Teenage Waistland (35 page)

There’s an open spot on the street, but I pull my new Prius into the overpriced parking garage anyway—no point risking getting it stolen. Yeah, that “RFID inventory gizmo”
has
been good to me. All of this has. And, as I turn to walk into Coco Rosa, it keeps getting better. There, in front of me in line, is a beautiful girl with long flowing black hair in a tight short black dress. I hear Char’s voice in the crowd calling, “Shroud, where are you?” and then it hits me.
That’s
East.

Marcie Mandlebaum here: seventeen years old, five feet four, 175 pounds, and reluctantly—albeit
fabulously
—sporting a pair of $300 black formal Dolce & Gabbana trousers and a $135 cap-sleeve Dolce & Gabbana T-shirt, both in size 14, and both courtesy of my mama, the big spender. As it turns out, I’ll need to drop a few more sizes to fit into their $325 denim jeans, but Mom winked and said I looked spectacular and we can go jeans shopping in a few months.

We’re seated at a large round table for ten in the private dining room of Coco Rosa beneath a large banner that reads
BON VOYAGE, TEENAGE WAISTLAND
, and I’m not the least bit tempted to point out that the sign is tacky, childish, and, most important, patently incorrect—that we’ve already embarked on our journey, exactly one year ago today. After all, whoever thought of it and took the time to make it—Coco, undoubtedly—meant the very best.

East and Bobby are the last to enter, though East arrived twenty minutes ago with Char, and it was the same funny routine with the two of them—East pulling on her freaking
tiny
dress and saying, “Why did I even wear this, I’m like popping out of it,” and Char saying, “You look so amazing, stop adjusting.” Finally, East had to teeter to the ladies’ room—Char lent her a pair of mad high pumps to go with the dress—for some last-minute reassurance from the mirror that she wasn’t popping out of
anything
, and Char rose to follow her and then sat down again. “My Shroudette’s all grown up,” Char said, leaning into me, and when I saw she really had tears in her eyes, I put my arms around her. “You done good.”

Bobby pulls the chair next to Char out for East and waits for her to be seated. I get the urge to bellow, “Remove your eyes from my friend’s backside, buddy,” but don’t. I
was
born with a flap between my mind and my mouth—it’s just another muscle that needed to be developed.

As Bobby seats himself on the other side of the table between Alex and Tia, Betsy takes the floor and shoos the waiter away as he approaches with water pitchers. But she doesn’t have to clap for attention—there’s no taking our eyes off her. She’s as big as a house, a week overdue, and if she makes it through our Teenage Waistland grand finale before
that baby pops, it’ll be a miracle. Not so bitsy anymore—and not all of it baby.

“Everyone,” Bitsy announces, waving a stack of printouts, “the results of your final weigh-ins are online, but if you haven’t seen them yet, I have them here.” I snort and everyone else laughs. Betsy tosses the papers on her chair and laughs too. “Right. Of course you’ve seen them.”

Bobby clears his throat. “My—
the
Eating Behaviors application automatically e-mails each patient when their weigh-in results are posted,” he offers.

“A round of applause, everyone, for Bobby, our technology expert. The online food diary, weight charts, and other tools will help you stay on track. Speaking of which, Bobby, you certainly look like you’ve been on track—the running track, that is,” Betsy quips painfully. The clapping and hooting cover some groans, and then Char leads us into chanting, “Bobby, Bobby, he’s the man, if he can’t do it, no one can,” until Betsy signals for us to simmer down.

“I want to tell you how proud of all of you I am, and how beautifully you’ve all done. Keep in mind that teen weight loss with the Lap-Band typically averages between one and two pounds a week and everyone has come in above the low end of the range, so I’m very impressed.” We break out into a spontaneous round of applause. For ourselves, for what Bitsy’s taught us to do for ourselves, and for the grilled cilantro shrimp appetizer being set down on the table.

“I was hoping that Michelle would be able to join us so that we could all be together as a full group one more time, but she had a scheduling conflict and sends her regrets,” Bitsy says.

Char elbows me under the table. “Michelle told me she
couldn’t help cheating the band and couldn’t lose enough weight with it, so she’s scheduled for gastric bypass surgery next week—if they can’t bring her weight down quickly, she’ll need to go on insulin for her diabetes,” she whispers—a little too loudly.

“Yes, Char, that’s true, unfortunately.” Betsy sighs. “While the band is the safer surgical weight loss alternative, it isn’t the fastest, and it only works for patients truly willing to modify their eating behaviors. When people like Michelle have health problems like diabetes and heart disease caused by obesity, the gastric bypass guarantees the fastest weight loss up front. By the way, Char, that was another disruption. See me after group.” Betsy pauses. “Just kidding.” Char nods her head fake-dejectedly, which garners more laughs than Bitsy’s original quip. You don’t mess with the Char-iff. “Seriously, Char. You created the name Teenage Waistland, but more important, you were a big part of making it the warm supportive family it is. A big round for Char, everyone.” We all clap and Char bows and then Betsy continues.

“Now a big thank-you to Coco, who has so generously hosted this final group session,” Betsy says.

“Yay, Coco!” Char shrieks, and we start banging the table in unison. “Yay, Coco! Yay, Coco!”

“Okay, gang—I mean it. If I go into labor, we’re not going to fin—”

“Tia!” Char shrieks. “What happened to your rings?” Tia eyes Char with her usual suspicion, and then I notice it too. Tia has lost her lip and nose rings!

“You look really pretty,” Jamie offers, but the truth is the truth. Tia no longer looks scary and dangerous. In fact, she’s quite ordinary.

“I had them removed,” Tia mutters.

“Why?” says Char. “They were cool.”

“The kids were going to call me something, and I preferred ‘Ringed Freak’ to ‘Goodyear Blimp,’ ” Tia says matter-of-factly, but it’s about the most personal thing she’s ever said about herself, and another round of spontaneous clapping erupts.

“Actually, they started calling me ‘Saturn, the ringed planet,’ ” Tia grumbles, but there’s a full-blown smile on her face—another first.

“Group—one more quick callout before we eat,” Bitsy roars to cut through the chatter, and has to steady herself again. “East Itou, you deserve a standing ovation, but I’m sure you’ll understand if I take my seat.” Betsy clears her throat. “East, in the very beginning, you made me a promise. You promised that you would be the very best teen Bandster we ever had, and, East, you kept that promise. You’ve lost an amazing one hundred thirty-two pounds this past year—the best performance not only in this group, but the best of all the teen patients we’ve ever had! Congratulations, East!”

Char and I scream in unison and jump to our feet. Char is whooping and pounding East on the back, and Coco tosses a shredded napkin in the air that flies like confetti, and Bobby follows suit by flinging a handful of tortilla chips in the air. East is grinning wildly, but tears are streaming down her cheeks and she looks like she’s going to vomit. Or, at the very least, put forth a productive burp. East hangs her head.

“Shroudness, what’s going on?” Char says softly. “Are you okay?” East takes a napkin and dabs at her eyes. She looks up at Char questioningly, and Char whispers, “You’re good—no mascara running.”

East turns to face Bitsy. “Betsy, you’ve been so kind to me, and being in Teenage Waistland is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But I have something to tell you. All of you. My Lap-Band never had enough restriction. I’ve had the fills, and it just never got tight. Everything kept going straight down. I’m not a Lap-Band success at all.”

Bitsy shakes her head numbly. “East, why didn’t you tell us? It’s rare, but sometimes, during surgery, the band gets nicked by a scalpel or a needle and it springs a leak. Or, the needle can miss the port and puncture the tubing during a fill. If you’ve never had restriction after so many fills, that’s what it probably was, East. A leak. But I just don’t understand why you didn’t say something.” East is still studying her plate.

“There was something more important I had to do, and the failure of my band gave me the excuse to do it,” East mumbles.

“Shroud, whatever are you talking about?” Char says, pretending to pound her on the head. East brushes Char’s hand away and looks up at Betsy.

“The thing is, as soon as I made the connection between the bad feelings I had inside and my eating, I found that I was able to control my eating and the weight kept coming off—even before the surgery. I knew I had to help my mother with her weight, and she was too terrified to even think about getting the surgery for herself. So I made her copies of the eating behaviors food diaries and we dieted and exercised together. I thought if I could do it without restriction, then she’d be able to also. And she did! She’s lost almost a hundred pounds since November!”

My God. Could anyone be that selfless? I burst into tears!
Right in front of everyone! “East, you are so
fucking beautiful
,” I blubber. East tears up and now Char, East, and I are combo laughing and blubbering, and there’s not a dry eye in the house.

“Do you know what this means, East?” Bitsy chokes out.

East shakes her head again. “I guess it means you’re kicking me out?”

“Well, yes. I’m kicking all of you out.” Bitsy smiles. “But this means that you lost this weight with absolutely no assistance whatsoever. It is absolutely remarkable.”

“No,” East says. “That’s not true. I had all the assistance I needed. I had my mom, and I had Char and Marcie, and all of you. I had Teenage Waistland.”

I’m out on the sidewalk with East and Char as we wait for East’s mom to pick them up, and the three of us are singing, “It’s only Teenage Waist-land,” and bobbing our much-diminished hips back and forth. East breaks into a Char-strut/Char-shimmy combo, her heels clicking smartly on the pavement.

Suddenly, Char freezes, leaving me hip-bumping the wind. “Oh, Marcie! I can’t wait to see what Liselle is going to give you for graduation at your party tomorrow night!” she shrieks. “You’re going to open your presents in front of everyone, aren’t you?”

“In front of whom? It’s not exactly a big crowd. My parents, Ronny, Liselle, a few friends of hers, a couple of friends of mine from Tenafly High, you guys, and whoever else from Teenage Waistland shows,” I say. “Besides, Liselle
already gave me her gift.” I smile mysteriously and wait for them to beg me to tell them what it is.

Char and East close in on me fake-menacingly. “Spill,” Char says.

“Yeah, spill, Marcie.”

“Yeah, the dynamic duo—I’m scared. Okay, I’ll just show you. A picture being worth a thousand words and all.” I open my purse and fish around for my key ring, and then whip it out for them. “Ta-da,” I say.

East doubles up with laughter while Char yanks it out of my hand.

“Liselle got you a
gold penis key chain
?” she screams, then clamps her hand to her mouth as passersby turn to look.

“It’s a dildo, actually—see the tiny battery slot on the bottom? She had it custom made for me,” I say proudly. “But the best part of her gift is what’s on the key chain.”

Char gasps. “She gave you her BEEMER CONVERTIBLE?” I grab it back and point to a newly cut metal key.

“Nah, this is better than a car key. It’s the key to Liselle’s
apartment
in Boston. Where we’ll both be going to school next year.” Char shakes her head.

“Okay, Liselle getting into Harvard is just a tad more ridiculous than East losing a hundred and thirty pounds with a leaky LapBand.”

“Astronomically more ridiculous,” I correct. “I’m going to be at Harvard in Cambridge, and she’s going to be right across the Charles River in Boston. She’ll be a sophomore at Northeastern.”

Char throws her arms around me. “That’s so nice for you, Marcie. You’ll be neighbors!” I peel her off and shake my head.

“No, you guys. Even better. We’re going to be
sistahs
. Just like the three of us.”

“Whoa, too sappy!” Char shrieks. “Shroud-e-licious will start crying again.” But it’s not just East whose eyes are brimming. It’s all of us, and we unite into this super-tight, cheesy group hug that only East’s mom’s beeping can break apart.

Teenage obesity is a huge problem.

Research conducted by the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and the Centers for Disease Control shows a dramatic increase in obesity rates in children, adolescents, and adults over the past twenty years. What’s going on?

The answer seems simple: Obese people consume more calories and burn fewer of them than nonobese people. Most of the food we in the United States consume is calorie dense, meaning that we take in a lot of calories without necessarily eating a lot of food. And Americans don’t exercise as much as they used to. School physical education programs and after-school sports activities get cut in cities and communities where budgets are tight. Almost every teenager has access to electronic or computer games, which allow them to experience the excitement of combat or sports without getting any physical exercise. Too many calories in, too few calories spent.