back, it’s like I was becoming a politician, accomplished in denial.
But Dawn’s mom’s reaction also felt ironic to me. When I was Jabba-the-Hutt fat and making myself sick with laxatives every night, no one said anything, but now that I was skinny, that was considered unhealthy and a cause for concern? I didn’t really get it. Alanis Morissette would understand me on this, because, yeah, it really was a little too ironic, don’t you think?
I found my mom, venting to her about what had happened with Dawn’s mom. The nerve of her, right? How dare she! I was visibly upset, fuming from her rude and poorly timed comments. “Don’t listen to that, sweetheart,” she counseled. “Dawn’s mom didn’t choose the right time to say something, that’s all.”
The right time? What did my mom mean by that?
She thinks you are a freak like everyone else. Thanks for the prompt answer, voice.
The night was okay overall. After the dance, all of the seniors went to a club rented by a popular boy in our grade. I didn’t drink and tolerated drunken friends stumbling and clinging to me, blabbering, “Dani, I LOVE you, like, so much.”
“Thanks.” I would smile and laugh a little to myself. Why did high-school kids have to always get so sloppy drunk? And, come on, I knew half of them were exaggerating the effects to seem cool. My parents and their friends never got like this when they drank. Well, actually, I take that back. Maybe once in a while, but they certainly didn’t act like these idiots. Maybe I just needed to start drinking so I could be a carefree kid too. Who really knows? The only thing I knew at that moment was that intoxicated high schoolers liked me a lot better than sober ones, and right now it was working in my favor.
“Dani, I think you look very prettyyyyy,” said Mathew. He draped his arm over my back, trying to be slick through his slurred English.
“That’s because you are a little intoxicated, buddy,” I said, removing his arm and looking at my watch. Get me out of here!
He insisted that I drive him home last, and right when he was getting out of the car, he leaned in to kiss me. As his lips closed in on my face, I panicked, turning fast and giving him an accidental cheek. He was just my good friend, and I didn’t want to ruin it. Also, even if I did like him a little more than a friend, he was wasted and I was sober. Why would I kiss someone completely shit-faced? Exactly, I wouldn’t, unless I was shitfaced too, of course. I have values, come on.
I felt terrible on my drive home. It wasn’t just the kiss, it was that damn skinny comment playing on repeat in my head. Too skinny. Frail. I shook my head from side to side, gripping the wheel. No, I didn’t have a problem. I was in total control of this. I was so responsible. I knew what I was doing. Look at these damn drunken delinquents; they were clearly the ones with issues! Come on! Right? Right…
I couldn’t lie to my subconscious. Deep down, I knew I was the messed-up one. I really wished I could be one of those carefree normal teenagers, but I didn’t have it in me. And now that I realized that people were taking notice, all I knew for certain, besides that I couldn’t wait to get into bed and close my weary eyes, was that I was ready to get the hell out of this small town.
FULL Life, December 2013
I was in Miami on vacation with my family for the long weekend. It was the Chinese New Year and we went to Christine Lee’s, an all-time Sherman favorite Chinese restaurant. It was a hot and humid night, leaving my hair frizzing in all directions. I’d patted it down with gel before we left, but it had plans of its own. We had a big family-style meal, with all sorts of food. I stuck with mu shu chicken and egg drop soup and sipped on a Grey Goose on the rocks to wash it all down. While our table was being cleared, people dressed up as dragons appeared, seemingly out of thin air, banging on gongs.
“Shit, that’s so loud,” I said covering my ears and screaming across the table. My mom pointed to her ear indicating that she could not hear me. “Point made!” I screamed back.
“What?” my mom screamed.
I just shook my head, never mind.
The gongs and loud music continued into a synchronized dance in the middle of the restaurant. People cheered from their tables. We had been going to this restaurant since I was a little girl. My grandpa used to take us when it was in a dingy strip mall. Now it was a huge restaurant in the middle of a racetrack, with fancy decorations and a huge bar. Huge bar equals my kind of place.
The music came together for the big finale, then finally silence. I applauded, a little for the performance, but more because I was so happy those loud sounds were finished.
Fortune cookies came to the table. I always loved them, because I somewhat believed them in a wanting-to-see-through-the-lens-of-a-child way, but at least I always had fun with them. I removed the cookie from the little plastic bag and cracked it open, revealing my fortune.
“Ooooh, I like this one,” I said, looking up at my mom and dad.
“Let’s hear it,” said my dad.
“One must dare to be himself however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.”
“I like that one,” my mom agreed.
Later when we returned to our hotel, I decided to write a post on my Living a FULL Life Facebook page:
Just for the record I am not fortune cookie obsessed, contrary to what this FB page may portray. I know they are manufactured crisp cookies with a piece of paper, but some of them are wĕidà—Chinese for great ;) I got a wĕidà one tonight that I needed to share. It said, “One must dare to be himself/herself however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.” I added the “herself” because, come on, manufacturers, women have to be our strange frightening selves too!
Embrace that inner “weird” and wear it proudly. That is the most admirable thing a person can do, and I bet you it is not as offbeat as you think; you are definitely not alone. Once you do own it, it will no longer be quite as frightening to be your authentic self. Happy Sunday <3
As I posted, my mom walked into my attached room to say goodnight. “What was your fortune?” I asked.
Teddy was at the end of the bed, curled in a little ball, already fast asleep.
“Help, I’m a prisoner in a Chinese fortune cookie factory,” she said, completely straight-faced.
“Seriously?” I asked, bursting out in laughter, throwing my wild hair back onto the soft pillow behind me.
“No, but it sounded good, right?” she said laughing.
“It sure did,” I said, pulling the blanket over my chest.
“Well goodnight, Babyface,” she said and gave me a kiss on my forehead.
“Goodnight, Mommyface, I love you,” I said as she shut the door to my room.
Chapter 5
The Mid-Freshman-Year Crisis
My parents made the five-hour journey to Boston with me to help set up my dorm at Babson College. As they unpacked each tchotchke and memento, the pit in my stomach grew larger. When the other students were having tearful goodbyes with their parents, I did as well—please,
