Detox Mansion ch. 2

Going forward, it's safe to say every chapter of this project comes with a warning for use of dieting/eating disorder language, along with references to other substance use disorders. 

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Lita was disappointed to learn that their dinner did not meet group guidelines. They were missing a carb, protein, a dairy, and a dessert. The program didn’t have food groups per se, rather groupings of essential categories for balanced nutrition. So Lita reluctantly supplemented their kale-and-beet salad with a string cheese, a package of crackers, and to their horror, mandatory serving of two Oreo cookies. Well, Lita tried to rationalize, two cookies wouldn’t destroy them, and after all when was the last time they’d allowed themself to enjoy Oreos?

The voice they’d learned to call Ed echoed in their mind. Oreos are like, the worst kind of cookie. Even chocolate chip are healthier.

Except, to Lita, the voice wasn’t Ed. It was their old cross-country teammates Mika and Violet, scoffing at Lita’s choice of lunch.

Oreos are the least healthy cookie you could have! There’s so much fat in them.

A lot of those ethnic foods don’t even have the nutrition facts printed on them so there’s no way of knowing how many calories they have.

Lita shuddered, remembering their comments towards their traditional Puerto Rican lunches, lovingly prepared by their grandmother. Plantains? Full of starches and sugar. Empanadas were fried and therefore junk food.

At dinner, the group chatted and played word games. There was to be no discussion of food. Lita ate their Oreos slowly, peeling the frosting off the cookie with their tongue. The mass-produced cookie was no culinary delight, but the familiar flavor of chocolate cookie and frosting was comforting and nostalgic.

There would be a 10 minute break for anyone who needed to get up and stretch, make a phone call, or smoke outside. Lita went out to look for Winston.

“I better not see you smoking!” Lita playfully teased, walking out to their spot.

Winston defeatedly held up his hands. “I got nothing. Just chewing some gum for now.”

They talked a little bit about Winston’s session. In his group members were going around sharing check-ins, addressing victories and struggles, and any potential triggers in the future. Weddings and travel were common difficulties.

Lita left for the evening feeling more serious than elated this time. They’d had some deeper discussions that brought up some past trauma for Lita, and for other group members. Someone cried, but the staff therapist was there for support.

Lita would walk from the office park to the center of town, which was short enough, but they were caught in a typical late spring downpour. They found shelter under one of the buildings, but Lita would have to eventually brave the storm to get home, and they didn’t have an umbrella. To make matters worse, Lita had dressed for heat and was now shivering in soaked shorts and tee shirt.

As Lita was deliberating whether or not to call a $30 Uber taxi, Winston pulled up to the curb in his shabby sedan. He came out running to Lita with an umbrella.

“Can I get you a ride?” He hollered over the pounding rain.

“Are you sure?” Lita looked up at him nervously. “I live all the way in Boston.”

Winston laughed in disbelief. “Well so do I kid, you’re on the way. Come on, get inside.”

At Winston’s insistence, Lita got into the passenger seat, and was allowed to plug their phone into the aux cord. Hesitating, Lita picked out what they hoped would be a crowd-pleaser: Rush. Most men Winston’s age liked Rush, right?

Winston burst into laughter at the opening notes of Tom Sawyer. Lita turned deep red and slumped in the seat.

“No, no, no this is great!” Winston said, glancing quickly at Lita. “I really like Rush. I haven’t listened to them in ages. Wow, this takes me back.”

Lita smiled behind rain-soaked bangs, relieved. Beaming, they continued the rest of the album and they sang Red Barchetta together, Winston tapping on the steering wheel like a drum kit.

“So what, you like dad rock? Old school rock?” Winston asked as they cruised down the highway into the city.

“Yeah, um, I do, I like stuff like Steely Dan, Dire Straits, The Who, Supertramp, Fleetwood Mac…” Lita was looking away, but smiling.

“Did your dad introduce you to all this?”

“No, my uncle. Oh, um…” Lita paused, focusing on the rapid movement of the windshield wipers. “I should mention that I don’t have a dad.”

“Jesus.” Winston frowned, eyebrows sinking into his glasses. “Sorry. Damn.”

“It’s, uh, okay. He’s not dead or anything, he just isn’t in my life and I never see him.”

A heavy silence like fog hung in the car for the rest of the ride. Lita felt bad for bumming Winston out, while Winston was filled with fear of losing touch with his child.

“Well here you are, stay dry.” Winston said politely, but distantly, as Lita got out of the car and used their backpack to shield themself from the rain.

Back at his own apartment in a different part of Boston, Winston tried calling up his ex-wife for the first time in a few months.

“Hi, Peggy?” He paced around the apartment, toweling off his hair with his other hand.

“Winston? what is it?” His ex-wife sounded concerned but not hostile.

“I just wanted to know how you were doing. I just got back from Group and I was thinking about you.”

“I’m fine. A little tired but fine. Listen, I’m trying to get the baby to sleep. Can you call tomorrow morning?” In the background Winston could hear crying.

“Is that our kid?” Winston urged.

“What do you mean, our kid?” Peggy sounded confused.

“You—you know!” Winston exclaimed. “The one you were pregnant with when we split.”

“He’s not yours.” Peggy icily responded. “I was seeing someone else at the time.”

Winston apologized for the inconvenience and hung up, crushed. His eyes darted around the apartment. Right about now, he would have reached for a drink. That craving was replaced by an overwhelming need to smoke, to calm down his nerves, to forget about the devastating blow that that baby hadn’t been his, and that he was in fact childless.

Lita appeared in his mind’s eye. Lita, with floppy black hair that perpetually hung over their left eye, dressed in baggy, tomboyish clothes, wearing ratty skateboard sneakers. He hadn’t thought to inquire about pronouns; a large “they/them” button on Lita’s backpack had answered that query for him. If he smoked, he’d be dissappointing her. He paced around some more, then went rummaging in the fridge for something to eat to stave off the smoking cravings.

On weekends Lita hadn’t run much since graduation, preferring now to take ambling, leisurely walks around the neighborhood. It was much nicer, Lita thought, to enjoy the activity of walking rather than force excercise as a mandate required to enjoy food. A thought came to Lita suddenly; what if they spent more time with Winston outside of the context of Group? Clearly they had a lot in common. Winston could be a friend, something that had eluded Lita for years. They resolved to get Winston’s number next time.

Lita wasn’t picked up by Winston, but he offered them a ride home the next week.

“I was thinking we could exchange numbers and do fun stuff over the weekend?” Lita asked eagerly, getting into the car on a gorgeous still-sunny evening.

“mmm, I don’t know.” Winston rubbed his stubbled chin as he drove.

Lita said nothing, but slumped a bit.

“Wouldn’t it be weird? An old bag like me hanging around with you. You’re what, 15? 16?”

“I’m eighteen.” Lita pouted. “I’d be going to college this fall except, you know.”

“Why would you want to waste your summer with someone like me? A recovering alcoholic who does nothing but go to AA meetings, and avoids going out anywhere in case it triggers a craving?”

“Because…”Lita searched for the words amongst the passing scenery.

“Because,” Lita paused to take a deep breath, “you’re cool and I like you.”

“Haha, what?” Winston quickly glanced at them in disbelief.

“Not like that!” Lita pouted further. “I mean as a friend!” Their arms were crossed tight.

“But you have your own life and your own friends your age.”

“They’re all getting ready to go to college.” Lita replied coldly. “And they weren’t even my friends, just other people on the track team. I, unfortunately, don’t have any other friends.”

Lita was partially to blame. They had blown off their friends so many times for fear of any parties that involved food, and going out to eat together was forbidden in Lita’s disordered mind. By the end of senior year, Lita had no one left they could consider a friend. They—no, the disorder, had driven them all away. And now they were leaving, some to different parts of the country, others still in Massachusetts but would be so focused on college and making new college friends that a gloomy weirdo from high school would surely be left by the wayside.

“It’s a symbiotic relationship.” Lita explained. “I help you quit smoking and stay on track with your recovery by distracting you with fun activities, and you can help me have a normal relationship with food again.”

Winston gave a short, startled laugh. “Not sure about that symbiotic part, I kinda feel like we’re two parasites who had to get cut off by our host and now we’re looking for a new fix.” Anyway, he gave Lita his number just before dropping them off at home, and they made plans for him to pick them up on Saturday to go somewhere.