Starfish

by Lisa Fipps

Liam has to go a month without insulting me? The odds are better that the asteroid will hit.

Everything that seems so big and overwhelming, like school and home, suddenly grows small and slowly disappears. I’m free from it, for now. Free as a bird.

I try to imagine skiing and see my legs ending up twisted like a pretzel or in the splits. The only splits this girl wants to do are banana splits.

“She’s imperfectly perfect, like us,” I say as we add the finishing touches.

February is a little over two months away, but I know I can’t relive this day. We got it right.

Basketball is to Indiana as football is to Texas.

My faves: Studies show a family’s comments about an overweight child add to a negative self-image. Studies show it’s not just kids and teachers at school who make fun of overweight kids; parents also bully them. Kids don’t need parents’ judgment; the world gives them plenty of that. She doesn’t say a word. Maybe she got the message.

The best way to be understood is to learn and speak someone’s language.

The more someone gets to know you, the scarier it can be.

“It’s not light bedtime reading, that’s for sure. It seems like these rules would make you think about and hate your body every minute of every day.” “That’s what society wants.” “What about what you want, Ellie?” “No one’s ever asked me.” “I just did.”

“I want people to accept me, just as I am.” “So who are you, Ellie? Describe yourself without talking about your size.” I hug the pillow up higher, near my heart. “I can’t.” Doc puts down her notepad. “The problem with the Fat Girl Rules is you’ve let them not only decide how you’re going to live, but also define who you are.”

“You don’t have to hide any part of yourself,” Doc says. “I see all of you. I accept all of you.”

“How do you feel without it?” Doc asks. “Vulnerable. A little naked.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” I bend down so we’re face-to-face. “Because you deserve it.”

Too bad magic isn’t real; you could fix everything with a wave of a wand.

“You deserve to feel pain.” She’s a better Marissa than I am. She goes right for the jugular. I’m a mini-marshmallow in scalding hot chocolate, melting fast. Going— Doc bends down and leans in so we’re face-to-face again. “Admit it.” Going— “Admit it!” Gone. I nod.

“You don’t stand up for yourself because you think you deserve the hate.”

“I’m fat. I deserve whatever anyone says or does to me.” “No, Ellie. You don’t. No matter what you weigh, you deserve for people to treat you like a human being with feelings.” A lump grows in my throat, and I think I can’t breathe, but I just can’t swallow, so I gasp in a gulp of air. But I’m not, I think. I’m a big ol’ fat thing. My own mom said so.

“And that I give bullies way too much power. They tell me how I should see myself, how I should feel about myself. How do I change that?”

But it’s a lot easier to toss into the trash the thoughts others have about you than the ones you have about yourself.

Untrue, negative thought: The higher my weight, the lower my value. True, positive thought: A scale does not determine my worth.

That’s what the best books do. They make you think, and rethink how you see yourself, others, and the world. Most of all, they make you feel. Feelings toward people who aren’t like you. Feelings you didn’t know you had.”

“Well, a lot of people blindly follow others instead of thinking for themselves, having their own voice.” My eyes meet Kortnee’s. “It’s okay to be different. We’re all different. Inside, everyone just wants to be accepted for who they are, but then they act like other people to fit in.”

I’m a whale, and she’s like a hunter always ready to attack with her harpoon tongue.

I’m not a whale. I’m Ellie.

I’m over here so much, we’re family and speak each other’s language. Belonging feels good.

People make Catalina feel unwelcome here, but Texas belonged to her family long before mine, long before the rest of us. It’s not fair.

Barbecue is its own religion in Texas.

The true Hanukkah miracle is Mom not saying a word about calories. I figure it’s because of the articles I’ve been leaving for her.

“You wanna talk miracles? Liam being nice—now, that would be a miracle,” Catalina says. She turns to Liam and challenges him. “Why don’t you try it sometime?”

It’s wild that Javier is so nice, he can’t imagine that Liam’s so mean.

I see me, all of me, for the first time in a long time. My brown, curly hair. Milk-chocolate eyes. Slightly tanned skin from swimming. Apple cheeks. Round, soft body. I can’t hold back the tears. It’s beautiful. And I’m beautiful.

He might not deserve that kindness, but I know he needs it.

Fat Girl Rules make for great kindling. I’ve realized it’s the only thing they’re good for.

Habits are hard to break. “Fat Girl Rules— that’s no way to live,” Doc says. “Tell me about it.”

Caged was the only life she’d ever known. “One day, two other rescues scampered in and out of her cage. They showed her they were free and she could be. She ran out and joined them. I realized sometimes you need someone who understands what it’s like to be bound to show you how to be free.”

Doc and I agree I’m a lot like the rescued pug. I need to take some steps to live like I’m free from the Fat Girl Rules. One of the steps is breaking free from Mom’s rules. “Mom’s always had all of these rules. Carbs are bad. Fat is bad. Snacks are bad. So I’ve always felt like food is bad and I’m bad for eating or wanting or enjoying or needing it.” Doc walks over and writes Mom’s food rules on a whiteboard before sitting down. “Your turn.” “All the rules are here. What’s left to do?” “Just think about it. It’ll come to you.” I stand in front of the board and read Mom’s long list of rules. Then I grab the eraser and get rid of every last one.

Say you’re ashamed of me, I think. Say you’re disgusted by me. Say you’ll never love me until I’m thin.

“Just think about it for now. You could have a whole new life.” Or no life at all.

“So I do those tests and then you slice and dice me? Abracadabra, I have a perfect life? No more problems ever? And Mom will finally love me?” There, I said it. I scoot to the edge of my seat and wait for his answer. Then Mom speaks. “Ellie, we’re just trying to fix you.” She places her hand on my shoulder. And that’s the final straw.

My mind zeroes in on the hated stomach, the only part of me that matters to people. No one cares about my mind and its thoughts or my heart and its feelings.

The drive home is pleasant. Pleasant like stepping on a Texas fire ant mound.

“What I did was an under-reaction after learning that my mother planned for me to have possibly life-ending surgery.”

“So you hate looking at me so much you’re willing to chance me dying on an operating table or later from complications?”

“You’re out of control with your eating, with that little episode back there.” “And you’re a control freak. Inventorying food. Refusing to buy me clothes. Trying to bribe me. Or are we only allowed to talk about my flaws?” Fire ants’ bites leave swollen red spots that turn into blisters, making the pain last longer, not unlike what we say to each other.

“I’m trying to help!” “Yeah. By so-called ‘fixing me.’ Well, guess what? I’m not broken! And if I am, it’s because of you, not my weight.”

“One thing Zayde taught me was if a person can’t look you in the eye, you’ve got problems,” Dad says. “Big problems.”

“I’m so sorry, Ellie. Truly, I am.”

“Facing feelings is like swimming in a stormy ocean. One wave of emotion hits and then another and another until I feel like I’m drowning.” “That’s why you’re going to learn how to face each feeling as it comes. So you just face one wave. One wave at a time. Not an ocean.”

My arms flail like I’m swimming on land, a fish out of water. “To drag me in there like I’m a freak of nature, and want him to cut me, slice me open, rearrange and reattach organs —just because of this.” I grab my stomach. Shake it. “It’s not what a mom should do!” I collapse onto the couch. Hug the pillow to my chest, hiding my heart, not my stomach. “Moms shouldn’t do that.” Tears flow as I rock back and forth. “She’s supposed to love me.” My voice is a whisper. “Just love me.”