupcakes, and a cup of milk, I hurried upstairs to my room. Almost the second I arrived, I dropped everything on my couch.

It was exhilarating, the feeling of eating so much at one time. All the empty places inside of me, the hopelessness, the helplessness, the idea that I was nearly pointless and useless to the world, filled with the consumption of the sugar and the fat and the calories.

But once I finished, nothing but empty containers and wrappers around me, I felt disgusting. Fat. Worthless.

As quietly as I could, I made my way into the bathroom and locked the door.

This time, when I got to my knees and lifted the lid of the toilet, I was able to fulfill my inner need, my obsession.

But even as I was doing it, it didn’t feel good. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

I was so angry at myself. To me, it had seemed like I had gotten better. Sure, I didn’t eat a lot, and I typically puked it up, but I wasn’t totally stereotypical. I didn’t binge and purge.

But there I was, back at square one.

Boy, was I glad Dad was back in town.