The "You're Not Fat" Campaign

Cassie and I hang out at her house that evening. We sit on her bed and watch Disney movies, just like we always used to. We are both wearing sweatpants and hoodies. Cassie is sitting behind me, braiding my hair.

"I've always loved your hair, Lo," she tells me. I smile. I haven't heard her use that nickname for a long time. She runs her fingers through my hair, then twirls a few strands around each other.

"Thanks, Cass," I reply.

"I'm gonna fishtail it if that's okay," she says. I nod. She begins to twist my hair into a fishtail braid. We sit in silence for a little while. Then she sighs.

"When I was at the treatment center, there was this girl. And she was just the sweetest thing. She was like thirteen, and she smiled at everyone and always said hello. But she couldn't recover. She couldn't do it. And she was just wasting away and it was so sad."

I sit and listen as Cassie talks. I'm sort of shocked that she's telling me this.

"I didn't want to recover, at first," she continues. "I had to be force-fed and I was on bathroom watch - one of the aids had to go to the bathroom with me to make sure I didn't purge."

Cassie's voice is very quiet. I don't know what to say, so I reach behind me and squeeze Cassie's hand. She squeezes back.

"And I would look at the girl, and go oh God she's so skinny why aren't I skinny like her. But then I started thinking oh God she is so sick. She's dying. It was scary, Lo. It was awful."

I give her hand another tight squeeze. She hugs me, then sits up straight.

"Ooh, Lo, I learned how to knit!" she says, excited.

"You learned how to knit?" I repeat incredulously. That is so not Cassie. She laughs.

"Yeah, it's fun. I actually made you something, here, look!" She bounces off of her bed and hurries over to her bookshelf, grabs something, then returns.

"Cass, if you made me a sock or something..." I warn her. She rolls her eyes.

"It's not a sock, Lo. God." She sits down, her eyes shining.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hands," Cassie orders. I do so. She places something small and woolen in my cupped palms.

"Open your eyes!" she giggles. I'd forgotten how little-kiddish Cassie often acts. I open my eyes. A small purple knit elephant is sitting in my hands.

"Aw, Cass, this is adorable!" I coo. She blushes and thanks me.

"Thank you," I say earnestly. We hug, then press play on Cassie's tv and watch Tangled, cuddled together on Cassie's bed.

I've missed this.