Call Me Charlie

Issue 272

You guys,

In college, one person each year was given an award for being an exemplary student-athlete. In my junior year they gave it to two people—the football quarterback and me.

I remember attending the big sports awards banquet. I had no idea I was getting an award. I sat at a big round table with some of my teammates. We’d had a small salad and a roll with butter to start. I slowly savored my roll, which I’d spread with two tabs of butter. I’d eaten very little that day, knowing there would be a four-course meal at this banquet, knowing that people would be watching to see how much I ate.

People had started to notice my weight loss. At first the comments were complimentary—”Looking good, Bleeck!”—but by now they had veered into concern—”Bleeck, are you eating?” I told them to shut up, of course I was eating. With a public meal at a banquet I was prepared. I hardly ate anything all day. My stomach was rumbling for hours before. I planned to eat everything, even the dessert, and then nothing the rest of the night.

I wasn’t thinking of anything else except food. My mind was not yet on the upcoming weekend. It was spring, which meant the field hockey team wasn’t in season, which meant we had no rules against drinking, which meant I blacked out. I blacked out most times I drank. My friends would stand in a circle and put their fingers to their noses and yell, “Not it!” and the last person would be in charge of taking care of me when I inevitably passed out at the party.

A serving of penne pasta in red sauce was placed in front of me and I stared at its beauty, eager to indulge in carbohydrates, when my name was called. I looked up and around the table. What? Me?

“Yea, Bleeck!” some of my teammates yelled. I pushed back my chair and made the long walk up to the podium. I wore a modest dress (our coach always told us to dress appropriately) and low, uncomfortable heels. I never wore heels so any heel was uncomfortable. I was afraid I might roll an ankle. I tried not to think of the entire baseball team in the room, watching me. The baseball team made me nervous. I’d already been rejected by one baseball player, Jordan, and the one I currently had a crush on had a long-time girlfriend of six years. He ignored me at the dining hall but messaged me on AIM afterwards to tell me how good I looked. His girlfriend was so lucky. The rest of the team was just intimidating. Too cool in their flat-brimmed baseball hats, which they currently held under the round tables on their laps.

I stood next to the star quarterback and tried to listen to what was being said about me by our strength and conditioning coach. He said something about my dedication in the weight room. How much effort I put into my sport and my team. He did not know that I spent long hours in the weight room, on the treadmill, without my team, because I wanted to burn more calories. I wanted to be skinny. Maybe if I was skinny, Jordan wouldn’t have rejected me for that dumb sorority girl.

As I slowly walked back to my table, awkwardly carrying the large and heavy glass-framed certificate, I felt validated. Everything I had been doing to lose weight was exactly right. I should continue to count calories and eat in front of people and take Ambien every night so that I wouldn’t eat before bed.

When I got back to our table the plates had been cleared. I hadn’t even taken one bite of my pasta. The dessert arrived and I ate all of it. One of my teammates commented, “OMG Bleeck, you ate your whole chocolate cake.”

In college I was in the honors program and had a 3.8 GPA. I was captain of the Division I field hockey team and president of the student athletic committee. My family and friends and coaches were proud. College was my shining moment.

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Until next week,

Charlie