Chapter Eighteen
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Igot my period at my fourteenth birthday party. No joke, on the day of my fourteenth birthday party.
We were at the aquatic center, which was a complex of indoor pools about half an hour’s drive from my house. I was in a dark red bikini and we’d gotten my nails painted red to match. I felt very grown-up.
Mimi paid for both when she took me shopping the previous day after ballet class. I was at her house most of the day, and we celebrated my birthday early since I wouldn’t see her at my party. She also paid for the Domino’s pizza we ordered and said I could drink Sprite. Nothing tasted better than that meal. My mom was at work until nine, so it was just me and Mimi at her house. I sat there eating pizza and drinking Sprite, watching Singin’ in the Rain and dancing around the living room. Mimi pointed out that I looked like I’d gotten a little taller, and she took me upstairs to mark my height on the doorframe of her closet like we had since I was little.
“You’ve grown an entire inch !” she said with pride.
I smiled, also proud. I wanted nothing more than to grow up and be a glamorous woman. I watched movies where girls in their twenties had their own apartments in New York and L.A. and Paris and London, and just yearned for a space that was really my own. Getting taller felt like growing in the right direction.
“You’re such a big girl,” said Mimi, shaking her head affectionately and leading me back downstairs. “What do you think of making a big batch of chocolate chip cookies and you can take it home with you.”
I was elated. I went downstairs with her and she let me lick the batter off the wand of the KitchenAid, saying not to eat too much raw cookie dough or I’d make myself sick for my party.
I draped myself over the couch and watched Gene Kelly woo Debbie Reynolds, licking the cookie dough and feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
At home, I never got food like this. Sometimes we’d have pasta or veggie burgers, but it was never junk food. To be fair, Mimi didn’t usually do this kind of thing either, only for special occasions like my birthday. Or if I was really sad or something.
The smell of cookies started wafting through the house, which was filled with the sound of washing dishes, my old movie, and the pitter-patter of rain that could be heard through the open windows. I was warm inside and out. But it was almost nine, and that meant my mom would soon be there to take me back to our house. Our dark, decidedly unlovely home with its thrifted couch and loud fans.
She arrived a little while later, late, which was fine with me as usual.
“Is that cookies?” was the first thing she said.
My mood plummeted. She didn’t say it cheerfully. She said it like Mimi and I were both about to be in trouble.
“It’s her birthday, Brandy, for crying out loud.”
Mimi’s tone was exhausted and low, but I could hear her voice in the kitchen from where I sat in the living room.
I hid the whisk attachment I’d been relishing, and waited to be found. I stared at the screen, alive with Technicolor.
“She can’t be having this shit, Ma, have you seen her? She’s getting big.”
“She is not getting big,” she whispered sharply back. The house was too small for an angry whisper to go unheard.
“Jocelyn!” my mom hollered for me. I considered pretending not to hear her, but again, if you can hear a whisper…
“Coming,” I said.
“Now!”
I went into the kitchen, where my mom gestured at me, as if I were the muddy mess brought in by the dog’s paws.
“Do you see?” she asked. “She’s getting”—she dropped to a whisper—“big.”
“I am, I grew an inch,” I said.
My mom lifted her arms and let them fall down to her thighs with the jingle of her keys. “Do you know what happens if we let her get out of control?” she asked Mimi.
“Honey, why don’t you go get your things together? Don’t forget your new bathing suit!” Mimi directed all this at me, and I knew she just wanted me out of the room.
I could never disobey Mimi, so I left with a nod. But I could also never resist hearing what adults were talking about, so I gathered my things in the blink of an eye and then hid on the staircase to listen.
“—waste of money,” my mom was saying. “I’ve got an opportunity for her to possibly get a scholarship to a prestigious ballet school. They’re not gonna want her if she’s a fourteen-year-old with love handles.”
“Love handles? Honestly, what is the matter with you? I don’t know that this is the healthiest thing for her. Maybe she shouldn’t be doing ballet.”
“She loves ballet. More than anything.”
“Does she?”
“Yes!”
There was a long pause, then the sound of a dish being put away, and the cabinet shutting. Mimi said, “I remember another little girl who very badly wanted to be a ballerina.”
Another pause. “Every little girl wants to be a ballerina. But unlike you, I’m not going to treat her childhood dream like something silly. Is it better that I grew up to be this, Ma? A half-employed bartender with a chip on her shoulder?”
“The rest of your life was on you; it wasn’t up to me. All I knew was that I didn’t want you running around worrying about your body when you were just a little girl.”
“I’m not having this conversation again. That girl”—I could almost hear her pointing in my direction—“is going to be a ballerina. It’s what she wants. No more of this shit. Steamed vegetables and fish. She’s too young to know how bland it is anyway.”
“Brandy—”
“I’m her mother!” She shouted this. The house seemed to ring with the sudden ferocity of her tone. “ I am her mother. Not you. Thank god for that. Jocelyn!”
I waited the right amount of time and then made it sound like I was running down all the steps and hadn’t been lurking like an unnoticed owl.
She stormed out with me in tow, leaving the freshly baked cookies and my beloved Mimi behind.
We got home, which was dark and uninviting with its busted porch light.
I felt sick and tried very hard not to admit that it was because I’d eaten a bunch of raw cookie dough. Eventually it got too bad, and my mom got immediately furious with me.
“Let’s go,” she said, trotting me to the bathroom. It was there that she told me to stick my fingers down my throat until I threw up.
She left me alone at first and I tried, but it made me feel like I was going to die. When she returned, this time with a glass of liquor, she leaned on the bathroom counter.
“It’s for your own good, Jocelyn. You shouldn’t have eaten all that crap. It’s no wonder you feel like shit. Crap food will make you look like crap and feel like crap. Honey, you’re not even trying.”
I took a deep breath and then stuck my spit-covered fingers back down my throat, this time gagging.
“There you go,” she said.
And then it happened. It was hot and made my stomach cramp and ache and made my ribs feel like they were splintering. The pizza, Sprite, and cookie dough all felt like what the ocean churns up in the middle of a deadly storm.
Afterward I felt raw and red and empty and filthy. My mom washed my hands and then took a warm washcloth and wiped my face, kneeling in front of me.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it? You didn’t want all that nasty stuff in you, did you? All that icky grease and cheese and sugar?”
It made me feel nauseous all over again, but I thought if I threw up again I might flip inside out like a pair of peeled stockings.
I shook my head.
“If Mimi ever makes you eat that stuff again, I want you to go straight to the bathroom and get rid of it.”
“Do you do that?”
She smiled and then laughed, and I could smell the liquor on her tongue. “Only if I make a mistake and eat something bad. But that’s why we eat right, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
She led me out to the kitchen, where she poured me a glass of water. My head was pounding.
“I have an idea,” she said. “We’ll do it together.”
“Do what?”
“Fix our diets! We’ll eat really well and we won’t eat any more crap. We eat too much as it is. You’re a ballerina.” She shrugged. “The truth is, ballerinas don’t eat much. Like princesses. How often do you see Ariel or Jasmine eating?”
I shrugged. “Not really ever.”
“And they stay little. Like you’re going to. You’re going to stay delicate and little just like you are now. We’ll count our calories. It’ll be fun, like a little game.”
—
Then the next day, for my birthday breakfast, I was given two egg whites and a sliver of salmon. For a drink, she gave me a glass of lukewarm water, also filled with lemon juice.
The salmon made me gag, but I ate it, as it seemed that she had gone through the pantry and thrown out everything. I mean everything. No boxes of pasta or bags of rice left. Just some boring things like lentils, salt, and pepper.
Then we went to the aquatic center for my party.
I was allowed to invite everyone from my ballet class, and no one from school. My mom said it was just better that way. It didn’t really matter to me, but the only friend I really had was Sadie.
We played Marco Polo for a while, then went to the deep end to play Sharks and Minnows. And that’s when it happened.
I got out of the water to dive back in, and then, as if the sharks were real, one of the other girls shrieked and pointed at me, saying, “Blood!”
I looked down at where she was pointing, my body dripping chlorinated water, me still catching my breath, and saw.
It was streaming down my legs in a diluted cascade.
All the other girls started shrieking and pointing at me, and I felt my eyes begin to well with tears, my throat to fill with a big lump, and my skin to grow fire-hot.
Sadie hoisted herself out of the pool and stood in front of me. She had a voice that could always rise above the rest, and she used it to say, “Hey! Shut up! ”
The other girls started to quiet, all of them clinging to the side of the pool as far away from me as possible. “But it’s gross!” said one of them.
“It’s not blood, you idiots, it’s dye from her new bathing suit.” She rolled her eyes theatrically. “It’s just a nice one, so it’s made with red dye. Just because you guys can’t afford it isn’t Jocelyn’s problem. Come on, Jocelyn.”
I was shaking. It wasn’t true, in my gut I knew that, but I almost believed her. The other girls looked shamed.
She wrenched my arm and pulled me with her as we went to the bathroom. Once there, she pulled me into a shower stall and wrenched the shower curtain shut.
“We have a problem,” she said.
“The dye?” I asked, idiotically.
“What? No, I know that’s not true. You just started your period. Is it the first time?”
I hesitated, finally understanding what was actually happening to me. “Yeah.”
“Okay, it’s not a big deal.” She patted me on the shoulder with a wet hand. “I have two big sisters, so I know all about it. I’m going to go get your mom and we’ll figure it out.”
I nodded. The tears started to come and I willed them to wait until she left.
“Oh, it’s okay, Jocelyn,” she said. Her kindness had the adverse effect, and brought the tears tumbling over my lower lashes.
“It’s so embarrassing,” I said.
“It’s not, it’s just your body.” She shrugged. “Those girls believed our little story, so it’s okay. I’ll go get your mom.” She hesitated. “Or…do you want me to get my mom?”
I nodded before even deciding what I wanted.
Five minutes later, Sadie and her mom came to the shower stall where I was sitting on the slimy floor with my legs crossed, feeling like a disgusting, ugly child.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” her mom asked, with enough softness to make me almost start crying again.
Instead, I took a deep breath and nodded.
“Okay,” she said, “do you want me to get your mom?”
I shook my head vehemently.
“Okay. I actually had some trouble finding her on my way in. I’ve got my purse here, we’ve got a few options. It’s all going to be okay!”
She made it sound like no big deal.
Twenty minutes later, I was cleaned up and had a waterproof pad in. I felt like everyone could see it. Like a stupid baby in a dumb diaper.
I walked out of the locker room feeling self-conscious and silly. Sadie’s mom told me I could keep playing and swimming, but I didn’t believe her.
“I just don’t feel like swimming anymore,” I said. I looked around and couldn’t find my mom.
I caught Sadie and her mom exchanging a look.
“How about we go get you a cheeseburger or an ice cream from the little restaurant, then?”
My stomach churned with hunger, but I shook my head. “I’m not—” I almost said honestly that I wasn’t allowed, but at the last minute, I just said, “I’m not hungry. Thank you.”
I sat on one of the chaises and acted like I was over the whole party. It was the first time I ever acted bored and bitchy to hide my embarrassment.
When my mom finally came back in, Sadie’s mom intercepted her and—I could tell—told her everything that was going on.
My mom looked angry. Not concerned or worried about me, but pissed.
“Fuck’s sake,” I heard her saying as she came over to me. She adjusted her tone and facial expression before reaching me. Once she did, she said, “Party over?”
I shrugged. We didn’t get to play any of the games I wanted to play or do cake or anything, but I was an inch from crying again, so I said nothing.
And then we left. All the other girls were still there when we did. I don’t know what I expected, but of course they stayed. Just because I had to leave early didn’t mean they shouldn’t keep playing.
I felt like I was leaving behind a more innocent version of myself as we walked out of the locker room, passed through the lobby, and loaded into the car. I felt envious of the me I had been when we arrived, of all the other girls who could swim around and jump and dive without being concerned that a waterfall of blood might pour out of them. I used to be so carefree.
I was being very melodramatic. Sadie’s mom had told me I was growing up. Maybe I was. And maybe growing up meant that everything got worse and worse. Maybe that’s why my mom was the way she was.
The thought made me terribly melancholy, a feeling for which I didn’t yet know the word, but that I could experience all the same.
When we got home, my mom asked if I wanted to open presents. This lifted my spirits a little, and she told me to go shower first and put on my pajamas, and then we could do presents.
I washed my hair with my mom’s Herbal Essences shampoo and conditioner and L’Oréal Crème Ribbons body wash on my skin. It wasn’t until I got out of the shower that I realized I needed another pad or something.
I traipsed into the living room and asked my mom for help. She helped me, seeming irritated the whole time, and then I went back to my room to get into my pajamas.
They suddenly seemed babyish and too young for me. A matching set of pink Little Mermaid pajamas I’d gotten years before, but could still fit into. As if fun, whimsical days and things were behind me.
I came out with brushed hair, the way my mom always wants it to be. She had Duran Duran playing, and she was drinking wine. It was always different with her, but usually this meant she was in a good mood.
“Would you like some water?” she asked.
“Okay,” I said, thinking of the chocolate milk Mimi would be offering me right now, if I were at her house.
We went into the living room, where a small pile of presents sat on the coffee table.
The first one was a small notebook.
“A diary?” I said, happily. Most of my favorite movie and TV characters had diaries, so I was excited.
“Sort of!” she said. “It’s for food journaling. You can keep track of the calories you’re eating in there, and make sure it’s not too many or too few. Open your next one.”
She handed me another. I felt a little deflated, a feeling that worsened when I opened the next gift to find a beige-and-gray-covered book called Food: Its Calories, Its Purpose .
I flipped through. It was like a dictionary, only instead of definitions, there were measurements and numbers.
“You can look up anything you eat in there, and it’ll tell you how many calories are in it. It’s fun!”
I nodded. For my birthday I had been hoping for…other stuff. Sadie got hair chalk for her birthday and now she always had streaks of violet and pink and blue in her hair. I also wanted things like a TV in my room I’d never get. I wanted clothes, shoes, games. Other fun things. Not whatever this was.
“Thanks,” I said anyway, feeling a little heartbroken.
I opened my next one. This one was better. A beauty kit.
“Oh,” I said. “This is cool.”
I looked closer at the set of pink tools. A label on the outside said:
INCLUDED: TWEEZERS, LASH COMB, LIP SCRUBBER, PORE EXTRACTOR, AND MORE!
My next present was a huge, heavy book. The cover had a black-and-white photo of someone beautiful. It was as big as my whole lap.
“It’s Gelsey Kirkland,” said my mom. “The most beautiful ballerina on the planet.”
I flipped through the pages. She was very pretty, but also very, very thin.
“Okay, last present,” she said. “This one is for both of us.”
Fun.
I opened it, and it was a framed quote from Kate Moss: Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.
“It’s a good reminder. She didn’t actually come up with it, but it’s one of her mantras.”
“You got me a lot of stuff about eating,” I said.
She sighed, then took a big swig of her white wine. “I know. It’s because I feel like a shitty mom. I’ve been letting you eat whatever. A bunch of junk food. Your health is more important than that. When you’re a ballerina, you just can’t live like that. It’s so American of me. I’m being such a normal American woman.”
“You are a normal American woman,” I said.
“Yes, but that’s no reason to behave like one.”