I am not going to think about it. I am going to enjoy my
afternoon. I will not be nervous. I will not be scared.
I am trying to convince myself of all these things knowing
full well the impossibility of allowing myself even a few short hours of normal
childhood activity. Being nourished via a nasal gastric tube for twelve hours a
day means constantly having bright yellow tubing tucked behind my ear and taped
to my face. From there it continues up
my nose and down my throat, ending in my stomach. Bright yellow – what demon
designs these things? They might as well put traffic cones around me with a big
blinking highway sign saying “Social Outcast.”
I have been looking forward to - and dreading - this day for
an entire month. Once a month my feeding
tube needs to be removed in exchange for a new one. During these few short
hours in between, I am able to have a break from the itchy tape and the never ending uncomfortable
tug against my nose every time I swallow. But mostly, I spend these hours on
the verge of a panic attack as the time ticks swiftly towards my mother having
to put the new feeding tube in.
No matter how many times we have done it, no matter how much
older I get - I cannot get used to doing this. I spend hours trying to muster up
the courage to sit in the chair. I fight my mother tooth and nail trying to
stave off a few extra minutes before giving in. I would take tiny steps,
inching closer to the middle of the kitchen and my mother, who hates this
process every bit as much as I do. It takes less than two minutes and, honestly,
it doesn't really hurt. It is a much bigger monster than that. For me it represents
everything that causes pain in my life - that is the true battle. Once a month
having to surrender myself to my illness, admit defeat and allow it to brand me
as 'sick' for the world to see.
Not today.
It is Saturday afternoon and in our small town, everyone who is
anyone will be at Wheelie's. I have been to Wheelie's roller rink once or twice before
during the Family Skate on Sundays with my parents and little brother. Then every
Monday, I sit alone at recess waiting for the bell, listening to the latest
chitter-chatter about all the fun things that happened Saturday at Wheelie's. Now
that I'm almost 12, my parents are finally letting me go this afternoon with my
cousin Cheryl - without my tube in! No one will be
staring. No one will cringe and look away when I walk near them. I won’t need
to cover my nose with my hand, staring at the floor hoping no one will notice
me. This afternoon, I will be just like everyone else.
I can barely contain my excitement as Cheryl and I walk
through the double doors, leaving the hot sticky outdoor air behind us. Wheelie's
is massive. The carpeted arcade area is bright with pin ball machines, Street
Fighter and Mrs. Pac Man. Even she put her best face on today knowing she will be
on display for a hundred kids. Those who
are taking a break from roller skating are licking ketchup off their fingers as
they eat French fries from the canteen on the benches that line the walls. We
see a precious empty space near the crowded arcade and quickly lay claim on an
empty length of bench. Cheryl bounds off to grab our skates while I save our
seats.
The skate ring itself was easily as large as our school gym.
Smooth, glossy concrete peppered with
glitter under a big mural of Wheelie’s hippo mascot on the far wall. Giggling
children whiz by, chasing each other under the sparkling fragmented lights from
the disco ball. Teenagers from the high school couple up, putting their hands
in one another's back pockets. 'November
Rain' is playing loudly and I wonder how they manage kissing (with tongue!) groping
each other, and still roller skate at the same time.
"Uh-oh," Cheryl nods across the graphic carpet to the skate rental
counter. A group of girls from school were a mess of big hair in neon
scrunchies and jean jackets reapplying lip gloss. 'The BQ Squad is here. What’s
so great about them anyway? I can't even understand why they love themselves so
much." The Beauty Queens walk, talk and dress as though they run the world
around them. Most people are dumb enough to let them. They are the prettiest
most popular girls in school. Openly, I loathe everything about them. Inwardly, and I am not proud to admit it, there
is a piece of me who wants so badly for them to like me. If they liked me,
maybe everyone else would give me a chance too. Maybe then I would be somebody else. Somebody who people
didn't throw rocks at on the way home from school. Somebody who has lots of
friends instead of lots of books. Somebody who did not need to sit alone at recess
anymore.
"Let’s just ignore
them! Come on and stay close – I’m not very good!" We have tightened our hot
pink laces and are laughing hard. We stumble trying to balance and find our
footing without falling over or taking one another down. It is not until they
are standing over us that we notice Steph and her clones.
"Jane!" she gives me a thousand kilowatt smile. "Wow look at
you! So pretty! No wonder Chris wants to skate a lap around with you!" They all stand there like Barbie dolls while Cheryl and I are frozen in place trying
to take in the fact that they even know who we are. "He said, 'I didn’t realize
she was so pretty under that …thing.' " Steph's double bubble cracks loudly. The
girls behind her nod and giggle. "So you will, right?"
I'm dumbfounded. Chris wants to skate a lap around the rink
with me? Is this happening? I don't even remember moving but I must have given
the slightest nod because Steph is grabbing my sleeve and half dragging me
toward the edge of the rink. I look back at Cheryl standing alone and mouth the
words 'I'm sorry' but she is just as stunned as I am. It is all happening so
fast and in slow motion at the same time. I feel like there is a weight on my chest. I have lost all ability
to speak. The BQs eagerly flag down Chris and his friends.
This boy has never said a word to me in my life. We've been
in the same class since we were five years old and until now I would have bet
he had no idea I even exist. Chris skids to a stop in his black and neon yellow
roller blades. He is so close to me I can smell the Dep gel he uses to spike
his hair. He holds out his arm for me to take, dimples forming as he smiles
broadly at me. My eyes meet with Cheryl's from across the room. She is still
watching this unfold from the sidelines, only now she looks annoyed with me. I
don't blame her. I would have felt the same way if she had deserted me for a boy. She will have to forgive me. I smile back at Chris. How can I say no? This is what I wanted, right? It is happening. This was the day that people will
notice me for the right reasons. The day I am just as pretty, as cool and as confident
as everyone else.
Chris is moving
faster than I can but I am too scared to speak. I try so hard to keep up I can barely concentrate
on anything else. One of the cutest boys at school is roller skating with me!
It seems too good to be true. As we glide towards the rest of the kids from
school, I realize an instant too late: If something seems too good to be true -
it probably is.
In slow motion I
watch Steph stick her leg out to trip me. I buckle forward crashing down hard
on my knees. I'm splayed out on the floor while those hateful girls are
laughing like hyenas. No feeding tube at all and still every last person in the
building is pointing at me and staring. Chris actually has the nerve to bend
down and try to help me up. Thank god Cheryl comes out of nowhere, pushing him
aside and quickly gets me on my feet.
"What's wrong
Hose Nose? Did you think we would forget you were a disease?" Steph calling after us,
everyone looking and laughing. "Did you actually think that a boy would think
you and that noodle nose were attractive?"
Cheryl takes me
into the bathroom. She makes sure I am okay and leaves to go gather our shoes. I
don't remember hitting my head but there is blood coming from above my eye. I
splash cold water on my face. By the time Cheryl returns I am a teary mess on
the bathroom floor. She locks the door and sits down next to me. "They are
assholes. Who wants friends like that anyway?" Cheryl helps me put my sneakers
on the best I could over a very swollen ankle and we leave the bathroom. I am
grateful to her for not being angry I had left her alone and making me feel worse
than I already did.
Leaving the bathroom I start to make
a bee-line for the exit but Chris is leaning on the wall and comes up to me. I
push past him as quickly as I could but he jumps in front of me. "I didn't
know," he said. I ask him to get out of my way but he will not move. "Listen, I
was a jerk. But I didn't know this would happen. Steph said she would give me
five dollars to do one skate around the rink with you. I just wanted the money
- I didn't know she was going to hurt you. I swear." This time when I go to
leave he gets out of my way as I limp as fast as my ankle will let me to get as far away from here as I can.
When I arrive
home, I crash onto my bed. Not even my
pillow can stifle the sobbing. The lump on my forehead has doubled in size. I'm unable to bend my swollen ankle at all. None of these physical pains are bad enough
to compete with the pain of shame and embarrassment. Monday at recess, I will still sit alone. I
wanted to be noticed but not like this. I wanted so badly to be a part of the
crowd at Wheelie's and now my nightmare will spread whisper to ear through the
entire school. I am so stupid for wanting to fit in so badly.
A few hours and
many tears later, the time has come for my feeding tube to go back in. From now
on, I will gladly take a few anxious hours at home waiting for the new one
to go in over the devastation of this afternoon. I will not try to be someone I’m
not. I will worry in my room with my books where it is safe. I hold a glass of water to take
gulps of because it helps to guide it down. The wire inside will hurt as it passes through the back of my nose. Tonight I quietly I sit down on the chair in the
middle of the kitchen bracing myself for my mother to begin. This day has left me feeling so numb, I can't even put up a fight.
What is the point
of fighting against who you really are?
