EDNOS 2017 - A Revisit

 Boil it all down to only the most important words, the most important parts.  Everything else is just fodder.  Everything else is just ego and explanation.  See, this is why I did it, this is what happened, it’s not my fault, really.  All of that becomes white noise.

What’s important is I am sitting here, existing in this body, this mass of blood and bone, the only thing holding everything inside, a thin layer of skin, and the heart, beating quietly in the background, each pulse telling me, “I am here, I am here, I have always been here.”

*

Stay in Your Lane

My sister and I used to sneak downstairs after we were supposed to be asleep in bed and go through the kitchen cabinets while our grandmother watched the television on full blast.  She would never hear us, the volume so loud. We’d go through the cabinets looking for snacks.  Cabinets full of large ziplock bags full of lipton tea bags and sanka and sugar packets.  This was back when our parents were consuming real sugar.  These days the ziplock bags are full of stolen fake sugar packets in a variety of colors. splenda yellow, pink sweet and low, green stevias, white truvia packets. Back in the 80s, real sugar was easy to find in our kitchen.  No one was diabetic just yet, just our grandfather.  We had lots of diet coke on hand for him while we drank full sugar whatevers we could find.

We had tins of international coffees and my sister and I would sneak spoonfuls of the sugary powdered Café Frances or Café Italia and try to find ways to boil water without grandma noticing.

Sometimes the international coffee tins were on a higher shelf and we’d settle for spoonfuls of ovaltine.

There were usually nilla wafers around but for some reason we stuck with the powdered drink mixes. They worked quickly.  We were wired and silently vibrating with energy long into the night.

We’d run back upstairs to our room and our two twin canopy beds and kick the canopies off the top and giggle and talk about our favorite television shows.

Giligan’s Island.

She was Ginger.  I was Mary Ann. I was always more drawn to Mary Ann. I thought she had the same kind of sweet quiet innocence as Olivia Newton John in the beginning of Grease.  Sandra Dee.  A proper girl.  Ginger was dangerous and I couldn’t imagine lounging around a deserted island in a sequined ball gown.

In my minds eye Mary Ann had a crush on Gilligan.  He was the right type for her to be with.  They were in the same lane.  Ginger would have an affair with The Millionaire and his wife Lovey would never know.  The Professor would want Ginger from afar.  He’d never do anything about it and wallow in his wanting and despair.

The Skipper was fat and so he was alone.  No one would be romantically interested in him.

Because that’s what the show inferred.  Fat people were jolly and good natured and alone.

I wasn’t aware of my own body and it’s fatness just yet.  I think it’s because I wasn’t fat.  I wasn’t a woman. I was a kid.  I was all scrawny arms and legs and flatness. 

Nothing prepared me for becoming a teenager.  I had no idea that my body would expand and change.  Catholic School health class didn’t tell you about underarm hair.

Everyone had jobs and everyone was busy.  No one had the time to explain to us any of this.  School will take care of this right?  That’s what it’s for, right? We’re paying them for it so…

No one told me we were Filipino in the same way no one told me women shave their legs and armpits and grow hair between their legs.

No one told me.

*

James was busy mansplaining to me what a granita was while I shoved crème brulee into my mouth. 

It’s basically a fucking slurpee. I know dude. You’re talking to a professional here.

I hated him.  Sort of.

I had no idea why we were dating. 

I was so unhappy.  I had talked myself into staying in our relationship-non-relationship thinking it was better than nothing.  This was incorrect thinking.  Nothing would have been more liberating than this.

He had insisted I order two desserts.  One was a granita that sounded interesting, strawberry and basil and balsamic.  I thought we were sharing so I said ok but he had both desserts placed in front of me.  I had thought he would have started on at least one of them but he didn’t. I picked up a spoon and went for the creamy custard.  The slushy wouldn’t wait but I didn’t want it and apparently neither did he. 

He wanted me to eat both.

I should have known right then and there what the second most problematic thing about our relationship was but I chose to ignore it.

I liked eating but I loathed being fat.

He liked me eating and he loved me being fat.

This is not how it was supposed to work.  I was the Skipper.  I was supposed to be jolly and alone.