No, this is not my way of greeting you Merry Christmas, gimme one more day to churn something out… After all, its only Christmas Eve!
A story of an anorexic’s Christmas. Maybe I should say this:
This story is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblence to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
But hell, not really. Yes and no. This story is really what anorexics do, scary things, its an obsession. But I’ve never seen anyone faint because of this before.
Lisa wrapped her left hand around the skinniest part of her right wrist tightly. She frowned. It used to take up to one-fourth of the second appendage of her middle finger. Now, it barely scrapped past the first.
She clasped her hands around her left thigh, just above her knees. Yesterday, she had been able to cross her thumbs over each other easily. Now, she had to grip hard till her fingernails turned white.
Bacon 186, eggs 298, lettuce 12, bread 184, tomato 15, mayonnaise 57, thousand island sauce 30, coffee 45, 827, she winced, maybe 900, the bacons Paul ordered were extra oily, she remembered.
Maybe she could be a vegetarian, half the calories gone. If she’d followed Atkins, 1534-159= 1375. (1375/30000) x 365= 16.73 kg lost in a year.
Lisa beamed into the mirror. Her cheeks. The dimple refused to go. She pressed her arms close to her body and looked sideways. Fat. She folded her arms, so much better, she thought. She should do this often, at least it wouldn’t show her fat.
She brushed her hair back. The thin, wiry bones shifted the veins outwards and backwards as she sifted through her hair. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. She tugged at her hair, her fingernails were white. 2, 4, 6, 8, 9. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. 1, 2, 3, 4. 3 more to make it 30, 3 more to make it 30. She tugged at her fringe, she tugged at her sides, using her fingernails for more pressure. 1. 2. 3.
30, she shook her head, she felt light and free.
Lisa pushed her watch back up again. It was at the tightest notch. She must remember to ask the watchmaker’s for 2 more holes, she’s sure to ‘grow’. 6.49 pm. The watch slipped down again.
Lisa stood and stared at the mirror. She must remember to fold her arms and not smile too widely. She shut the bathroom door and took 10 steps backward. She counted to 3, the bell rang. She walked, gyrating her hips stylishly in the tight black pencil skirt, deliberately clanking her heels behind her.
Opening the bathroom door in perfect grace, she minced her voice and smiled tightly, “Hello Paul. Oh, I was just back from the office, I’m so sorry, we had a Christmas party already, I’m so full right now, I’m sorry, but Sally brought so much food, each of us had to have 3 slices of pizza each. I even ate an extra slice for her.”
She thought of Paul’s reply.
The bell rang. 6.50 pm. Her stomach churned. She was nervous. She opened the gate.
I just realized that this story’s full of figures, numbers. Hmm.
This is the 3rd story of the short story collection (yay).