Page 38 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
“He said that he was fired.”
I gripped her tighter.
“I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew that it was scary. Fire was bad, and I didn’t like it that my daddy got burned. I ran to hug him. He hugged me back absently, kissed my forehead, and told me to go in the kitchen. I fled.
“After a few minutes, my mommy came in, wiped her tears with her apron, and handed me a warm chocolate-chip cookie.
“I ate three of them with milk and felt better. And that’s how it started.”
I handed her another tissue. “It’s okay, baby.”
“No it’s not.” And she started crying harder.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I do.” Her voice got stronger. “After that he started taking his anger out on my mom. When I was ten years old, I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom when my dad came home, yelling for her. I put down my toothbrush and went into the hall, determined that I wouldn’t let him touch her.
“He stood in the hallway, red-eyed and angry.”
Oh fuck. No. No, holy shit, no. I felt where this was going, and I wanted to go back and save her. But I couldn’t. I could only listen.
I started kissing the top of her head, kissing her hair while she trembled, the words spilling out. She continued, “He came towards me. My hands shook, my legs buckled, and I leaned against the wall to hold me up. But I would do anything to keep him from touching her. He pushed forward asking where she was. I didn’t know.
“I saw him coming, and I ducked, but he hit me across the face. It stung so hard I saw stars. But if he hit me, he wouldn’t hit her. He wouldn’t hit Sebastian or Brooks. So I took it, and I couldn’t cry because if I cried it’d be worse.”
I kept kissing the top of her hair, holding her as she let all this out.
“I tripped into the dim kitchen, not bothering to pull the chain to turn on the light. I found a worn, faded dishcloth and wet it in the sink, then put it on my cheek quickly so not to drip, and pressed it to ease the sting.
“A bag of Doritos slouched on the counter.
“With the cloth pressed to my cheek, I ate the whole bag. They went badly with the taste of toothpaste. I’d have to brush my teeth again, but I ate them all, licking the crumbs from my fingers, scraping the bottom of the bag.
“Then I crumpled up the bag of chips and threw it away.”
“Sweetheart. Baby.” Anger pulsed through me. I wanted to kick, scream. Jump off a building. But I had to stay calm for her. I had to let her tell me.
And fuck, I’d have to tell her about me. When the time was right.
But now she shook off my arm, pulled back, and glared at me, the spitfire I knew her to be showing as she forced out her next words in almost a yell. “When I was eleven years old, I went to a birthday party at the pizza parlor. All of my friends ate one slice of pizza. The boys took two. I ate six pieces and wanted more. I ate eight. When no one was looking, I walked by the table and took another piece. Ten. I kept sneaking. Twelve.
“I stopped counting. My mouth wanted more food, but I didn’t want anyone to know how many pieces I ate. The other kids played video games, hands holding shiny quarters. I didn’t want to play games. I just wanted to keep eating the pizza, eating because it tasted so good, the cheese and the crust and the sauce. When I ate all I saw was the next bite and then it was the next and the next, and I didn’t have to think about anything else. Even if my stomach was stretched, distended, I thought,just one more bite.”
She burst into new tears.
“And then it was time for cake.”
I wrapped her up in a hug again, and let her sob. “My mom never stood up for me.” She turned and looked at me. “Mikey. I’m an addict. Food is my drug. It always has been. I eat when I’m not hungry, and I don’t pay any attention to its effect on my body. I eat when it hurts to eat. I look in the mirror and see what happens when you eat an entire pizza, a whole can of Pringles, and an entire package of Oreos after dinner. It shows up on your waistline and in the doctor’s report.”
“Okay. You’re gonna be okay,” I said, as I stroked her hair.
“But it’s not okay. Food has given me the only moments of comfort and happiness I’ve ever known in my entire life. From cupcakes at a birthday party to the cheese enchiladas my mom made. Those are the only peace I’d ever known.”
“I understand.”
“How could you? Your body is perfect.”
“Because I’m an addict, too. I go to meetings. It takes an addict to recognize one. I’ll help you, baby. I’ve got you.”
