Air – Tight Pizza.

"Your body is screaming for nutrition."
She looked at me in my bikini top, resting her eyes on my rib bones that pushed against
the surface of my skin.
I looked down at the floor, trying to dodge the look of concern from her face.
"Oh, I’ll be fine."
I held the hand of her child, and I suddenly felt tense.
I felt like a bad influence. My bones and pale white skin radiated in the sun.
The faded scars on my stomach pulsed and surface, looking unhealthy coulors of purple
and brown in the sun.
I jumped into the pool, opening my eyes and watching legs kick by under the water.
I held my breath and closed my eyes, wishing I would sink to the bottom, anchored
by my stomach.
I opened my mouth and screamed. Bubbles raised to the surface and she pulled me by
the back of my hair.
"Why are you screaming?" She was 10 and looked scared, her skin tanned and hair pulled
into a pony tail, tangled at the back.
"I wasn’t."
We swam deeper into the pool.
My body was screaming for nutrition.

I went back to ziplock bags stored inside of garbage bags.
Pizza and ribs that fell off the bone mixed into one and where air-sealed tight.
I hid them in my closet, feeling full of paranoia and guilt.
I sprayed Febreeze and washed the vomit from my hands and mouth.
The stained towels where quickly thrown down the stairs, out of sight from my mother.
I sat on my bed, staring at my closet – knowing that inside my bulimia lived in sealed tight
ziplock bags. I moved them to the garage, hoping the
garbage men wouldn’t notice the stench when they picked them up.
I hoped when they took the bags they would take my bulimia with them, in small bags
portioned perfectly, locked so tight that nothing could escape.
I woke up the next morning and she was still there, staring me in the face.
Out of the ziplock bags.