The Girls at 17 Swann Street Read online

  Emm finds me.

  There you are. Direct Care is calling us for midmorning snack.

  I do not reply or get up, so she pulls me up herself.

  Listen to me, Anna: so you slipped. It happens. This is not who you are. That voice in your head that made you do it, that’s not you. It’s anorexia. It just sounds like you.

  Her hand gripping my arm firmly, she leads me to the big wooden table, where the snacks are already set and most of the girls are sitting.

  You just need to start recognizing the difference between your thoughts and your disease. You can do it. Try again,

  she says.

  Try again. I glare at Emm, who does not see me as she goes to her seat across from me. I do not need advice or encouragement from her or anyone else. I do not need a nutritionist, therapist, psychiatrist, Direct Care. And I especially do not need empathy in the form of condescending head tilts.

  I have never been more furious in my life. Something in me quietly explodes.

  63

  Contingency Update—June 7, 2016

  Weight: 92 lbs.

  BMI: 15.8

  Patient attempted to conceal a portion of her breakfast in a napkin and was apprehended. The caloric equivalent of her meal was administered in the form of liquid supplement. Patient was then denied permission to go on the morning walk.

  Patient was repeatedly offered sessions with her team therapist, nutritionist, and psychiatrist, all of which she refused.

  At 10:00 A.M., patient refused midmorning snack and nutritional supplement shake. At 12:30 P.M., patient refused lunch and nutritional supplement shake. Patient was repeatedly made aware of the implications of each refusal. At 3:00 P.M. patient was given her afternoon snack via nasogastric feeding tube as stipulated by the rules in the patient manual.

  Patient has been missing since 4:00 P.M. on June 7, 2016. Search party has been dispatched.

  Spouse has been notified.

  64

  They had known each other less than two months. They were hiding under the covers for warmth, her ice-cold feet between his, on a particularly dreary and dark Thursday in February.

  Let us run away,

  she said.

  Where would you like to go?

  Somewhere warm and sunny. I know we cannot afford it.

  Who says we can’t, Princesse? How about Nice?

  Somehow, he did find two plane tickets and a little family-run inn right by the sea. No one went to Nice out of season, so they even had a room with a view! It snowed that weekend in Paris, but on the Promenade des Anglais, Anna wore a bright green dress. Matthias, a blue shirt. They made it to the end of the promenade before the first drops of rain.

  They were soaked in minutes.

  Matthias, there! That little bar!

  French fries and socca, and the house wine warmed them up. It was red and sweet and by the time they finished it, they were both very tipsy and the rain had lifted. They walked and danced back to the inn. They kissed their way past it and into a lamppost. They laughed and, still kissing, turned back.

  65

  I do not know when or how I walked off the porch, across the lawn, and away. Past the other houses, whose owners were ending their day quietly outside. I did not stop to wonder or care what they thought of me and my yellow tube, sticking out of my nose and taped across my cheek, the loose feeding end dangling behind my ear.

  I do not know what time it is now, but the sky is losing its light. The air is hot and heavy with magnolia. The tape on my cheek feels itchy. I do not have my watch on me. Or a wallet, or my phone. I left everything at 17 Swann Street, but it does not matter. I am going home.

  I am going home to Matthias and my life with him, before this. I will promise him that I will eat and get better, and I will mean it. I will eat.

  You will not have to worry about me.

  I will throw away my running shoes.

  You will see, I will eat.

  Yogurt and bread and chocolate desserts and ice cream and French fries and salad dressing.

  I will be fine.

  We will be fine and we will sleep in the same bed tonight. And in the morning …

  I run out of breath and lie. My heart pounds faster through my chest. As if to outpace it and reality catching up, I walk faster and farther away from the house. Which way is Furstenberg Street? How long must I walk to get there? What will Matthias say?

  What will Matthias do? What will we both do when we come to terms with what I did? What will we do in the morning when we wake up and Matthias has to go to work?

  If he sends me back I will hate him for doing it. If he does not he will hate himself. And I will kill myself, slowly and surely, one skipped meal at a time.

  My breath is coming out in staccato. I break into a run anyway. I hope my lungs hold strong, not that I am giving them any other choice.

  I hate the house on 17 Swann Street. The driveway where Matthias parks. I hate the porch and his back as he leaves it. I hate the thought of him driving away. I hate our empty apartment at 45 Furstenberg Street. I hate my plastic dinners, his frozen ones, my Van Gogh room, our empty bed. I want to run away with him,

  but we have nowhere to go.

  I sit down on the sidewalk for a minute. For a minute I let myself dream. I dream Matthias and I run away to Paris, back to our little cupboard room. It is morning in my head; coffee and bread. He plays guitar on the floor. I watch him and distract him with kisses. We get dressed and go for a walk. To the market, where we buy flowers and blackberries. Back in our room, we discard them. We spend the whole day making love.

  Then my minute ends.

  66

  Direct Care finds me. Of course she does. I had not bothered to hide. She returns one missing, gaunt-faced girl with a feeding tube to number 17.

  Matthias’s car is parked in the driveway. He is standing on the porch. His face says he has been told what happened. His eyes say he does not understand.

  I cannot face him. My throat is too tight. My stomach hurts. Bile and shame. I watch him take in the feeding tube plastered across my face. I do not step forward to kiss him; it would have gotten in the way.

  Direct Care looks at both of us. Her expression is sad, not angry. She says she is going inside and that we can talk in Bedroom 5.

  But I cannot be inside; there is no air inside. I ask if we can stay here. She hesitates, then agrees, saying,

  Please do not step off the porch.

  Silence until she closes the door. Matthias gestures to the wicker chairs. I sit down on the floor instead. He sits next to me and waits.

  I have nothing to say. So he tries:

  What happened?

  Nothing happened. I let go.

  You already know what happened.

  Anna, please talk to me. Help me understand. Why?

  Why did I hide food? Why did I stop eating? Why did I run away? I laugh bitterly at the ridiculous answer to those questions:

  Because of the bagel and cream cheese.

  Matthias looks at me like I am mad. He is probably right. I watch him, painfully, fumble with his words and with my distorted thoughts:

  Do you mean … did they serve you too much? Was the meal too big?

  Not any bigger than the day before. Nor any more calorific than the yogurt and granola, the oatmeal and nuts, the Frosties or Cheerios.

  Matthias tries to translate my silence into something he can fix.

  Was it the taste? I know you hate bagels and cream cheese—

  I do not.

  He is lost:

  But you said—

  I lied. I do not hate bagels and cream cheese. I love bagels and cream cheese. The texture and taste are so divine I could eat just that for days.

  My voice is rising in tandem with my despair at Matthias’s growing confusion. How can he not feel it? How can he not understand? How can I explain my twisted brain?

  Matthias, I could eat for days! I could eat for days and not stop! I was fine before I came here b
ecause I had forgotten the taste of bagels and cream cheese. And God! I worked so hard to forget, for years! I was so disciplined! I got so good! But today I remembered. All I worked for is gone!

  I can hear myself. A foreign, hysterical, high-pitched voice.

  I like cream cheese and bagels!

  Shaking.

  Matthias, what if I start eating them again and never stop?

  In contrast, his voice is low, a stranger’s. He tries:

  Anna, that’s not possible. Let’s look at this rationally—

  I burst into tears.

  I burst into tears as I finally realize that this is where this story ends: Anna, that’s not possible. I wish he were right, I want him to be right, but I cannot see it or believe him.

  He tries to reason with me, shout, cry, fight the anorexia in my head. He cannot see or believe, either, that I will never be rid of it.

  An hour goes by, of arguing and crying. We are both silent now, exhausted. I look at the boy I love, who loves me, more than I deserve. Who is so miserable loving me.

  There is nothing left to say now, except,

  Matthias, please leave.

  He does not understand. I say it again:

  Matthias, please leave.

  He leans away from me and exhales deeply, looking out from the porch. Then, he turns his palms up and says:

  Okay, Anna, whatever you say. We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow.

  He gets to his feet.

  No.

  He stops.

  No what?

  Do not come back tomorrow.

  The look on his face. A full minute in stone, then:

  You can’t be serious, Anna.

  I wish I were not, Matthias. But I can see it now, horribly in front of me: the future.

  He will never leave. Not of his own accord. He loves me too much for that. He will come back night after night until I beat anorexia. But I will not beat it because I cannot. I cannot beat anorexia. I will not win and I love him too much to trap him in this future with me.

  I say the horrible words a third time:

  Matthias, please leave.

  I cannot eat cream cheese on a bagel. Matthias, please leave.

  I cannot eat the crêpes I make that you love. Matthias, please leave.

  I cannot eat if I am sad or alone. I cannot eat in a restaurant. I cannot have the baby we wanted. Matthias, why are you still here?

  Why are you still here?

  I am not leaving, Anna. Where would I go if I did? There is no Matthias without Matthias and Anna.

  But there is no Anna anymore.

  67

  My nasogastric feeding tube is a Capri lemon shade of yellow. It goes in through my nose, runs down my esophagus, and ends inside my stomach. Nutrition can be delivered through the tube in one large infusion, or gradually, via pump over a period of eight to twenty-four hours.

  Or in the case of an evening snack, in ten minutes flat.

  The procedure is surgically swift and lonely. It takes place in the nurse’s station. The other girls cannot see me from the other room but I can hear their conversations.

  I ask to use the bathroom. The humiliating sound of jingling keys. Perhaps it is the tube, or not, either way, I am choking for breath and in tears. I close and lock the bathroom door and let myself sink to the floor. Finally alone again, I cry.

  Matthias is gone.

  Matthias is gone. I sent him away. I know I did the right thing. At least now as I free-fall I know I will not be taking him down with me.

  I keep the bathroom light switched off. I stay on the floor for hours. Or minutes, or a second, I do not know. No one knocks for me to come out.

  I finally stand up and switch the light on, reaching for the faucet. I jump: my reflection in the mirror. I look old, sick, and hideous. Scary. I switch the light back off.

  But even in the darkness again, I cannot unsee my face, my body, the feeding tube. I look fat. I feel fat. Anorexia: there it is.

  I dissect every body part outlined in the shadowy mirror. My breasts are far too small for the rest of me, and my legs are far too short. My behind sticks out more than it should. My thighs could and should be thinner. My back could be straighter, my shoulders more square. I could tuck my stomach further in.

  Even my vision is distorted. Macular thinning; even eye muscles can lose weight, detect less detail, less light, send less dopamine to the brain. Life loses focus in the haze.

  I hate what I see, even as my eyes squint in my self-imposed dusk. Shapes are hazy and disfigured, shadows look longer than they are, but the feeding tube glares directly at me, and Matthias is gone.

  68

  I leave the bathroom and go up the stairs, to the Van Gogh room. I do not bother to turn on the light. I climb straight into bed.

  It is dark and quiet and not cold and under the covers, I could be anywhere. I pretend I am home and that Matthias will be next to me when I wake up.

  Anorexia nervosa has been indisputably linked to other mood disorders, such as depression and anxiety. Some symptoms overlap and co-occur.

  I hear the psychiatrist’s voice in the report he wrote about me.

  The patient may experience apathy, or indifference to her environment.

  The next day I do not get out of bed. No vitals and weights for me today. Direct Care and the nurse warn, threaten me, but no thank you. I stay in bed.

  Other symptoms include fatigue, loss of appetite and concentration.

  Breakfast comes and goes without me. I do not get out of bed.

  Pessimism and hopelessness.

  They use my yellow tube. I let them. I am not allowed a morning walk, they say.

  I do not care. I pull the covers back over my head and ask,

  Just turn the lights off when you leave please, and close the door.

  I am too tired for a walk.

  Some time later the light is switched on again. I am mildly irritated. Direct Care says my father called.

  Tell him I went to bed.

  Matthias called too.

  Tell him I went to bed. And please switch off the light.

  One in five patients with anorexia will attempt suicide.

  I know that statistic. I want to be one of them, but I am too tired to try. So I stay in bed. No reason to get up.

  Matthias is gone. Direct Care finally turns off the light. I go to sleep.

  69

  Someone turns the light on. Again. Why? When?

  Footsteps. Loud footsteps. Someone is angry. What day, what time is it?

  Five thirty, Anna. Time for vitals and weights.

  Emm is in the Van Gogh room. Emm pulls the covers back. Emm opens the window, the one we were expressly told to keep closed.

  Emm opens my closet, searches for and finds the horrible flower-print robe. I look at her with mild curiosity. She throws the robe on the bed.

  Put it on or I will make you.

  She is already wearing hers. Her voice is low but its tone and her eyes make it clear that she is furious.

  You have five minutes, Anna. Get dressed. I’ll be downstairs.

  She walks out. Leaving the light on and the door open, and me just starting to absorb this.

  I take a few seconds to register what she did, then decide I do not care. I pull the covers back. The light can remain on, and the door open. She can wait downstairs.

  Footsteps again, now very loud and angry. The covers are snatched away. Emm throws them to the floor. I want to protest, but I have no energy.

  She grabs me by the arm and yanks me forward with surprising strength for an anorexic. To my utter horror she grabs my T-shirt and pulls it right over my head.

  Ice-cold air. I shriek.

  Good, so you are alive. Now you’d better listen to me.

  She holds the flower-print robe beyond my reach. I wrap my arms around me, shivering.

  Matthias did not come last night, but you already know that. Why didn’t he come, Anna?

  Because I told him not t
o come. She and I both know that.

  You’re an idiot,

  she says.

  Get up and bring him back.

  I cannot believe what is happening. Cannot believe Emm is speaking to me like this. I am angry and cold.

  Give me my robe!

  Not a chance, Anna.

  Leave me alone! Go away!

  No, you had your day in bed! Now it’s time for vitals and weights!

  She does throw the robe in my face. I slip it on hurriedly, fuming. I feel naked and humiliated, cold and angry. I feel furious! I can feel something!

  Get out of my room and out of my business! Who the hell do you think you are?

  I’m the girl who’s stopping you from making the biggest mistake of your life!

  She is shaking too, and screaming, her wild hair all over her face.

  Bring Matthias back! You have no right to give him up! You have no right, you have—

  She chokes up.

  Emm is crying and shaking with anger so violently she eclipses mine. Emm, mask down and composure in shreds. Emm is falling apart.

  You have to bring him back,

  she says jaggedly.

  You have to win this one. You have no right to give up. If you can’t, Anna, then what am I …

  I cannot bear to watch her cry. I have never seen so much pain.

  Naked underneath my horrible robe, I get out of bed. I hesitate before touching her, then I hug her. She does not push me back.