Chapter 2: Liz's Story

She was long and skinny, probably five seven and pushing one hundred pounds at most. The legs she stood on were beautifully toned, and her arches in her feet were superb. The only downside her physique had was the fact that it was how she ended up here.

    “Hi, I’m Finley, or Fin, or Finny, or anything really,” I said sticking out my hand, hoping she would shake it.

    “I’m Elizabeth, or Liz for short,” she replied meekly. “Um, where am I?”

    “The inbetween,” I told her, making my voice sound like I was telling a ghost story. “So let’s cut to the chase, Liz, how’d you get here?” She shook her head, the question obviously bothered her.

    “I don’t know. I was dancing, and now I’m here.”

    “Ohh, a dancer. You know I tried dancing once, but my teacher told me I was too heavy to be any good.” I spun full circle, showing off my large hips and thighs. I guess you could say I’m a bit bottom heavy, not terribly bad, just bad enough where I’d be considered curvy rather than fit. “Anyway, this isn’t about me. What about before that? Something must’ve caused the whole passing out/coma thing.”

    “I mean, I guess…” her voice trailed off, and I got the hint.
    “Am I allowed to guess? Or is that frowned upon? Usually people let me guess, cuz it’s easier for them to tell me what all went down. Man you should hear some of the stories I’ve heard, that s***s crazy. Crap, where was I? Oh, can I guess?”

    “If you want.” She shrugged, as if she was dismissing the question.

    “I like your hair, by the way. I like how even though it’s in a ponytail it still reaches your butt, well where your butts suppose to be at least.”

    “Are you going to make a guess or just insult me?” Now it was my turn to shrug.

    “I guess I could guess. Okay, so you’re a ballerina, and ballerinas have to be skinny, like sickly skinny. No one in the world is naturally that skinny, unless you’re a prepubescent boy with a thyroid problem, so you took matters into your own hands. At first you stopped eating and exercising a little more, but then sometimes you would accidentally binge and eat “too much”, so you became a purger as well. I’m going to guess laxatives because there’s no marks on your fingers where your teeth would’ve dug into them. So my guess is your electrolytes got all messed up from the not eating and constant purging, which made you pass out, and in order to get better they put you in a medically induced coma. That’s just my guess though, feel free to fix the story.”

    A soft sob came from the back of her throat, “I’m only fifteen, I can’t die at fifteen. I didn’t mean to mess everything up.”

    “Well, Liz, one of three things can happen. First, you can accept your past and move on to the afterlife, be it heaven, hell, or purgatory. Second, you can accept your past and wake up. Both of those things are already predetermined, all you have to do is accept what’s happened. Oh wait the third option. Third, you can not accept what’s gone wrong in your “previous life” and stay here with me… forever. Your choice.”

    More sobs came out of her. She sounded like a wounded dog, which usually would bug me, but I’ve heard that sound a lot. It no longer fazes me. Is that bad? To become desensitized to the sound of someone sobbing? Well if it is I’ll have to worry about that later.

    “Think of it this way, you can either move on with your life or not. Which do you prefer, being stuck, or not?”

    “I guess, not being stuck,” she said between hiccups.

    “Good! We’re making progress! Like I said before, moving on is all about acceptance, and I definitely know what you need to accept.”

    “I’ve already accepted my eating disorder as a part of me.”

    “Okay a) that’s terrible. Your eating disorder is not you. B) don’t accept the negatives. Fix them! Oh and c) it’s not the eating disorder I’m worried about. It’s what caused it. So tell me about it. How did it all start?”

    “I dunno, didn’t you kind of already explain it? Ballerinas need to be skinny, and not eating is a good way to get there.”

    I sighed, “Okay, well what set you off? There was this girl at my school who had an eating disorder, and she told me it wasn’t the whole skinny thing that made her do it, she didn’t actually mind how she looked. Her boyfriend told her that he liked skinny girls and she could afford to lose a few pounds. So what does she do? Goes and loses twenty five pounds, then thirty, then thirty five, and then boom, she’s in the hospital after having a heart attack because her heart lost all of its muscle power. All of this happened because her stupid a*s boyfriend told her to lose a few pounds. So anyway, what caused yours?”

    “I got b***s,” she whispered.

    “Wait really, that’s what caused you to almost kill yourself? You got b***s? You do know that’s a normal girl thing.”

    “I was in fourth grade! Who gets b***s in the fourth grade?” she shrieked burying her face in her shall. “They weren’t huge, but they were there and they needed to be gone, so I cut down on eating. They went from B’s back down to the tiny mosquito bites they were before, and I was happy again. Then puberty hit hard and they came back, so I just did what worked the first time, but they didn’t just disappear like in fourth grade. I had to keep working, and working, and working until I could see my ribs, and my collarbones protruded out of my chest. The b***s were A cups; something I could deal with. Now all I have to do is maintain.” Maintain? Who wants to maintain a miniscule figure if it’s killing you? Not I, that’s for sure.

    “But why? Why is having b***s such a travesty? Everyone has them.”

    “Have you ever seen a prima with b***s?”

    “I don’t know? I don’t really look at dancers very often, not my type.” I laughed hoping she’d just that I was trying to be funny. No response came from her side of the room.

    “I’m still waiting for you to understand my point,” she smirked, hands on her hips.

    “Aren’t dancers’ careers like super short? Why destroy yourself if it’s only worth it for a couple of years?”

    She let out an exasperated sigh, “It’s not about how long you dance. If I can dance beautifully, even if it’s only for a few months, then everything is worth it.”

    I got extraordinarily close to her face a whispered, “I don’t think you understand me. You’re going to die if you don’t stop doing this. Then there is no dancing for you.”

    “That’s not what you said earlier! You said that I could go back.”

    “Liz, how can you be so dense. I don’t mean you’re going to die right this second, I mean you haven’t even accepted anything yet. I meant that if, IF, you do go back to the real world and you continue to do this to yourself, you will die. No if, ands, or buts about it.

    “But-”

    I cut her off, “I just said no buts stupid. Did you kill some brain cells on your way here or something?”

    “How do you know I’ll die? There are plenty of skinny people in the world still living.”

    “You’re not skinny, you’re sickly. I can see how hollow your cheeks are. Your arms and legs are spindly. I can count your ribs through your shawl! Look at yourself.”

    “Plenty of girls starve themselves. I can list five just at my studio who do it. And you even told me a story about a girl at your school who did it.”

    “Don’t use that girl as an example. You know what happened to her? She died. A month after her heart attack she had another one, and this one killed her! Elizabeth, she died doing exactly what you’re doing!”

    “I’m fine.” She sat down in the criss cross applesauce position and leaned back on her minute arms. Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t snap like the little toothpicks they are, but then again this isn’t the real world so nothing bad can happen to her.

    “You can’t leave then. Have fun spending the rest of eternity with me.” I shot her a world class Finley Davidson smile. Muttering something to herself, she got up again, leveling herself with my imposing height. Haha, joke, I’m short, like pushing five three.

    “Why with me? Why don’t you tell me your story so YOU can move on.” She poked me hard in the chest.

    “No can do, madame, this is about you, not me.”

    “I’m not saying anything else until you tell me something.”

    “Fine,” I huffed. She gives me a smile, obviously thinking I’m going to cave that easy. “I don’t care if you move on. It’ll be nice to have someone around with me anyway.” She sighed, getting back into her abnormally complex sitting position.

    “Why haven’t you moved on, then? Tell me that at least.” Her tone was softer than it was before, as if she actually cared rather than just curious.

    “I refuse to go back,” I muttered.

    “Why?”

    “I told you why I haven’t moved on, that’s all you get.”

    “But why? Why won’t you answer my questions? Wait are you some kind of guide leading me to the afterlife?”

    “Jeez, what’s with all of these stupid movies messing up coma world. No, I’m human, just like you.”

    She hung on that, thinking of her next question. “Can you give me a hint? What if I guess? You guessed for me.”

    “No. You get certain privileges when you’ve been here as long as me, and that is one of them, so no you can’t guess.”

    “That’s not fair!”

    “Life isn’t fair. You should know that,” I said motioning to her whole person.

    She went quiet, and I thought I finally shut her up, but nooooo I was wrong. “Just one more thing…”

    “Fine!” I yelled. “That boy who made his girlfriend anorexic, remember him? Yeah, well he was my brother! My big brother killed his girlfriend.” The last few words came out slow and serious.

    “Oh,” she whispered. That was the last thing she said to me before she slowly faded out of visibility. Apparently she had accepted the whole killing herself thing because she made a nice dramatic return to the real world.

    “Congrats Liz, you made it,” I replied to her whisper that no longer existed.

Author's Note

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