Dear Journal:
For therapy this week, I wore one of the new outfits I got. The pretty sundress Mom said brought out my eyes. I also wore a pair of sandals I got online with a wedge heel that added a couple of inches to my height.
Dr. Chen did a double-take when I entered his office.
“Jessie?” he gasped as he got up from his swivel chair. “You look great!” After our requisite welcome hug, which seemed to last a few more seconds than usual, he settled back in his seat. Then he asked the question of the week, “How much weight have you lost?”
“I don’t know,” I said as I demurely brushed a strand of hair from my face.
It was true. I didn’t know. I still don’t. I’ve been tempted. Every few days, I get the urge to sneak into mom and dad’s bathroom to check, but so far, I’ve chickened out. I don’t want to be disappointed, and I definitely don’t want to become a slave to numbers on a scale.
“Well, I’m proud of you. And not just for losing weight. For how far you’ve come in all facets.”
“Don’t be too proud of me. I haven’t passed all my classes yet. And I still have a taste for that German pastry.”
Dr. Chen looked confused, but then his handsome face erupted in a wide grin. “Oh, you mean schadenfreude?”
I nodded, happy that he remembered my WAY off-base guess of the word’s meaning a few weeks back.
“What happened?”
I told him all about Michelle’s misadventures at Dillard's. About how the chubby girl slouched in the corner of the dressing room bore such little resemblance to my beautiful and athletic sister, I thought Mom had entered the wrong stall. I tried not to get too giddy, but it was difficult.
Dr. Chen smiled as I recounted everything. He never laughed, but he exhaled hard when I described Mom and sissy’s frantic dance to close the dressing room curtain. For a few minutes, he was my friend rather than my therapist. I appreciated that.
“Wow,” he said after I finished. “How much do you think she’s gained?”
I shrugged. I had no idea. I wish I knew. Before the Dillard’s incident, I might’ve guessed 15-20 pounds, but that was clearly too low. “She couldn’t squeeze into a pair of relaxed-fit, thirty-inch waist shorts, if that tells you anything.”
Dr. Chen shook his head. “Not really. I prefer not to guess women’s weight. I find I live longer that way.”
The rest of the session turned back to me and was pretty uneventful. (We were discussing my life, after all!) I told him about my new clothes, how I was doing on my finals, and the places I planned to apply for a summer job. It wasn’t until the very end, when he rose to give me my goodbye hug, that things got interesting again…
“Any exciting weekend plans?”
“Not really,” I said. “I’ll probably get dragged to sissy’s soccer playoffs. Hopefully, her team gets bounced early.”
I immediately regretted saying that.
Dr. Chen’s look of pride faded, replaced with one of concern. “Do you think Michelle might lose her scholarship?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you told me she’s putting on weight and her performance is faltering. From what I understand, schools have until July to reduce or revoke scholarships.”
“Shit,” I said. I think it was the first time I swore in front of Dr. Chen. “I hope not.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” he said as he hugged me. At least, I think he hugged me. I was lost in my thoughts at that point. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t worried about sissy. Of course, sissy would be fine. Things always turned out fine for her.
I was worried about myself.
It never occurred to me that my plan to fatten sissy might backfire. If her scholarship was revoked, would she stay home? Go to community college or something? I don’t think I could handle another year of torment.
Anyway, my dreams of a sister-free senior year suddenly seem on the verge of being dashed. What did Confucius say about revenge? Dig two graves? I guess he knew what he was talking about.
--Jessie