The day is over, as is dinner, whatever dinner was. It is 7:20. I rush to my room, brush my teeth and my hair, dab a little bit of blush on my cheeks, one, two spritzes of perfume, then scramble down the stairs just as Matthias’s blue car pulls into the driveway.
He steps out of the car at 7:28, rings the doorbell at 7:30. It marks the beginning of the countdown: we have ninety precious minutes left.
He is well dressed and smells nice. I know that scent: tobacco musk. He knows mine: apple and jasmine. He kisses me at the door. Toothpaste.
I ask Direct Care for permission to sit outside with my husband. Permission laughingly granted,
So long as he has you back inside by evening snack!
I ask about his day. He says work was fine, and that our little orchid back home is as well. He declares being quite concerned, however, that it has not bloomed since last year. I try not to smile, but
I can see your mouth twitching, Anna, but you cannot imagine how worried I’ve been! I blame you for this, you know, buying us an orchid and then running off to treatment. Do you know what kind of matinenance orchids need?
Would you have preferred a cactus?
A cactus! Yes, a cactus! You have to be purposeful about letting a cactus die. When all this is over, I’ll buy you a cactus.
Haha! You have a deal.
He asks me about my day. I keep my account just as light. I tell him about a book I have been reading. I found it in community space.
Rilke. His poetry is magical. It transports me away from here.
Do you have time to read?
I do in the morning, after vitals and weights and before breakfast at eight. I love it. It is quiet and the sun rises and the Van Gogh room just lights up.
You always did like mornings best.
I did. I do.
Oh! Did I tell you? I went on the walk this morning.
How was it?
Too short, but freeing.
Are you making friends?
I laugh.
I am trying. Most keep to themselves, and we are all quite busy anyway.
Busy? What, with all the meals?
Once again, it strikes me how little Matthias, or any normal person, can understand. How little of an eating disorder the naked eye can actually see. Busy?
Yes busy,
to the point of exhaustion. Every bite and every thought is. But to anyone else, perhaps we just look like girls with bad eating habits.
Six times a day, Matthias.
And you’re doing it! I am proud of you, Anna. Don’t stop.
He beams, and I am suddenly gripped by fear: What if I do stop?
What if I let you down, Matthias?
I do not voice that thought. Instead:
This afternoon, I chose my cereal for tomorrow’s breakfast.
I try to keep my voice casual and fail. He hears it and takes my hand. No longer lighthearted, Matthias says:
You are the bravest girl in the world.
He does understand. He does hear the constant screaming in my head. But he will not give me pity, so he asks:
Did you pick the Frosted Flakes?
Taken aback, I answer shortly:
No, Matthias. Plain Cheerios.
How could you possibly pick the Cheerios? We both know they taste like cardboard! The Frosties, on the other hand, are grrreat!
And his favorite. And, incidentally, covered with glistening, frightening sugar crystals.
I happen to like Cheerios,
I object, my feathers ruffled the wrong way.
But Matthias calls my bluff:
No you don’t. You like Frosties. Or at least you used to, and Lucky Charms.
Not at all!
I protest, my claws out in defense of my anorexic lie. I ready myself to counter with arguments of food coloring and high sugar content … but Matthias speaks before me:
The bottom line is that Frosties are endorsed by Tony the Tiger.
I cannot believe my ears.
So?
So tiger trumps bee, obviously. When in doubt, pick the cereal endorsed by the tiger. That’s Frosties. I rest my case.
I laugh, genuinely, at my husband’s unconventional approach to therapy: Pick the Frosties. Do not be afraid. Tiger trumps bee and anorexia. Simple.
If only it were, if only it could be. If only I could believe it.
Tonight, though, I want to. It is such a beautiful evening out here. Matthias looks handsome. He smells nice. He loves me. He is smiling mischievously.
So I let myself play along, if only for an evening. All right, Matthias,
Next time I will pick the Frosties,
because a talking tiger said so.