32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter 32
Leslie
A fter class, Dot stayed behind to hang out until her next one. No clue how she could manage another class, as my muscles could barely make the 3/4-mile walk back to her house. My damp yoga mat slung over my shoulder, feeling like a hundred pounds. But I’d finished the class, and that was another huge accomplishment.
As I walked, I registered a gray sedan creeping alongside me.
I turned as the driver lowered the passenger window.
“Mom? What the—”
“Get in.”
“Wait, what? No, what are you…”
“I’m not asking again.”
Two lithe women hopped out of her car and grabbed me by the shoulders.
“Have you gone mad?!”
“Stop struggling.”
“No! Where are you taking me?” I tried to shove them away, but they clung fast, their bony fingers digging into my arms. Tired as I was, my attempts to resist were met by a firm shove into the back seat.
My mom floored the gas pedal before the car door was even closed, making me wonder if she’d done this maneuver before. Perhaps one of her sidekicks had been a prior victim.
I wiggled free from my captors, hugging myself. “Mom. Stop the car and let me out.”
“Not until I get you somewhere safe. They’ll deprogram all the bunk you’ve gotten into.” She stopped at a red light and twisted to glare at me over her shoulder. “Look what they’ve done to you. You’ve gained, what, 40 pounds?”
I turned to the strawberry blond woman next to me. Her pale skin was slightly ashy and covered in the same fine hairs I recognized as a symptom of anorexia.
“Who are you and why did you let my mother trick you into kidnapping me?”
She pursed her lips. “I’m Janet, if you must know. Your poor mother has been broken up since you started ballooning on YouTube. She’s right to want you to get you well.”
While under treatment, my weight was a closely guarded secret. From the new clothes I bought, it was impossible to hide that my size had increased to a number that would have had me cowering in the past.
The nasty glances in yoga class flashed to mind.
Living my life without a scale had been a blissful relief. Would everyone outside my family react as my mother had? I tightened my arms around my middle to conceal where my body pinched from sitting.
Not five minutes into our drive and a blanket of shame had already draped over me, its burden impossibly heavy. I carried it for years without noticing, but the oppressive darkness was impossible to ignore. This wasn’t a life I wanted anymore. And yet the pull was so strong. So familiar.
Was she right? Were the last months a warped fantasy?
“This is for your own good,” Mom snapped.
“C’mon, please. Pull over and let me out.”
Rather than slow, she floored the gas pedal, slamming me and her co-conspirators against the back seat.
“This is so upsetting. You were perfectly fine before you got here!” Mom screamed at me via the rearview mirror.
“I was sick. And so are you. What the hell are you thinking? Grabbing me off the street?”
“You don’t want to be this way. You’ll be miserable and alone and die.”
You mean like I was before?
“It’s not too late to get you well.”
This I’d like to see. Her? Get me well? She was the reason I’d lived my entire life with an undiagnosed eating disorder. Why my organs had nearly shut down. Her mania was why I stopped responding to her texts weeks ago.
But her rant got me wondering about one thing. My care team never mentioned the end goal for me. Where would my refeeding lead, and how would I know if we’d gone too far? I’d never admit these doubts to my mom. For that I needed Tasha and the doctors. I had to get away.
Without thinking, I lunged for the door handle, stretching across sidekick number two. I wrestled with the gray-haired woman, whose locks were so long I nearly got tangled in them while struggling for supremacy. Janet grabbed me around the neck from behind, cutting off my air and forcing me to let go of the door to fight for breath.
“Janet, good God! Don’t choke her!” Mom screamed, watching us instead of the road. A horn blared, and Mom swerved right to avoid an oncoming car. The move slammed Janet into the side window and off me.
I coughed, gasping for air, while my gray-haired nemesis pushed me off her.
“I didn’t sign up to die!” Janet spat at my mother. “Watch the damn road!”
“Fool. You could have killed her,” Mom yelled back. “We’re here to save her, not end her life.”
Throat tender to the touch from being choked, I sat mute, recovering from our battle and wondering where they were taking me. Of all the risky situations I’d been in, not once had I ever been attacked as violently as by my mother’s gang.
After another 20 minutes, the car slowed and turned into the driveway of a two-story colonial home. The lights were on inside, and the moment we cut the engine, a woman holding a clipboard stepped out through the screen door. She wore office attire—black slacks, a blouse, and a blue blazer.
I don’t like the look of this.
My captors exited the car, leaving the doors ajar for me to follow. I had half a mind to lock myself in and lean on the horn until a neighbor rescued me.
My phone!
I slipped it out of my back pocket, snapped a quick picture of the home, which had the street address and house number affixed to the porch post in black script letters. I texted it to my chat thread with Dot and Gabby:
Me: My mom grabbed me off the street. Help!
Just as I pressed Send, Mom snatched my phone away and smashed it on the paved driveway.
“God damn it,” she whispered. “Why do you always have to do things the hard way? Quit fighting and get inside.”
I slid out of the back seat, tugging my torn shirt into place as I ascended the steps.
“Hello, Ms. Allen. My name is Phoebe Lansen, Director of the Wellness and Rejuvenation Center. Your mother hired me to work with you. She’s concerned about your welfare. And after watching your videos, I understand why.”
“I was dragged here. Against my will,” I said through gritted teeth.
“That may well be. But let’s go inside. What we have to say might change your mind.”
My mom flicked her head for me to listen. But all I could think of was an imaginary SWAT team descending, guns drawn to whisk me to safety.
I crossed my arms, looking away.
Phoebe chuckled. “Oh, come now. There’s nothing to fear. We’re all friends here. We’ve gathered to help you through your current crisis so you can reach the other side. Many clients are referred by family.” She entered and bade me follow.
This time I did.
The Victorian house was unassuming. Lace curtains, upholstered furniture with carved mahogany legs in the entryway, and the living room beyond. You’d never know it wasn’t a private home, except for the stern-looking people sitting on folding chairs in a circle. An empty chair sat awaiting a body, and I didn’t have to guess whose name was on it.
“Before we join the others, let’s get you checked in.” Phoebe ushered me into a small room and closed the door. There, she took my height, blood pressure (high—shocker), pulse (also high), and stepped me onto a medical scale. Instinctively, I turned backward, and Phoebe laughed.
“Oh, is that how they hide the truth from you? Turn around. We want all our patients to be active participants in their care.”
She adjusted the counterweights, and I squeezed my eyes shut to avoid looking. She clicked the block so many notches to the right, my resolve evaporated. I peeked, stunned by the scale’s verdict. I swallowed hard. She saw my throat bob and pounced.
“See? Knowing your weight is the first step to addressing your problem.”
“I have an eating disorder. My problem is already being treated, under close medical supervision,” I said, shocked that my voice lacked a whiff of conviction.
Phoebe pressed her lips together, saying nothing, before sighing
“Leslie. You’re a beautiful, talented woman who’s gone off the rails. Your mother only wants what’s best for you. And your career.”
That got my attention.
She took a few pictures of me, then opened the door. I followed her to join the others. Phoebe ushered me to the vacant seat and stood to address everyone.
“Thanks for gathering today to welcome Leslie. Dear, your mother is concerned that you are spiraling and need a steady hand to right the ship. That’s where we come in. Our center helps people overcome poor habits with food. By following our proven system with sensible meals, nutritious shakes, and dietary supplements, clients lose tens of pounds in a matter of weeks.”
One by one, each participant lifted their intake photo and proudly proclaimed their weight loss. Applause rounded the room, again and again.
15 pounds.
47 pounds.
150 pounds.
Speakers were barely recognizable from the images they held beneath their beaming faces. The photos displayed dejected, slumping people living in larger bodies than they had now. Meanwhile, my journey over the last few months had transformed me from the After photo to the Before. Yet my care team cheered me every step of the way. So much so, my mother felt compelled to grab me off the street to reverse the damage.
These two realities couldn’t coexist.
Was I a walking tragedy then or now?
The second researcher I spoke to popped to mind. The one who took each point Professor Hawley had said and tossed it in a trash heap. He’d lost a ton of weight and committed his life to staying slim. Exactly what Mom and Phoebe thought best. Their view contradicted the sober warnings from my care team, who declared me on a dangerous path to an early grave. And they had the test results to prove it.
Sixty eyes stared at me. For once, I had nothing to say.
Tears of confusion streaked down my face. My chest heaved as my pulse thumped wildly in my ears. It was all so fucked up.
“I… I… I can’t do this…”
I ran out of the room and down the hall. My head whipped side to side, searching for a bathroom. Passing through the last door on the right, I slammed it closed, locked it, and sat on the toilet lid, rocking.
Who to believe?
Two pathways stretched before me.
One led to Risto, Dot, and the happiness I’d experienced over the prior three months.
But that ignored the cold reality Little Diana had warned me about. The one I wanted to pretend didn’t exist. It finally arrived in spectacular fashion, tossed me in a car, and choked me for good measure. People like my mother viewed fat as wrong and repulsive. Those who made peace with their bodies were lazy, undisciplined, weak, and looking for any excuse to avoid the rigor of dieting.
Which was right?
“Leslie, please. Come out of the bathroom this instant. Phoebe and her staff only want to help,” Mom said.
“You shoved me in the back of a car. Forgive me if I don’t trust you,” I yelled through the closed door.
“You’ve got to know I only want what’s best for you. This program shows marvelous results. You can lose the weight and be right as rain before your new job starts next month. There’s time to turn back the clock on all the damage you’ve done to yourself.”
She slid a photo under the door. What she hoped was my “Before” picture. Dead eyes stared blankly, already resigned. Hair mussed, clothes torn, with faint bruising visible around my neck.
It was as if the hurt from all my years of disordered eating was finally noticeable on the outside. The pain of hiding. The sorrow of lost relationships. The relentless fear. Despite Mom’s accusations and fears, I’d never felt more free or more… happy.
Yes, I’d been happy lately.
The conversation with Dot on my first day in town came flooding back.
“Are you happy? Do you ever pause long enough to find out?” Dot had asked.
“No, I can’t say I am. But maybe not everyone is meant to be happy. Maybe people like me have to settle for being okay.”
The picture loomed on the floor, projecting the misery of my former self. The emotional truth of another time. Another me. A woman I never wanted to be again. Realization hit me like a truck. This whole stunt wasn’t about me at all. Healing myself threatened Mom’s entire worldview. It meant I was sick. And if that was the case, what did that mean for her? It was far easier for her to stuff me back into the hamster wheel than face her own demons.
Well, fuck that.
I flung the bathroom door open. “You and me, Mom, we’re sick. We have eating disorders. I’ve chosen to get help. You’re a grown woman and can make your own decisions. Enjoy your juice cleanses, rabid exercise routines, and nine gallons of water a day to chase away the hunger. But that’s not how I want to live.”
“Les—”
“I’m not finished. I’ve been getting treatment from a nutritionist, a doctor, and a psychiatrist.” I ticked off the roles on my fingers. “My focus is on healing the damage I’ve done to my body, unlearning all the lies you’ve fed me instead of food. I was so close to organ failure, they almost admitted me to the hospital. Now that I’m beginning to find my way, you want me to book a stay in the paradise of an early grave? No. No more.”
I stepped around her and her gaping mouth and headed for the front door.
“Leslie. Stop. You’re making a huge mistake.”
“No. My mistake was not getting help sooner.” I paused in the doorway, where the group session was in full swing. I considered saying something to them. To help them break free of their own bonds, but they’d need to find their own path. Hopefully, me publicly stepping forward as I had would start some overdue conversations.
The screeching of car brakes from outside grabbed my attention. I strode to the screen door to see Dot’s car parked crookedly at the curb. Gabby jumped out.
My SWAT team had finally arrived.
The two women hurried to the porch steps as I stepped out.
“Are you alright?” Gabby wrapped me in my arms, her silky blouse caressing me through the gaping tears in my shirt. Goodness knows what other wounds I’d have from this ordeal.
Dot stormed up to my mom, who had joined us. “You are a twisted, evil woman. Look what you’ve done to your daughter! Thanks to you, she almost died. Did you realize that? You and your—!”
I rested a hand on Dot’s shoulder. “Let’s just go.”
Dot turned to cradle my head in her hands. “Are you hurt? Two women from class saw you get shoved into a car and came running back. The moment they mentioned a New Mexico license plate, I guessed what happened. Then your text arrived.”
She flashed a death stare at my mom.
“You come near this girl again, and I’ll call the police myself. In fact…” Dot turned to me. “Do you want to press charges against these people for what they’ve done?”
I looked over at the trio. My mother, waif thin and swaying. Likely from over-exertion. The other two sat on a wicker bench, fretting with their hands. A pathetic lot, by any measure. Ms. Wellness was nowhere in sight, proving she was the only bright one in the bunch.
“Nah. But, Mom,” I called over. “I’ll expect you to send money to replace my broken phone and torn clothes. And pay for a shit-ton of groceries.”
Linking arms with my aunt and cousin, I walked to the car. My mother stood alone, clinging to her toxic beliefs as if they had the power to save her.