Holiday House
"They put you in a hospital and stick tubes down your nose," Emily said. "That's what my father told me. He said they strap you to a bed and feed you through your nose until you're fat."
"No one's going to do that," I told her. "It's revolting. Plus, it's crazy. He's just trying to scare you."
"That's what he said," Emily insisted. "I swear. He wants to fatten me up. Like a pig. Like a turkey, for Thanksgiving. Like a big fat blimp." We were still sitting in the coffee shop. The waitress had long ago removed my empty plate and though Emily had stopped crying, she looked like she could start again at any minute. Either that or explode. "He hates my mother for being fat and then he wants me to be just like her. "
"Come on, I said. "That's like something from the Middle Ages. Your mother'd never let him do that. I mean, Florence is tough. This is Queen Flo we're talking about, here, not some little wimp."
"Yeah, well, he's a lawyer," Emily said.
She fiddled with the salt shaker, turning it round and round. I found myself staring at her fingers. I am, despite my other strangeness, a normal-sized person, and my fingers were veritable salamis next to hers. Not to mention her wrist, which looked like you could snap it as easily as a twig. You have to be really thin for your fingers to lose weight.
How could I not have noticed this, I thought suddenly. How could I not have seen? Part of it was the baggy T-shirts, and part of was, she was so pretty it was hard to see that anything was wrong, but it shook me up, seeing for the first time how spindly she was. "She's not going to send you away," I said again, this time mostly to reassure myself.
"She said she wouldn't." Emily still didn't look at me and she spoke so softly I could barely hear. "That's why she got you."
I Am An Artichoke, copyright 1995
"No one's going to do that," I told her. "It's revolting. Plus, it's crazy. He's just trying to scare you."
"That's what he said," Emily insisted. "I swear. He wants to fatten me up. Like a pig. Like a turkey, for Thanksgiving. Like a big fat blimp." We were still sitting in the coffee shop. The waitress had long ago removed my empty plate and though Emily had stopped crying, she looked like she could start again at any minute. Either that or explode. "He hates my mother for being fat and then he wants me to be just like her. "
"Come on, I said. "That's like something from the Middle Ages. Your mother'd never let him do that. I mean, Florence is tough. This is Queen Flo we're talking about, here, not some little wimp."
"Yeah, well, he's a lawyer," Emily said.
She fiddled with the salt shaker, turning it round and round. I found myself staring at her fingers. I am, despite my other strangeness, a normal-sized person, and my fingers were veritable salamis next to hers. Not to mention her wrist, which looked like you could snap it as easily as a twig. You have to be really thin for your fingers to lose weight.
How could I not have noticed this, I thought suddenly. How could I not have seen? Part of it was the baggy T-shirts, and part of was, she was so pretty it was hard to see that anything was wrong, but it shook me up, seeing for the first time how spindly she was. "She's not going to send you away," I said again, this time mostly to reassure myself.
"She said she wouldn't." Emily still didn't look at me and she spoke so softly I could barely hear. "That's why she got you."
I Am An Artichoke, copyright 1995
