Light up the Sky

I was sat on my bed, Frank on his as we occasionally glanced up at each other. Each hoping that we could catch the other in the act and be able to start a conversation about something. There was absolutely nothing we could talk about; what could we say after that? It just seemed impossible to pick a topic.

I eventually caught his eye as he lifted his head and he opened his mouth to talk. “I- I’m hungry, Mikey…” he mumbled.

I nodded my head, knowing the feeling all too well. The feeling of emptiness, of longing, of want and of need. That gurgling in the pit of your stomach that’s known as Borborygmi. That want to eat and make the stabbing pain go away. The pain I was doing so well with blocking out, until Frank came along.

“So am I, Frank…” I replied. “So am I.”

—

I sat at a table in the canteen, opposite to Frank, and I watched as he stabbed a potato onto the end of his fork. He stared at it for a while, tilting his head from side to side to get a better look at it before he carefully put it to his mouth and took a small bite. His lips didn’t even touch it, and his teeth merely scraped along the surface; dragging away a thin layer of the potato.

I sat in awe as he took another bite, gagged slightly, but took another bite, and another, and another until he was flat out shoving food into his mouth.

My mouth hung open as I watched him shovel the food from his plate and into his mouth. He had started using his hands to pick up the food, and he chewed loudly and quickly. I didn’t understand; he went from not eating a single thing to shoving food down his throat.

“Erm, Frank?” I asked quietly and he stopped eating for a second to lift his head.

He wiped his lips on his arms and replied with a “mm?” noise.

“Why are you… why are you eating all of a sudden?” I asked him as calmly as possible.

“Because… because you said I was ruining myself. I don’t want to ruin myself, Mikey. I’ve spent all these years keeping myself from ruining, perfecting myself by not eating. And now you tell me it’s ruined me! What the fuck am I going to do with that?” he started to cry silently as he gagged on the amount of food he had just consumed in the space of a few minutes.

He continued gagging and crying as I sat there, stunned and unable to offer him any condolence. I didn’t know what to say, I felt awful. I felt terrible. I felt guilty. And I hated the feeling. Like something was eating away at my insides.

“I’m sorry… Frank,” I mumbled and he spewed.

The food he had just taken into his body came flying up and out of his mouth, landing all over the table. I stayed sat there, staring as he threw up all of his food. He winced every time a new wave of nausea hit him and more would come up. I was surprised at how far he could vomit from his mouth, it was insane.

I saw tears glistening on his cheeks, probably from that burning feeling in the back of his throat from the acid coming up out of his stomach and I felt sorry for him. He shouldn’t have eaten so much in such short time.

But I felt guilty, too. It was partially my fault; I had told him how he was ruining himself and I was the one who told him that he needed to eat. It was partially my fault. I bit the inside of my cheek, not really knowing what to say, or if I should even say anything. What was there that I could say? I had just caused him to throw up every thing, and throw up everywhere.

I was just glad that he was able to aim it away from me.

“Mikey,” Frank groaned once he was certain that he had finished vomiting, and he wiped at his mouth with his arm.

His cheeks had turned a rosy pink color and his eyes were watering, he probably felt really hot now – I know I always did after throwing up.

I nodded my head at him, a look of sadness on my face as I knew that I was partially the cause of all of this. I felt terrible. I felt like shit. And I wanted to hate him so badly because of it. But I couldn’t. There was something inside of me that would not let me hate this horribly and disgustingly broken human being in front of me, so I hated myself instead.

I hated myself for allowing feelings to get through to me. I had worked so hard to block them all out, and now it just seemed pointless. I want to be numb again. Nothing mattered when I was numb. I didn’t care about anything, I didn’t hurt.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” I finally replied to him and he nodded his head.

“Mm, so am I,” he mumbled, his gaze fixated on the empty plate in front of him that was covered in his stomach’s contents, looking at it angrily.

“Fucking food,” he growled. “It’s all it’s fucking fault. It’s so God damned stupid.” He stretched his arms out across the table, not reacting when his arms ended up covered in his sick that was left on the table, and he swung them to the sides. Knocking our plates to the ground and smashing them before he let out a raged scream. His sick fell to the ground along with the plates, leaving a puddle of puke and broken china.

I was scared. Terrified, in fact. I had never seen anyone seem this angry. And Frank was the last person that I would have assumed to be that person.

He started to bang his head furiously against the table (luckily where his plate had been before so there was no sick there), still screaming and I was pretty sure that he was crying as well. His screams seemed to attract workers here, God only knows why they didn’t come over when he was violently puking, and cafeteria ladies ran over to him, some screaming for help as a few ran off to find, what I presumes, councilors

I just sat there, stunned, as I watched Frank throw his head over and over again at the table that separated us.

My eyes were wide in fear and I had no idea what to do. The cafeteria ladies were trying to calm him down, not knowing how to get him to stop screaming. And I sat there, rocking myself backwards and forwards in fear as my best friend had a mental breakdown in front of me.