Letting Ana Go (2 page)

Mom: I was just telling her about our first date here and how you wore those snakeskin boots and black jeans you thought were so rock ’n’ roll.

Dad: They
were
rock ’n’ roll back then.

Mom (to me): They were so tight he could’ve sat down on a penny and told you if it was heads or tails.

Dad: And I could still fit into those jeans.

What he meant was
you
couldn’t fit into what you were wearing back then. Of course, he didn’t actually have to say those words. He just looked at her the same way he did at breakfast this morning when she ate the rest of my omelet. Nobody talked on the car ride home, but I knew the silence was the calm before the storm. When we got home I kissed them both good night in the kitchen, and before I got to my room, the terse whispers had exploded into an all-out battle. Name-calling, dish clattering, counter banging, door slamming, the usual. Our usual. I caught words here and there:

Late shift

Hospital

Lard ass

Disaster

So mean

How could you

Not with a ten-foot pole

Cleaning lady

Pigsty

Secretary

Finally, I put on my headphones and pulled the covers over my head to drown out the rest. I’ve heard it all before.

Weight:
133

Vanessa texted me and came over to run before Mom and Dad woke up. I snuck past Dad, who was sleeping on the couch, and met her in the driveway. We ran by Geoff’s house and he joined us for a five-miler. When we got back to my place, Dad was headed out to the dealership. Sundays are big sales days. He grinned as he saw us coming up the drive, but I couldn’t smile back. I hate it when he and Mom fight. I was sweaty and gross, but he insisted on a hug, and told me he’d left us a surprise on the counter for breakfast. . . .

Breakfast:
Two doughnuts: one round glazed, one chocolate long john.

Mom woke up while Geoff was polishing off the last of the doughnuts and Vanessa and I were stretching in the living room. We were watching an episode of this reality show we love where drag queens redesign each other’s bedrooms. It always devolves into somebody throwing a wig at the camera. Mom paused and looked at the doughnuts but didn’t have one. In fact, she didn’t eat anything, just sat on the couch with us staring at the TV
until the show ended and Geoff left to walk Vanessa home. I was starving again and made an . . .

A.M. snack:
Protein smoothie with strawberries and bananas.

There was extra left in the blender, so I offered a glass to Mom. She shook her head. I asked her if she was going to eat anything and she just looked sad and told me she needed to save her calories for dinner. I asked her if she was writing down what she was eating. She sighed and didn’t say anything. Mom has this big, epic, end-of-the-world sigh. It’s almost as annoying as Dad being a jerk about what she eats. If you want to change something, change it. Don’t just sit around sighing all day like a balloon losing air. I feel sorry for Mom, but not as sorry as she feels for herself.

Lunch:
Deli turkey and cheese slices, rolled together like little burritos. Wheat crackers, baby carrots dipped in ranch dressing.

I was studying for our biology final tomorrow. Stopped to enter all the stuff I was eating into the app on my phone. When I punched in two tablespoons of ranch dressing I was astounded. The little dollop of dressing had more calories than all of the
carrots and turkey I ate
combined
. How is that possible?

When I took my plate back down to the kitchen, Mom was standing in front of the refrigerator holding the package of cheese slices. I saw a bag of potato chips on the counter.

Me: Want me to make you some turkey roll-ups?

Mom: No! I told you I want to save my calories for dinner.

Me: Just because you don’t put the food on a plate doesn’t mean the calories don’t count.

Mom:
SIGH
.

P.M. snack:
None.

I got lost in a biology blackout. I didn’t even think about eating until I heard the garage door opening. Dad was home and brought barbecue takeout with him. The smell made my mouth water and I ran downstairs. He was grinning ear to ear as he laid out ribs and pulled-pork sandwiches, coleslaw, and baked beans on the island in the kitchen.

Dad told us the new salesperson he lured away from another dealership was already the best producer this month. He said she’s already sold more cars in two weeks than his top seller sold all of last month. Mom did a double take when he said the word “she.”

Dad: What?

Mom:
SIGH
.

Dad: Are you going to eat with us?

Mom: Yes. I’ve been very good all day today.

Dad: I can make you a salad if you want to keep it up.

Me:
Dad
. Lay off. She hardly ate anything all day.

Dad: I’m just trying to
help
.

Mom:
SIGH
.

Dinner:
Six baby-back ribs, baked beans, coleslaw, half pulled-pork sandwich.

We ate in the living room. Dad wanted to watch this zombie show on cable, which was fine until the last five minutes, when six of the undead jumped out of the woods and chased the hero’s wife across a grassy country field. When she got hung up in a barbed-wire fence and ran out of ammo she had to kill the last one by jamming the gun in its skull. Thankfully, I was finished eating by then. Mom was still holding a baby-back rib, but she yelped, then put it down and pushed her plate away.

Zombie shows and barbecue: not a good recipe for dinner, though perhaps a good way to diet.

After dinner I went back up to my room and tried to study
for biology some more, but everything ran together in front of my eyes, then my phone buzzed with a text message:

Jill: Biology brain bleed. Help me.

Me: Ur text = last thing I saw. Blind. Pls send future texts in Braille.

She called me laughing and said her head was going to fall off. I told her I was officially a member of the phylum Exhaustica. There was a lot of noise in the background and she was shouting into the phone. I asked if there was a tornado at her house. She explained her brother, Jack (yes, her parents named their children Jack and Jill—as Mom would say:
SIGH
), and his friend Rob were studying vocabulary for their Spanish final. Jill thinks Rob is the hottest guy on the soccer team.

Me: Sounds like some pretty aerobic studying.

Jill (yelling): Rob read some article online about retaining things more quickly if you’re doing something physical while you memorize information. They are kicking a Nerf soccer ball back and forth down the upstairs hallway.

Me: And you’re watching Rob run past your door as a studying technique?

Jill: He’s so cute.

Me: It sounds like a crop duster.

Jill: Rob’s calves are so sexy.

Me: Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty.

Jill: Totally. Have you noticed Rob has this little divot in his chin that—

Me: I’m hanging up now. Enjoy the view.

I’m pretty sure Jill talked to me for at least five minutes after I hung up before she realized I wasn’t there anymore. I love her, but I’m no match for Rob’s legs. Mom walked by on her way to her bedroom and told me there was clean laundry for me in the dryer. I went down to get it, and Dad grinned and waved me over to the couch. He was eating . . .

Dessert:
Five bites out of Dad’s Ben & Jerry’s pint.

Ironically, Dad’s favorite flavor is Chubby Hubby. Of course, he’s not chubby at all. He’s in great shape. He goes to the gym three or four times per week and lifts weights and runs on the treadmill. He used to run half marathons, and still talks about training again. He was watching some talk show with a politician and some comedians on it. They were in front of a studio audience and kept zinging each other, then sipping something out of mugs with the show logo on it. Zing! (Sip.) Zing! (Sip.) Zing! (Sip.)

We watched the show and passed the pint back and forth.
After five bites I held up my hand. Dad took one more big bite with a smile, and then paused the DVR. He put the lid back on the ice cream, then got up and put the pint in the freezer. He asked if I was ready for finals. I pulled a throw pillow over my face and collapsed on the couch.

Dad: What?

Me (muffled by pillow): I hate that question.

Dad (laughing): Why?

Me (throwing pillow at him): Because how the heck would I know if I’m ready? You never know if you’re ready for a test until you are actually
taking
the test in question.

Then we both cracked up and Dad said he was sorry, that he would never ask if I was ready for a test again. I like him so much sometimes. I wish he were as nice to Mom as he is to me.

Weight:
134

Breakfast:
Raisin bran with soy milk, orange juice.

A.M. snack:
Nothing.

Lunch:
2 tacos—ground beef, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, Spanish rice. Fresca, split a Twix bar with Jill.

P.M. snack:
Trail mix from the vending machine: almonds, dried cranberries, raisins, white chocolate chips.

Dinner:
Leftover lasagna (one square), spinach salad with tomatoes, avocados, and balsamic vinaigrette.

Dessert:
100 Calorie Snack Pack of mini-Oreos.

The best parts of today ranked in order of excellence:

1. Biology. Is. Over. For. Ever. (And I think I did okay on the final.)

2. Taco bar for lunch.

3. At practice, Vanessa showed Coach Perkins the CalorTrack app and we gave her our printouts from the last few days. Coach said we could continue using the app, and could bring our printouts to her during our summer practices.

Jill came over to study for our English final tonight. Dad worked late at the dealership and Mom leaves for the hospital around 4 p.m. She usually works four twelve-hour shifts every week. I was making leftover lasagna and a salad when Jill arrived in her post-rehearsal warm-ups. I offered her lasagna but she’d only eat salad. And by salad, I mean the raw spinach leaves with tomatoes—no avocado or dressing. We reviewed the English study guide for a long time, then we reviewed how hot Rob’s legs are for an even longer time. If there were a final on Rob, Jill would ace it.

Weight:
132

Breakfast:

A.M. snack:

Lunch:

P.M. snack:

Dinner:

Dessert:

I’ve been keeping track of my calories on CalorTrack for the past week since Coach gave us the go-ahead, but I just saw this food diary while I was cleaning out my bag. I realized there’s no place in the app to write about our feelings. I guess Coach Perkins forgot about that part of the assignment. Not that it matters so much to her about how we feel, although that makes her sound like a terrible person, and that’s not what I’m saying. I just meant the point of her having us keep track of our food intake is so we stay at a healthy weight for running. I’m sure she doesn’t miss having to wade through all of this babbling.

I guess I sort of miss writing it all down.

There’s something about seeing my words on these pages from the past week that gives me a feeling inside I’m not sure how to describe. It’s like when Mom tells me I have to clean out my dresser drawers because they are such a jumbled mess
she doesn’t know which one is for socks and which one is for underwear or T-shirts. I hate the feeling of dread, which starts with me basically dragging myself into my room by force and dumping out the drawers on my bed. It feels like an impossible task—like I’ll never get everything folded neatly and put back into the dresser.

But then, little by little, it just happens—one T-shirt at a time—until finally, I slide the last drawer into place, and then I feel a big wave of relief in my chest. For the next few days at least, I try to keep the drawers as neat as possible. I become extra-diligent at folding things up when I put them on and don’t wear them, and I make sure to put everything back in the right drawer, tucked away just so. Having a clean dresser affects my whole room, too. It makes me not want to leave my clothes on the floor at night. I always try to put them in the hamper, or hang them back up. I guess it sounds ridiculous, but I love that feeling I get in the morning when I open my eyes and everything is put away.

Of course, eventually, I get in a hurry, or I’m running late, or I can’t decide what to wear on the way out the door and change twelve times, and then I come home to an avalanche of stuff to deal with. If I don’t do it right away, the dresser gets messy again in a hurry—I just start shoving things wherever they’ll fit. But while it’s clean it seems I have all this space and
freedom in my room, like the bedroom itself is bigger and has more space and air.

It’s the same way with this food diary. Today was the last day of school, and I dragged home all the crap from my locker. I was unpacking my book bag in my room, and when I saw this diary, the first feeling I had was how glad I was that I didn’t have to write in it anymore. Still, I flipped it open and read over some of what I’d written, and all of a sudden, I felt this urge to write again—like somehow it would be sad if I just stopped. It’s only been a little more than a week and I’d already forgotten about telling Jill that her bun was too tight when we went to get yogurt, and it made me smile to remember that. I wonder what else I’ve forgotten because I didn’t write it down?

As I looked back on all the pages I’d written so far, it was like seeing clean dresser drawers in my brain, and my heart. It’s like I’ve taken this tangled mess of thoughts and feelings and things that happened and stuff people said and folded each one carefully into a little entry about what happened that day.

So I dug out a pen. The minute I was holding the pen in my hand, it felt impossible to write anything down. Then I saw the first blank for my weight, so I weighed myself and wrote that down. I’ve already typed all of my food into the app so far today. I decided to skip all that and just write what is going on today.