A Room of Their Own by Rakefet Yarden (best summer reads of all time .TXT) 📕

“You’re very pale. Can I get you anything to drink?” Unlike the other times she’d asked and I’d politely declined, this time she was genuinely pleading, but I still politely declined.

“Water, at least?”

“All right,” I agreed.

“You don’t look well, Dani,” she said as she finally sat down.

“Thanks. Love you too,” I answered sarcastically.

“I’m serious. You can’t go on like this.”

“All right.”

“When did you last eat?” Rotem asked half-apologetically.

“Yesterday morning. Just coffee.”

“All right, then we need to think about how to break this down.” She tried to keep cool, but I could see that underneath it all she was concerned. Genuinely concerned, not like when someone’s scared of getting sued. I really didn’t know what to tell her.

Breaking a fast is a challenging mission. You’re already deep within the head-on battle against your body. Who’s stronger? Who’s going to last longer? And either way, it’s only downhill from here. From here on in, the scale worsens − every little bite is already enough of a reason to vomit. So that there won’t be anything inside me. So that I’ll be empty and clean. Externally as well as internally.

“What do you say, Dani?”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“Do you have any idea about what could help you? Maybe we could do it together?”

“Together?” I was a bit intimidated.

“Yes. Let’s eat a little something together. What do you like to eat? Or, actually, what would you agree to eat?” She then immediately walked over to her clinic’s little fridge and opened it, rummaging inside it in a child-like manner.

“Nuts, almonds . . . a tangerine?” Rotem turned to me, smiling.

I didn’t say a word. I felt confused and embarrassed.

“I have yogurt, dates, oatmeal cookies . . .”

She continued rummaging, as though she were looking for something specific, as though she were hoping that I’d suddenly leap with joy at the sound of some specific dish. I stayed silent.

“Well, what do you say?”

“Don’t know. There’s no way that I’ll eat with you.”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“It’s . . . it’s too embarrassing,” I stuttered.

“What, me watching you eat? Seeing you filling up? Seeing how human you are?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“All right, then give me a hint about how I’m supposed to cope with sitting in front of a starved person and listening to their pain while knowing that they’re in danger. You’re important to me, Dani. I can’t let you endanger yourself like this, and if the only immediate solution at my disposal is to convince you to eat with me, then that’s what I’ll do. Do you have any better ideas?”

“I’ve already agreed to see a dietician.”

“And then you cancelled your appointment with her, and meanwhile you’re here with me, not having eaten for over 24 hours. So, come on, I’ll put a few things on the table and you have to eat something. Just a few little bites, as much as you can handle, without feeling too heavy.”

She got up and prepared a few things on the work surface near me, then placed three little plates on the table and sat back down. Walnuts and almonds, tangerine sections, and cookies. I looked at the plates in horror, and then I looked at her.

“It’s not that terrible. Take a few nuts. One tangerine section. You’ll feel better, and I promise not to watch you while you eat.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was so embarrassed. I also didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I eyed the plates again.

Cookies are a major no-no. They crumble and make a mess. No way. Tangerines can drip, and that’s even less esthetic. So that just leaves the walnuts and almonds. Chewing almonds is too loud, so that just leaves the walnuts. But how many nuts should I take? One seems ridiculous, and more than one seems over-the-top. I hoped that she’d dictate how many I should take, but she didn’t.

“You know what? I’ll have whatever you have. Will that help?” She was close to my line of thinking but still off-course. I couldn’t care less what she ate. I couldn’t care less if she ate nothing at all.

“All right,” I answered and leaned forward a little bit, quickly grabbed two walnuts and leaned back. The embarrassment made my entire body heat up. I looked at the nuts in my hand and imagined them getting stuck in my throat and me coughing loudly and spitting them out all around me in the most awkward way possible. The thought gave me shivers.

“So, tell me about the last few days,” she said smiling, and I felt grateful for her rescuing me from my terrible thoughts.

I looked at her for a minute, trying to concentrate on her questions and my answer, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the nuts. I tried to think up an answer, and at the same time, I slowly separated the nuts into tiny little pieces that would definitely not get stuck in my throat.

Rotem

I finished work and got ready to leave. Eight separate worlds went back into their drawers, shutting down along with the air-conditioner, the computer, and the lights. I turned the volume back on my muted cell phone and checked it on my way out.

Almost all of my messaging groups had unread messages: “Lilly Pre-school”, “Lilly Parents without Pre-school Teachers,” “Family,” and “Independent Therapists.” In the last one, among a few technical questions about forms and cheery festive blessings for Passover, Easter, and Ramadan, a little poem peered out: “If you meet a broken man, sit with him on the edge of the cursed crack . . . Don’t try to fix him . . .Sit with him so he won’t be there alone.” I gave it a once-over and decided to read it as soon as I got home. I had too much to cram in.

Smadar Weinstock’s poem was wonderfully simple and precise, and it took me back to the last team meeting I’d had at the eating disorders