Skin and Bones Page 7

  Bones leaned in closer.

  “I was lifting my hip during the grand battements. Even a three-year-old knows the hip is a ball and joint socket. It shouldn’t move just because I raise my leg. All those days stuck in ICU and that stupid wheelchair.” She sighed, pushing the envelope of impatience. “God, it’s like I’m starting over.”

  He had to say it. “I think you look amazing.”

  And there was that smile again.

  “Most people don’t realize how strong ballerinas are because we look so fragile.” She snapped the screen closed. “But we have to be strong, really strong, and I’m not just talking about physical strength. It takes a different kind of stamina to listen to someone scream at you hour after hour—”

  “Your parents?”

  “Well, yeah, like nonstop.” She laughed. “But I meant the choreographer. Sometimes it’s for the slightest thing, like a finger that isn’t held just right. He’s god—the creator and ruler and source of all power—the supreme being of the stage. Dancers? We’re his puppets.”

  Bones was starting to realize that dancing wasn’t just something she did; it was who she was.

  Alice took his hand and pressed it on her chest just above her breast. “It comes from the core.”

  He tried to stay focused. “The heart?”

  “Precisely.”

  Alice lifted one leg, untying her shoe.

  “Need help taking the other one off?” he asked.

  She leaned back on her pillow, holding her leg in the air.

  Bones untied the satin knot carefully, until the ribbon fell, all crimped. He smoothed the wrinkles as best he could and set her shoes on the dresser.

  It was time for Sexuality Group Therapy.

  14

  Alice had pulled a sweater over her damp leotard and was combing out her silky hair. Tape was still wrapped around her toes. Unfortunately, the arrangement of chairs didn’t let them sit together. Lard was against the wall, rocking on the back legs of his chair. He sucked a toothpick, bored. Bones knew he’d rather be in the kitchen.

  Bones avoided eye contact with Elsie, who looked like she’d spent the night under a train. She was talking to Sarah. “Once I was so sick I forgot to flush the toilet,” she said. “Anyways, my mom saw the blood and figured out what I’d been doing.”

  That meant Elsie had ruptured something—probably her esophagus or stomach lining, Bones knew—because only a person sticking her finger down her throat several times a day threw up blood. He wondered if she had scars on her knuckles like the other VIs he’d met in groups like this.

  “Our toilet kept overflowing,” Sarah put in. “Pipes couldn’t take whole chunks of food.”

  Lard’s chair slammed the floor. “Can’t you at least try to whisper?” he said, all edgy.

  Elsie stood up ready for a fight and sat back down when Dr. Chu appeared. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for being on time.” Then he made a lame joke about the topic getting their attention.

  “Anyways,” Elsie said. “I’ve been on the pill since I was thirteen and my boyfriend uses condoms if that’s what this is about.”

  Dr. Chu said something about responsibility being a sign of maturity and opened his briefcase. He passed out photographs of men and women of all ages. Some were in swimsuits, others in regular clothes. “Alice? How would you describe the women in these pictures?”

  Except for a cute girl, Bones would have said fat, ugly, and lacking willpower. He wondered if Dr. Chu was going to hand out childproof scissors so they could cut out paper dolls to hang over their beds, a reminder of what normal should look like.

  Alice was cool as a chilled cucumber. “Are you totally satisfied with your body, Dr. Chu? No, of course not. How do I know? Because no one is.”

  “That isn’t the—” he started.

  “Let’s face it, you suffer from male pattern baldness, which explains the ponytail, and have an extraordinarily large nose.” She stretched her amazing legs out in front of her. “Face it again, you’d like to lose those ten pounds you’ve put on since I saw you last summer.”

  “You’re definitely a candidate for the lap band treatment,” Mary-Jane told Dr. Chu.

  Bones thought Dr. Chu may have seemed as calm as his Hallmark smile, but experience with shrinks told him the doctor was probably as uncomfortable as the rest of them.

  Sure enough, Dr. Chu cleared his throat. “We all have target areas we’d like to change. But there comes a time when we have to look at ourselves in the mirror, smile, and say, ‘Thank you for standing by me. For hanging in there after all the crap I’ve put you through.’”

  “Explain this,” Sarah said. “Anorexics think they’re fat, right? Then why don’t the rest of us think we’re skinny?”

  Lard snorted at that. “Cosmic injustice.”

  Alice looked up from braiding her hair. “Don’t believe everything you think.”

  “I once had a shrink give me a piece of string and ask me to guess the size of my waist,” Nicole said. “Then she measured me. I’d guessed my middle was fifteen inches smaller than it was. Talk about a wake-up call.”

  “Does anyone really have a healthy body image?” Mary-Jane asked.

  “Our whole society is distorted,” Nicole replied.

  Elsie leaned forward with an expression that let them know they should pay attention. “Like this guy I know who dwells on his dangling participle, because he thinks it’s larger than normal.”

  Mary-Jane and Nicole slapped high-fives.

  “Anyways, take my boyfriend—” Elsie wouldn’t give up.

  Lard cut her off. “Sex addicts meet down the hall.”

  Dr. Chu let them talk, sort of like verbal free-writing. When things wound down, he gave them a bullshit assignment to sketch their bodies. “Just a simple outline,” he said and dismissed the meeting. Then he asked to see Alice in his office. “Privately.”

  Crap. Unibrow must’ve ratted her out for rehearsing.

  Bones watched everyone file out. Alice and Lard were the only people in the program with clearly defined goals. Alice would be a famous ballerina someday and Lard would have his own restaurant. Mary-Jane, Elsie, Nicole, Sarah, Teresa? They couldn’t see past their next burger.

  Bones admitted he hadn’t had any aspirations about his future before checking into the hospital. Now he had one: Alice.

  “I need your help in the kitchen,” Lard told Bones in the hallway.

  “Kitchens make me sick,” Bones said.

  “You’re sick no matter where you are.” Lard laughed and punched him in the arm.

  Bones rubbed his wound. “Do I have to eat anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Touch anything?”

  Lard shoved him toward the elevator. “Sure is tough being your friend.”

  The doors opened onto a world of aluminum appliances, all reflecting Bones’s wavy image, a regular house of mirrors. The floor and counters looked like they’d gone through a carwash. You could eat off them if that was your thing.

  Gumbo wore a bloody apron. He probably would have shaken Bones’s hand, but he held a dead fish in one and a cleaver in the other. “The kitchen used to serve five floors,” he said. “But now we only handle the EDU, obstetrics, and sometimes cater staff meetings.”

  Bones tried to look interested.

  “I’m applying to this cooking school,” Lard said, standing in front of the industrial size fridge. “My challenge is to get fresh back into school cafeterias without substituting watered-down ketchup for marinara sauce.”

  “It’s an assignment?”

  “Gorilla warfare.” Lard nodded. “Here’s the thing, man. I’m a compulsive overeater. I’ve always sneaked food, kept secret stashes, gorged when no one was around. Now I have a reason to be around food—a reason that makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.”

  “Okay, I get it.”

  Lard took a cookie sheet from the fridge; it held two large pizzas. “This one’s b
lack bean nacho with roasted red peppers and jalapeños. And the other is your typical pineapple with smoked ham and glazed onions.”

  Bones stared at the mess, his stomach tying knots.

  “Stop counting the goddamned calories,” Lard said. “Just tell me which one looks the most appetizing.”

  “I hate beans.”

  Lard ignored him. “If you think about it, food is necessary for life. Ask anyone who’s starved to death.”

  “Very funny,” Bones said. Then he walked away, his stomach a tangled mess.

  After a while Bones got used to Alice not being at every meal or every meeting. She kept getting called to different parts of the hospital for tests. She got mad if anyone asked about it because she hated being treated like she was sick.

  “You think I like peeing in a bottle? Getting pricked with needles? Choking on potassium tablets?” she’d snap back. “I’ve given so much blood I’m anemic, so now they’re giving me iron tablets, and if I ask for stool softeners, they accuse me of abnormal anxiety and unwarranted obsession over my bowels.”

  Nancy had appeared the last time to escort her downstairs. “Chest X-ray,” she’d said. “Then an echocardiogram.”

  Bones knew that meant the doctors wanted to see how her heart was pumping.

  With Alice downstairs and Lard in the kitchen, Bones asked Teresa if he could sit with her. “Sure,” she said over a veggie burger fat enough to feed a family of four. “Did Lard show you his project?”

  Bones nibbled his roll. “Yeah.”

  “I hope he gets into that school,” she said, dipping a bite in barbecue sauce. “He’s worked hard for it.”

  Bones chewed and chewed, churning his bite into dough. Then he faked a sneeze and spit into his napkin.

  Teresa pretended she didn’t see it.

  “Do vegetarians eat animal crackers?” Elsie asked from across the room.

  “Is Bud Wiser?” Mary-Jane retorted.

  “Does his meat loaf?”

  It went on like this for another five minutes.

  After dinner Bones spent more time than usual breaking down tables and chairs. He kept hoping to see Alice. He finally gave up, went back to his room, and pulled out the letter he’d started writing to his sister. He’d added a couple of funny lines about Sex Therapy when Lard came in.

  “That’s the first and last time,” Lard said, tossing a note to Bones. “I’m not a fucking carrier pigeon.”

  “Right. More like an aircraft carrier.”

  “Har. Har.”

  The note was from Alice. Set your alarm clock for midnight and hide it under your pillow.

  Alice must have known the coast would be clear at that time, probably a change of shifts. Life was a lot easier when Unibrow wasn’t on duty. His rubber soles were sometimes quiet as dust. He moved around the corridors, room to room, then materialized just when someone thought they might have a private moment.

  As it turned out, Bones didn’t need the alarm. Lard snored louder than usual. “Little Debbies,” he kept saying in his sleep. Bones got up at 11:45, changed in the dark, and slipped inside Alice’s room quiet as the laces in his Converse.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said softly.

  Bones didn’t see her at first. He turned toward her voice, letting his eyes adjust to the dull light. The moon broke through the curtains, shining yet full of shadows. She wore a dark leotard, tights, and leg-warmers. No skirt. She’d already put on her pointe shoes.

  “I need help moving the bed,” she whispered.

  “Sure,” he whispered back.

  Bones scooted one side of the bed, then the other. Back and forth, it glided easily on wheels. Now she had room for her turns.

  “Fouettés,” she said. “It means to whip.”

  Bones stood there all nervous. He didn’t know what to do—what she wanted him to do this time. “Anything else?”

  “Just be my audience.”

  Bones stayed in the corner out of the way while she warmed up. She followed the same routine as before. After twenty minutes she started turning in place on one foot. Light and beautiful as an angel.

  He counted silently. One, two…nine, ten…All on one amazing leg. He loved this, just being with her. Added bonus: staying up burned more calories than sleeping.

  Without taking a breath, Alice repeated the same number of turns on her other leg. Then she asked him if he’d partner her, unsure of what that meant.

  “Stand behind me,” she said. “Put your hands here, on the sides of my waist.”

  Bones touched the thin layer of spandex. “Here?”

  “Yes, like that. Lightly,” she said, “You don’t have to hold me up—just use your hands like a guide. It helps me stay centered.”

  Touching her like this felt like a gift. It was so real. He had to force himself to ignore everything that was going on inside and concentrate on the task. Alice began to turn with even more confidence than she’d had on her own. Twelve…thirteen, fourteen… He knew this was the strength she’d been talking about. Sixteen, seventeen…She could dance all night if she wanted to. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty…If Dr. Chu could see her like this he’d stop ordering all those tests.

  Alice landed silently as a feather. She stretched out on the floor, then slid into the splits, grabbed her ankle, and pulled herself down even farther. “Press against my lower back.”

  Bones knelt down, pressing his palms into the hollow above her butt.

  She sighed and bent forward even more. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

  He felt dampness through her leotard as she relaxed into the stretch. Alice smelled so good. So fresh, so real, so alive. He didn’t know how else to think about her.

  Alive.

  “Push a little harder,” she said. “Don’t worry, you can’t hurt me.”

  They were quiet for a while and then she asked Bones to get the Preparation H from the bathroom.

  He didn’t turn on the light until he was inside in case someone was outside in the hall. He looked around quickly; ribbons and scarves hung over her towel rack. The tube Lard had given her lay on the sink beside a bottle of baby oil.

  Bones turned off the light and went back to his love. He sat beside her on the floor and rubbed Prep H into her feet, happier than ever at being able to help her.

  At 2 a.m. they lingered awhile for a last good-night.

  Moonlight muted his room.

  Bones lay in bed with his eyes closed, visualizing the sheen of Alice’s smooth skin. Her long legs. The nape of her neck. Eyes opened, staring at the ceiling, or eyes closed. It didn’t matter. Not even Lard’s snoring could block the image or feel of her tiny waist in his hands.

  And there she was, a vision of sexiness floating through his window, asking if she could spend the night with him. He drifted off thinking about all the things she’d do to him under the sheets. Love. Pure love. Bones awoke, wet and sticky.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Lard stirred in his bed. “What now?”

  “Someone squirted Elmer’s glue on my…” he said, joking to keep from being embarrassed. “Either that or I’m dying and my brains are leaking out.”

  “You got it wrong, man,” Lard chuckled. “Beating off causes blindness.”

  “Is that why you wear glasses?” Bones shot right back. He got to his feet, stripping to his skivvies.

  Lard swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up. “Better add more protein to your diet.”

  Bones hit the shower still in his skivvies. He soaped them up and stripped all the way. He hung his skivvies to dry, toweled off, and got dressed.

  “Nancy stopped by,” Lard said when Bones came out. “Thought we might want to straighten up our room in case our parents want a tour.”

  Bones had nearly forgotten: Family Therapy Night.

  15

  Bones hadn’t really lied to his parents about important things, though he’d kept a million little secrets about what he thought about himself on a good day (crap) or on a
bad day (shit)—and the myriad of disgusting things he’d done to lose weight. If the omission of truth equaled lies, then he was a fabricator extraordinaire.

  An hour before moms and dads, sisters and brothers, and various other relatives were expected to be fully present and in the here and now, Bones was in his room watching Lard stalk a daddy longlegs with a piece of toilet paper.

  Lard dropped on it. “Bull’s-eye!”

  “You can’t be that hungry,” Bones said.

  “I’m telling you, man, these family meetings can be a real clusterfuck.” Lard tossed the wad out the open window.

  Bones pulled on his gloves. He’d been in endless meetings with his parents and sister and dubious therapists but never with other kids and their families and therapists. Who knew what to expect? Guess he’d play along like always, which seemed the least he could do considering the program was ridiculously expensive—forty-five hundred dollars a week. The twenty-seven thousand dollars paid by his dad’s health insurance could have covered a year’s tuition, room, and board at a state university.

  Dr. Chu was rushing around like an energetic host. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he kept saying.

  Bones didn’t know who he was talking to, but it was nerve-wracking when an obnoxiously imperious adult felt the need to reassure him about something. Bones figured the question marks on Dr. Chu’s tie were significant in some Freudian way.

  The room looked like someone’s idea of a party. Raw vegetables marched around a bowl of yogurt dip. A pitcher of lemonade stood by a platter of lemon-iced cookies. Coffee. Nondairy creamer. Sugar cubes. A little universe of sugar and fat. Something for people to do with their hands.

  Lard parked himself by the couch, rolling a toothpick between his fingers, as if trying to decide who to stab first. Teresa had removed the safety pin from her face. She looked better without it, almost pretty.

  Bones turned when Alice walked in. She took his breath away, literally, in a sundress with skinny shoulder straps. She wore flat sandals and a delicate gold anklet. Flowers were woven into her hair, which fell softly around her shoulders. Almond eyes and strawberries. Add whipped cream and a cherry. Bones wanted to cover her like chocolate sauce, a forbidden sundae.