Saving Ruth (19 page)

I fingered the strands of his tallis. When I was little, I would occupy myself by braiding them over and over. Each time we had to stand, my work would be destroyed and I would have to start all over again. This was especially difficult on Yom Kippur, as the standing outweighed the sitting.

Ruth, pay attention
, my dad would say, and I would look up at him with feigned innocence.
I ammmmm
, I would whine, and then go back to braiding.

David always kept his focus, except for once. It was one of the first moments I could remember being funny—when what was coming out of my mouth was almost as exciting as anticipating the response. I must have been eight or so, and our cantor at the time bore a striking resemblance to Rick Moranis. As he sang, I had leaned over to David and whispered,
Honey, I shrunk the Torah!
He had burst into full-fledged laughter, and I had been so delighted by both my joke and his response that I laughed too. My dad had grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me over to the seat on the other side of him, where I languished in the glory of a joke well delivered. Making my friends laugh was one thing, but making David laugh was quite another.

The rabbi launched into Veshameru, and I sang along quietly. When was the last time I had made David laugh or vice versa? That afternoon at the pool had been the only time our hang hadn't been fraught with tension, and that was probably only because David was high. Or not high, depending on whom you asked. He was much tenser this summer than he ever had been before, now that I thought about it. Maybe that was the price he paid for keeping so many secrets.

I stared up at the stained-glass windows and thought about Tanisha. Was she scared of the water now? I hoped not. I wanted to see her and talk to her about what happened. I was curious about what it felt like to be suspended helplessly like that. I had always thought that drowning victims flailed and screamed, but Tanisha had slipped under as easily as a cracked egg yolk into a bowl. I could still see her last braid submerging like the telescope of a submarine. Were her eyes open? Was she worried? Was she confident that someone would save her? Did she panic when she realized she couldn't breathe? Not questions I could really ask a little kid obviously, but I was curious. All I did in life was fight against whatever was threatening me. The concept of surrender was as foreign as Christmas.

Mom tapped me on the leg, and I looked at her. “Is it over yet?” she mouthed. “I'm starving.” I looked at my watch. We'd been there forty-three minutes.

“I think so,” I mouthed back. The rabbi segued into announcements, which meant we were about ten minutes away from freedom. I wiggled my eyebrows at her in euphoria. She made a victory fist at her side.

“Tonight I see David and Ruth Wasserman here, and I just wanted to take a moment to welcome them home for the summer.”
Oh no. This is not happening.
David leaned forward and glanced at me in mortification before changing the entire landscape of his face and waving back at the rabbi appreciatively. I smiled in accordance.

“Looking good, guys,” the rabbi continued. I studied the blue carpet in horror.

“He means well,” my mom offered.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“And now, we're going to close tonight's service with ‘Adon Olam'.”

“Please just do it the old-fashioned way,” Mom whispered beside me.

“What?” I asked.

“Please,” she said again.

“But tonight, we're going to change it up and sing it to the tune of another song we know and love, ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame'!”

“What?” I said too loudly. My dad shushed me.

“Don't shush me,” I whispered. “Is he serious?”

And with that, he and the cantor—a new one, Rick Moranis was long gone—began to butcher one of the only prayers I knew by heart. Dad attempted to sing through his laughter, and this sparked my own incredulous giggling, which broke down Mom's indignant reserve and finally evoked a snort of absurdity from David.

If this was what Dad meant by community and identity, maybe I was a fan after all.

20

“O
kay, so let's do some sit-ups.” I sat on the grass in front of Khaki's sneaker-clad feet. Each of her ankles was encircled by an angry chain of mosquito bites. “Well, c'mon, get down here.”

She sighed heavily and fell to the ground. “I hate sit-ups,” she declared.

“Who doesn't? Do you think anyone actually likes doing these things?”

“So why do them?” She eyed me defiantly as she pulled a dandelion out of the grass and twirled it between her fingers. Why did a nine-year-old need to do sit-ups? I had no idea. And who cared if her stomach was flat?

“Sit-ups make you stronger, you know? They work your core muscles. And those are the muscles that allow you to stand up straighter and carry yourself more confidently. I mean, who doesn't want to be stronger?”

“We have to shop in the women's section for my jeans,” she confessed softly, crushing the petals in her fist.

“I did too when I was your age.” I touched her leg.

“Did not.” She looked up at me.

“Did so.”

“Really?”

“Really. My mom and I would set out on these epic shopping voyages every season. Being built the way I was made it tough to find clothes.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well, I was sort of like a potato on toothpicks.”

“What?” She giggled and put her hand over her mouth.

“You know, like Mr. Peanut. That's where I hold my weight—in my tummy and boobs. Well, eventually they became boobs. For a long time they were just extra flesh.” Khaki eyed her own chest suspiciously.

“Am I a Mr. Peanut?”

“No. You're Khaki.” She cocked her head and grinned at me.

“You're not a potato on toothpicks anymore, Ruth. You're a toothpick on toothpicks.” Thinking about my mom's infinite patience with me on those shopping trips made me ache a little. Even then, I had wanted so badly to fit in. I had to wear the clothes that everyone else was wearing, despite the fact that they didn't fit. We would search and search for the equivalent in bigger sizes, and not once did she snap.

“When I was your age, they did this weird thing sometimes with clothes. We'd be in the juniors department, and instead of sizes, they would label the clothes with ages. So, let's say I was nine, and I was wearing something that said it was for age fifteen. It was awful.”

“Did you cut the labels off?”

“I did. As soon as I got home.”

“That's what I do too,” said Khaki. We sat in silence for a bit as gnats swarmed around us in the morning heat. “Do you wear clothes in your real size now?” she asked hopefully.

“I do.” Well, not really. Whose “real size” was a zero? From age fifteen to age zero. It was as though I was erasing myself.

“R
uuuuuuuuuuuuuth?” My mom yelled from the other side of the house. I didn't answer.

“Ruuuuuuuuuuuuthhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh?” Honestly, how could she not know how annoying that was? I put my pillow over my face in frustration.

Flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop.
She plodded down the hallway toward me. “Ruth! I'm calling you!” I stayed still on my bed with the pillow firmly in place and a slight smile on my face. She was annoyed with me. This pillow was going to hit the floor courtesy of her hands in about five seconds. Sure enough, I felt a sharp tug.

“Ruth Wasserman, hello?” I opened my eyes and squinted up at her. Buttery twilight flooded my bedroom.

“Mom, you know how much I hate it when you bellow at me from the other end of the house.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Princess Ruth. Sorry to have disturbed you. Let me assure you it won't happen again, miss. May I get you anything while I'm here?” She smirked and sat down next to me. Maddie appeared in the doorway. She cocked her head playfully and took a flying leap onto the bed. The three Wasserman ladies.

“Hey, Maddie,” I murmured, gently clenching the roll of skin between her tiny neck and torso. She licked my face.

“I called Dr. Cooper,” said my mom. “He can see you at five today.” I whimpered in response. I had just gotten off work and felt like the human equivalent of dried fruit.

“Listen, you have to go. Your tooth is only going to get worse, and believe me, tooth pain is nothing to mess with.” She stood up and grabbed my hand, pulling me up as well.

“Pleeeeeeeaaaaaseeeeeee, nooooooooooo.”

“Let's go, Ruthie. You can take my car.” She cringed as she said this. I was not what one would call an excellent driver. Learning how to back out of the driveway had almost killed my father and me. I just could not grasp the fact that turning the wheel one way made the car turn the other.

“Really?” I hadn't driven all summer. All year, actually. I crossed my fingers for no highways en route. Merging terrified me.

“Yes, really. Do you know how to get there?”

I shook my head. “Mmm, not really.”

“We must have driven there a hundred times together.”

“Yeah, I wasn't paying attention. Sorry.” I held my hand out, and she pulled me up. Maddie jumped off of the bed and stood at attention at our feet.

“Okay, I'll write down the directions while you get dressed.” She turned to go.

“I have to get dressed?” I whined.

“You cannot wear a bathing suit and gym shorts to the dentist. Put on some clothes.”

“Are you kidding me? I've seen men in tank tops at church here! Suddenly there's a dress code?”

“Ruth, please. What do you know about church?”

“In the parking lots, driving by. I've seen 'em!”

“Get moving,” she said as she stood up and walked out.

“Fine, maybe I haven't seen it. But I know it happens,” I called after her. I closed the door and peeled the top of my bathing suit off—removing it with my shorts in one fell swoop. I pulled on some nicer shorts and a clean T-shirt, happily noting the fact that they were loose again. There were no scales in the house, so numbered notation was impossible. Weighing myself was ritualistic, to say the least. At school, I had kept my scale hidden in my closet. When Meg left for her 8:00 AM class on Tuesdays, I would pull it out, strip down to nothing (including the removal of my earrings), and weigh in, my heart pounding in anticipation and dread. If I had lost weight, it would be a great day. If I was the same, it would just be okay. If I had gained even one-quarter of a pound, forget about it: terrible day.

“Okay, Mom, I'm ready.” I stood in front of her like a peace offering.

“Here are the directions. Very easy. Just take a right on Woodbridge and—”

“Mom, I can read. I've got it, don't worry.”

“Please don't fuss with the radio while you're driving. Keep your eyes on the road.” I snatched the paper from her and headed out the door. En route, I realized that I did indeed remember how to get there. I'd been going to Dr. Cooper since I was in baby teeth and he would fill my mouth with fluoride trays that should have tasted like frosting but absolutely did not.

As I parked, my phone vibrated on the passenger seat. A text from Chris. I hadn't seen him in almost a week.

Beach tomorrow?

Beach. Bathing suits. Water. Sex.

Can't, swim meet,

I typed back on my way into the office.

But I have the day off on Wednesday. You?

I continued.

I don't at the moment, but I will. Pick you up at 10?

Sure.

And then, because I wasn't sure what else to say,

J

I put my phone in my purse and continued inside. Wearing a bathing suit to work was one thing, but wearing it on a date was quite another. Shifting its material to flatten out unsightly bulges and wrinkles was harder when you were sitting right next to someone.

“I'm here for my appointment,” I announced into the circle cut into the plastic reception window. The receptionist didn't look up.

“You know I can hear you just fine, right? You don't need to yell through the circle,” she said, not taking her eyes off the paper in front of her. Her blue eye shadow melted into her dark eyebrows like one of those puffy oil stickers that separated upon contact.

“Right, sorry,” I replied through the circle. I winced, realizing my mistake. “Shit, sorry.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you are?”

I stopped myself from leaning forward. “Ruth. Ruth Wasserman?”

She consulted her appointment book. “He'll be out in a few minutes. You can just have a seat.”

“Thanks.” I sat down on a mauve chair and examined the pile of magazines on the coffee table in front of me. They were all
People
s and
O
s from three years ago. Old magazines depressed me.

“Ruth?” I looked up to see Dr. Cooper. He was tall and thin with a full head of silver hair that sat on his head like a schooner. He gave me a giant smile, revealing the whitest, straightest teeth I had ever seen.

“Hey, Dr. Cooper,” I replied, standing up.

His smile faded as he gave me an up-down. “Ruth, good Lord! You've lost so much weight!”

“Yessir, I did.” He ushered me through the door without adding further comment.

“Have a seat,” he said. I settled into the dental Barcalounger, and the plastic squeaked beneath me. I looked up at him nervously.

“My assistant Andrea will give you a proper cleaning and take care of some X-rays first, okay?” I nodded. “Then I'll come in and tell you what's what. Sound good?”

“Sure, no problem.” I smiled weakly as Andrea entered the room. Thirty minutes of poking, scraping, buzzing, and lead robe–wearing later, she was done. My mouth felt unnaturally clean—as though it had been scrubbed with Comet.

“Okay Ruth, I'll send Dr. Cooper in now,” said Andrea. She handed me my free toothbrush and tiny floss dispenser.

“Thanks,” I replied, fidgeting nervously with my paper bib.

“So where were you at school this year? Was it Michigan?” Dr. Cooper asked, as he entered the room. He pulled the rolling stool over and sat down next to me.

“Yessir, that's right.”

“Big football school, huh?”

“Yup, huge.”
I had been to one game.

He glanced at his chart. “So, Andrea says you've got a tooth botherin' you, huh?”

“Yessir, on my top right side.”

“Well, all right, let me have a look. Okay, open wide for me.” He pulled up his mask, and I closed my eyes as he explored my mouth. I was freezing. I clenched my fists and moved them under my behind for warmth.

“Mmmm hmmmm,” he murmured. The feel of metal against my enamel made my skin crawl. I shut my eyes tighter and crossed my ankles. Every muscle in my body was tensed. He gently probed the tooth that bothered me—setting off fireworks of pain in my skull. My eyes welled up.

After what felt like an eternity, he sat up and pulled down his mask. “Well, sweetie, you have six cavities, and the tooth that's botherin' you needs a root canal and a crown.” He shut the door. “And I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Okay.”

“Now, the last time you were here, your teeth were normal.” He pointed to my chart. “You had one cavity and some tartar buildup. Not a big deal.”

“Yessir.”

“You also weighed what I'm estimatin' is about thirty pounds more. Is that fair to say?”

“Yeah—I mean, yessir.”
Thirty-five actually, but who's counting.

“Ruth.” He raised his eyebrows. “You have the mouth of a ninety-year-old.” I examined the pastel rendering of a sailboat that hung on the wall in front of me.

“The enamel on your teeth has reduced significantly, which is why they're fallin' apart. Now, do you know why your enamel is in trouble?” I shook my head.

“Well, it's probably a combination of the fact that your body isn't getting any nutrients and the fact that whatever nutrients it is gettin' are bein' thrown up.”

I gulped. “I don't throw up,” I said weakly.

“Okay,” he answered. “But you're not eatin'. That's clear. And let me guess—whatever you do eat doesn't sit well, right? You have a lot of acid reflux?” He was right. I nodded.

“Now, Ruth, I'm just a dentist. I'm no nutritionist. That said, I've known you since you had baby teeth, and I've been practicin' a long time. I know an eating disorder when I see it. Teeth don't lie.”

“You're not gonna call my parents, are you?”

“Well, I don't know. I'm sure they have the same concerns I do. If my daughter came home from college and she weighed ninety pounds soakin' wet, I'd get real nervous.” He paused. “The fact is though, you're nineteen, and as a doctor, I can't tell them anything if you don't want me to—”

“I don't want you to.”

“That's what I figured.” He sighed. “Ruth, you're a smart girl. I want you to get help for this. You can get better. It doesn't have to be like this.”

“I'm scared,” I whispered.

“I know. But if your teeth look like this, think about the rest of your body. Your organs, your blood, your muscles. They're all sufferin' now, and I am sincerely worried about what the future holds for you if you don't get help. I can tell you for sure that your teeth are just going to get worse. I know you don't like comin' here, and I don't take it personally, darlin', but if you keep this up, you'll know this office like the back of your hand.”

He patted my arm again. “Now, we're closin' up for the day, so I can't fix that bad tooth right this minute, even though I'd like to. You gonna be okay for a couple more days?”

I nodded as he patted my hand.

“Good girl. Go on out there and make some appointments with Charlene. We'll try to knock these out as quickly as possible.” My eyes widened. “Not knock out your teeth! Just git 'er done as quickly as possible. Pardon the pun.” He smiled and left the room.