This semester in college, I’m taking a creative writing course. It’s really changing the game for me. I’ve written one or two short stories in my entire life, but aside from them, I really struggle to finish my work. I find myself coming up with some crazy story ideas, but I generally lack the follow through to finish them. After years of this, I kind of convinced myself that I just wasn’t able to write short stories. I decided I was more of a nonfiction writer. This does tend to be true. I write best when I write from personal experience. However, the biggest thing I’ve learned in that creative writing class is this: even fiction draws from the truth. The best stories are usually inspired by real things that happened, just with the details warped to make them more interesting. Maybe that seems obvious to you, but this realization opened my world up drastically. Since then, I’ve been pumping out short stories like nobody’s business. And while I can’t say they’re all good, I have finished 5 in the past month. That’s more than I’ve written in my entire life! For what? All because my sneaky brain convinced me that I couldn’t do it.
I’m going to school for nursing, but this past year has really ignited my love of writing. I’m excited to continue developing my skills. One of my goals of 2021 is to have a first draft of a book written. While that book is likely to be a personal account of my days spent traveling, I have to say unlocking my creative writing abilities has undoubtedly helped me write even the true stories of my life. I can’t wait to share it with you all.
For now, I feel it’s appropriate to share with you one of my stories. I call it Overeaters Anonymous.
Genie flinched as her father yelled at her younger brother.
“You ungrateful piece of work!” the man shouted. “Your mother and I slave away to put food on this table, and you turn your nose.” He shamefully shook his head. “Finish your food before I go to bed, or you’ll be sorry,” he warned. Eli began crying.
Although their parents never hit the children, Genie knew Eli took his father seriously. He was a mean, angry man. His own father had been abusive towards him, and he felt like the only way to turn Eli into a man was by hardening him before the world got its chance. Genie went to her brother, comforting him like she always. She made silly faces at him until he budged and began to giggle. Genie knew just how to cheer Eli up, and that was good, because no one else was going to.
“Bean or no bean?” Genie asked her little brother.
“Umm, no bean!” Eli guessed.
Genie made a show of slowly opening the green bean to reveal not one, but two seeds contained within it.
“Eat up,” Genie told her brother.
Without complaint, Eli ate the bean, eager to guess the next one. Genie smiled. It was a game they played often. Well, as often as they had green beans for dinner. The kids’ parents were sticklers when it came to finishing their plates. They wouldn’t allow the children to leave the table until all the food was gone. Sometimes, Eli would fall asleep there, his head drooping forward into the mashed potatoes. Genie had no problem finishing her plate, sometimes she’d
even go for seconds. She felt bad for Eli, knowing it wasn’t as easy for him. She’d often sneak bites of his food while their parents weren’t watching. Otherwise, she’d invent games, like the bean game, to get Eli excited about eating his food. If he guessed correctly the bean could be set aside. If he was wrong, however, he’d have to eat the green bean. They continued until the beans were taken care of.
Genie supposes this era of her life is when the overeating really became an issue for her. Her parents saw nothing wrong with forcing children to eat servings that typical adults would be unable to stomach. After all, there were starving children in Africa. All throughout school, Genie was bigger than the other girls. It posed no problem, at least not at first. It wasn’t until Genie entered the 5th grade and the girls in her class began making snide remarks about her fat rolls and unshaven legs that she began considering her appearance. She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her parents’ bathroom. She turned every which way, pinching the fat on her stomach and thighs. She’d suck in her tummy as far as it would go and appreciate what she’d look like if only she shed some pounds. All throughout school, Genie kept growing. By the time she
graduated, she was over 300 lbs. She knew she wasn’t healthy, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. Eating had become her best friend. Food comforted her, and unlike the mean girls at school, food didn’t hurt her feelings.
Genie was in disbelief when her doctor informed her that she needed to drastically change her lifestyle or else she would die. While Genie knew her eating habits weren’t healthy, she didn’t much think of consequences. In hindsight, she realized one cannot simply eat with reckless abandon and face no consequences. And Genie did eat with reckless abandon. Trips to the grocery
store for just a few snacks would result in Genie leaving with overpriced sandwiches, a family-sized bag of chips, chocolate-covered pretzels, two different candy bars, and a large soda pop. She would kid herself at first.
I’ll eat my fill and save the rest for later.
When later rolled around, she’d find herself making another trip to the store instead. As Genie’s fat stores grew, so too did the plaque in her arteries. Her doctor had suggested a bypass surgery to unclog some of the blockages, but Genie was terrified of anesthesia, and she still wasn’t fully convinced he was right. She declined the surgery and told the doctor she’d straighten up. She did try, at first. But the enticing sweets overrode her desire to be better. She didn’t have the willpower to do it on her own. At night, Genie would reason with herself.
So I’m dying. So what? What have I got to live for anyway?
Genie did not know the man she hired to be her personal trainer. She found his ad on Craigslist and nearly burst with excitement at his promises to help even the most stubborn cases of binge eating disorder. Genie, of course, had never formally been diagnosed as a binge eater, but there was no better description for what it was she did in her home when no one else was watching. She reached out to him, and to her surprise, he responded immediately. Within hours,
Genie was heading to Mark’s office. He had state of the art equipment, he told her, designed to create a perfect meal plan based on blood work. Genie was ecstatic. The solution to all her problems was being served on a silver platter. She sat at the chair, arm out, ready to give her blood.
When Genie awoke, she was in a white walled room. Zip ties bound her wrists and ankles, rendering her defenseless. Still, she tried to wiggle herself free. She heard a voice through an intercom system.
“Now, Genie, didn’t you want to get better?” The voice asked her.
“What the hell! Mark, is that you?” Genie shrieked.
“Calm down, Genie. This is the only way.” The man spoke gently, reassuringly.
“You’re psychotic!”
“If you disobey, I’ll have to take your eating privileges.”
Genie shut up immediately.
Mark entered the room, a silver dish with a cover in hand. Genie suddenly was aware of how hungry she’d become. Mark waved the dish in front of Genie’s face.
“You mentioned that game you and Eli used to play, and I must admit it inspired me,” Mark said.
“So, Genie, bone or no bone?” Mark lifted the lid off the tray, revealing human fingers.
Genie screamed, kicking her legs towards the plate.
“You ungrateful broad.” Mark was practically growling. “I bring you a hot meal and this is the thanks I get?”
Genie cried, and she remembered the tears she’d wiped off Eli’s face. There would be no one to wipe Genie’s tears. No one to hear her cries. Genie was going to die, after all.
