Ava Chuppe Is a 17-Year-Old Senior at Mccracken County High School in Paducah, Kentucky

FRONT COVER

Ava Chuppe is a 17-year-old senior at McCracken County High School in Paducah, Kentucky. She has known since elementary school that she wanted to be a published author. Whenever she is not writing or reading, she enjoys playing the mandolin, singing, and dancing. Ava hopes to someday earn a Ph.D. in English, and she would like to thank everyone who has supported her love for writing. jumps of our children on the trampoline. “Whoa, you just touched the clouds!” she Instant Gratification laughs. She exudes a carefree spirit like the drifting It was week three, and the meal plan still wasn’t clouds themselves. cutting it. I sit on the sidelines. I enjoy the spectator sport, The bland muffins, dense with homesickness, but I can never seem to match their energy enough to and the instant eggs, fluffy with nervous butterflies, join in. They bounce more in the grass than I could on never satisfied my stomach in the mornings. the trampoline. Maybe I could lose a few, I think, My mother’s signature chicken and rice, a staple glancing down to examine the blubber gushing above of our family’s diet, was replaced by fattening fried my belt. Not too long ago, I was the scrawniest kid in chicken and a stinging soda to gulp it down. I was the neighborhood, and now I’m an old mass of dough. already struggling to make it up the stairs. I wondered “Jump with us, Daddy!” Joseph, my youngest, how Colonel Sanders stayed so slim—maybe the shrieks. military workouts? I sink lower into the lawn chair and hear it groan I stayed up past midnight and crunched ramen as its legs plunge into the mud. “Sorry, buddy,” I tell noodles while my eyes ached from reading about cell him. “Not today.” biology. The dry noodle chunks hit the pit of my His face isn’t the simplistic picture of a sad child stomach hard, like the sharp contrast of the bold black deprived of candy or toys. Instead it’s more solemn, words on the crisp white pages that set my tired eyes on carrying a mature air. “Daddy, your voice is boring,” he fire. I craved my mother’s homemade beef noodles, says finally, then returns to prancing. melty and soft like an amoeba. He’s right. While Sandra’s voice moves and I collapsed and bawled into my knees. curves, mine is unleavened bread. And, despite my “What is it?” my roommate Tara asked with plump presence, the skeleton underneath is a rickety alarm. She rushed in from bed like my mother did when machine. My joints are stiff and in need of an oil bath. I broke my leg. I’m merely three years older than Sandra, but I My brain felt mushy, like the instant eggs. “I’m feel like a cranky curmudgeon married to a stunningly sick of instant eggs,” I choked out. youthful model. And even if I had rock-hard abs and a Tara raised an eyebrow. “Those are gross. I head full of hair, I’d feel the same way. haven’t eaten them at all. But if you really want to Such is the life of a lizard. make your own eggs, you can do it in the microwave. Sandra’s shoulders tensed. She flung off her You don’t have to have a stove.” engagement ring. It clinked on the table. I scratched my head. Eggs in the microwave? “Maybe I should just exchange myself for a Noticing my confusion, Tara supplied, “In a cheaper woman, too,” she said through gritted teeth. mug.” “You clearly clutch your money tighter than you’ll ever She motioned for me to come to the fridge, hold me.” where I watched her dig out a carton of eggs I didn’t With that, she plopped down on the couch and know she had. She cracked one on her Class of 2020 fell into a sobbing heap. Not knowing how to remedy mug and plopped the yolk inside. the female’s broken heart, I stood there rubbing the back “Don’t you need, like… a whisk?” I said. I’d of my neck until she stood, put the ring back on, and left never scrambled eggs myself—my mom did all the for the kitchen to fix us each a plate of macaroni and cooking for me. But based on my repertoire of cooking cheese. shows, wasn’t a whisk necessary? We got married a few months later. I sucked it Tara shook her head. “What are you, a chef?” up and paid for the cake. she said as she pulled a simple fork from the drawer. … “Here, you stir it up.” I jolted up from my slouched position. At first I was hesitant, afraid that provoking the “That’s not possible,” I said. “I measured out yolk would result in a volcanic eruption over the side of my calories. I counted.” the mug. I gradually stirred faster until the egg was Dr. Petersen shrugged, as if it were no big deal nothing but yellow liquid. I felt sorry for the unborn that the plaque in my arteries was blocking my blood. chicken I’d just mangled. Was this how cooking “If you don’t get your cholesterol down, you’re in worked? Had my mom seized a live chicken by the danger of a heart episode,” he said bluntly. neck and cut off its head with an axe and dragged it My heart hummed like a hummingbird’s. Sweat inside to serve over rice? dribbled down my forehead. Dr. Petersen fiddled with Tara must have sensed the steaming lava his stethoscope and avoided eye contact. bubbling over inside me when she said, “It’s just an My family was counting on me, like I counted egg.” the calories, and I failed. She placed the mug in the microwave and set it ... to 45 seconds. Sandra’s voice rises and falls, paralleling the Lizard Skin “Won’t the egg be raw?” I asked as it spun around under the hot lights. I imagined a gang of giant It gives him a thick skin to breeze through the chickens shoving a human baby in there and letting it programmed steps of each calculus problem. He never spin and cook. gives it much thought—it’s a leaf floating on the surface Tara rolled her eyes. “At first, some of it, yeah,” of a pond. His hand moves mechanically so that even she said. “It’ll be half-cooked. You break up what’s ∫∫∫, with the potential to flow over like a passion-raging cooked and put it back in for another 45 seconds.” waterfall, appears as jagged shards of glass. As a result, Before I could ask another question, she bolted he grows a spiny shield against the brutes who taunt him back to bed. day in and day out, tossing him aside like a limp banana When the microwave beeped, I pulled out the peel. half-cooked concoction. The egg fluff sat in a pool of Even his love for mathematics becomes too yellow yolk juice, a body bathing in blood. Grief rose mathematical in his quest for armored protection. He in my throat, gripping my shoulders. My vision swam sheds the soft skin of his innocent long division days into blue blotches. I pondered placing it back in the and morphs into a leathery lizard. microwave, a lethal injection to put it out of its misery, I wasted my teenage days, days of discovery and but I couldn’t bring myself to finish the job. I scraped it new horizons, developing my defense mechanism. into the trash can with a dishrag and vowed to … appreciate the instant eggs and all the meal plan When planning my wedding, I crunched the masterpieces. They sheltered me from a primitive life numbers. of shooting bow-and-arrows in the jungle and roasting “We can’t afford a cake with so many layers,” I animals over firewood, just to sustain myself. told my fiancée Sandra. I showed her what I punched I returned to studying, like civilized people do. into the calculator. She didn’t say anything, only bit her lip and moseyed over to the window. My voice cracked. “I love you, but we just can’t afford this kind of debt. If you want the cake, you’ll have to send back the dress in exchange for a cheaper one.” eyes. They try to snap me back, tell me to pay attention. My Daddy’s Dream Live in the moment, and that moment is now. Contrary to their pleas, which the bumblebees My daddy dug his sneakers in the dirt before we will never comprehend, I only feel alive when I’m not sat in the stands, sliding back to a time when he colored there. his jersey brown. He coulda gone major league, that’s what he tells us, if it wasn’t for that broken ankle. It snapped him into sorting boxes at the post office.

When my brother crossed home base, Daddy’s beluga bellow filled the air. He swigged beer and clapped my back with his meaty hand. I still got the bruise from last game. When I glided from behind the wings in my pink leotard, I spotted an empty seat in the audience. Busy as a Bee A Guilty Conscience Focus is narrow when it’s sharp. That’s what I discovered the day I chased my cat Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. with a water gun. The sun was ablaze, the season was Even in a room graced with naivete and ripe, and it was time to make a splash. oblivion, the miscreant fears lingering eyes. She ducks I crept behind the cat, clutching my yellow and covers when a friend takes a casual sip from a red Super Soaker, ready to fire. In waiting for the whites of plastic cup and throws out a thoughtless compliment. her eyes, I failed to notice the short garden fence that She ignores her grandmother’s calls, plagued by the fear guarded our vines of green tomatoes. By the time I saw of disappointing an elder, when her grandmother was the fence, I was already screaming. I had tripped on it. actually calling to say the quilt was finished. Any At first the scream was foreign, until I tasted it attention is a blaring siren in her anxious brain. on my tongue. Then the sight of my S-shaped wrist Even the person who has committed a crime slithered in, and finally, the throb of flaming pain. without witness senses eyes from up high—the heavenly I think that was the first moment in a chain of clouds glaring down upon an earthly scum. The events in my life, like one falling domino causing the paranoia that hangs over the offender is perhaps a rest of the line to succumb. As I grew like our garden burden heavier than grief. Grief fades into soft and came to know myself in red-ripe form, the remembrance, a blanketing echo, but guilt grips the soul revelation hit me: I’m dangerously unaware of the world and never lets go. Even in death. around me. … Sometimes I just can’t help it. Swarms of As she leaned back and the contents of her thoughts buzz inside my head, worker bees pollinating whispered breath registered in my ear, it occurred to me the garden. A whole universe thrives inside me, an that I must have been the first to know. intricate network of glistening honeycombs and sharp Her shifty green eyes refused to lock with mine, stingers of truth and love and righteousness. Sometimes but the words had already escaped. I couldn’t believe it. I drift so deep into the colony that everything around me My best friend committed a crime, and not just any melts to fuzz. White noise. The static hum of a radio crime—a felony. wave. Suddenly, my duty as a friend declared war on The people in my life see the absence in my my conscience. She still didn’t speak, and neither did I, but soldiers with bulky combat boots marched in the depths of my stomach. I gulped. This was wrong. one leg to run, but it lands in the same place you started, “I have to tell someone,” I finally whispered. I and the unidentified threat behind you is lurking closer. was afraid she might rain fury down on me for my I slammed the door behind me, then silently betrayal, but shame hung over her head instead. scolded myself when dozens of eyes locked on me. “No,” she said. Barney put his hand on my still-shaky shoulder. I flinched. The abrupt word sliced through the “There you are, babe!” he said. “Where’ve you been? I air. I rubbed my elbows, trying to figure out how to was worried about you.” reason with her. The thought of prison time was He looked me up and down. I tried my hardest petrifying, but what other choice did we have? The to pretend I’d simply been out for a smoke. I felt an deed was done, the punishment was due, and I knew I imbalance between my feet, perhaps the dizziness of couldn’t live with myself if I chose to hide it for her dread weighing down on one side. sake. Then he asked: Then she spoke. “What happened to your shoe?” “It’s my crime. I have to confess.” I glanced at my feet. One was shielded by a high heel, but the other was naked and drenched in mud. gasped before I could think. I stood as still as possible, Thoughts on Greed dropping the hose and feeling the water pool beneath The Modern Petruchio me. The heels of my shoes sunk into the mud as if I When I was green in judgment, my throat were stuck in quicksand. Please, please, I thought, begged to be refreshed when I hadn’t been thirsty in the please be a squirrel. I’d never pleaded for a dirty rodent first place. In the distance I saw a rushing river, until that moment, frozen in time like the leafless trees overflowing with material, and I craved to touch the standing still in the breeze. tangible. Not tangible like the caress of an infant’s Nothing came from the crack, so I assumed it chubby hand or the protective hug of a mother. was a false alarm and pressed my abdomen to the air Tangible like clacking coins in a pocket, a cheap conditioning unit on the side of the house, cautious not jingle-jangle reward spilled out in exchange for to leave my ducking position and reveal the top of my supposedly valuable prizes. At the time, I suppose I head through the window. I shivered so hard, I think I didn’t understand that no monetary number matches the may have rattled her dead bones back to life for a pricelessness of a life of love. Love was what I lacked, moment. Forget the possibility of prison—this was and no item could replenish the gaping cavity in my karma enough for my careless act. chest, carving my insides, cold in blood. Once I felt dry, I scampered back behind the tool shed to finish the job. My arms roared with painful Wise Investments flames, but a greater, more primal instinct overruled my Our children’s stomachs grumble with hunger body’s complaints. My shoulders whined, but my gut All while executives bathe in paper money kept shouting, “Do it! Keep going!” I wasn’t a human Green with the jealousy that fuels with free will—I was a mindless gorilla. Our selfish spirits. It occurred to me in a flash. A dancing image of The currency soaks into their skin, guests chattering over hors d’oeuvres, their little Replenishing desire but never quenching crackers and cream cheese and chilled shrimp, burned in The yearning thirst for love in us all. my mind. I’d been missing for a noticeably long time.

Again, my body took control of my brain, and The corrupt forget what creates long-term joy, my legs rushed me through the grass and into the house. Instead settling for short bursts of cheap pleasure Despite my blazing speed, I felt as if I were being Like sparklers over fireworks, chased in a dream. The sort of dream when you pick up Three cherries on a slot machine. How Not to Lose a Shoe But their thirst is never quenched— Again, again, again. Always coming back for more. My blistered Achilles screamed at me as I clomped out the back door in my sparkly red pumps. I eased the Families are numbers, door shut behind me, falling under the radar of the No spring vacation or time to breastfeed a baby clamorous cocktail conversation in the kitchen. Then I When corporate America needs labor. held up my long dress and sprinted. Moms and dads break their backs The body was sprawled over a stack of shovels Just so their children can have in the tool shed. I tossed the lifeless ragdoll to the A shirt on theirs. corner and hoisted up a shovel. I had to bury it before CEOs we’ve never met Barney strutted in to show off his tackle box to the boys. Govern whether we can afford Cursing at none of them in particular but perhaps at the That trip to Hawaii. male ego that consumed them all, I swung open the They have a summer home there. wooden door and got a noseful of stale sawdust. My coughs didn’t slow me from digging. We rise up in grassroots— I flinched hard when I discovered the Cardboard signs on the sidewalk, incriminating mud caked on the front of my dress like The glint of a small rosary, blood splattered on the hands of a murderer caught A coin slipping through the red-handed. I wasn’t a murderer. I was a self-defender. Slot of the red bucket I had to hose off the filthy brown stain to cleanse myself And braving the bitter cold from suspicion, and I had to do it now. To ring the bell for help. Peering in through the yellow-glowing window to ensure the room wasn’t quiet, I cranked on the hose If you wish to invest in yourself, and sprayed the frigid water on my stomach. This, Invest in others, combined with the winter night’s howling wind, chilled And they will invest in you me down to the marrow. It was a familiar feeling—not In return. welcome, but familiar. Like how I felt when she first dropped dead. The crack of a twig filled the cold air, and I How Not to Lose a Shoe But their thirst is never quenched— Again, again, again. Always coming back for more. My blistered Achilles screamed at me as I clomped out the back door in my sparkly red pumps. I eased the Families are numbers, door shut behind me, falling under the radar of the No spring vacation or time to breastfeed a baby clamorous cocktail conversation in the kitchen. Then I When corporate America needs labor. held up my long dress and sprinted. Moms and dads break their backs The body was sprawled over a stack of shovels Just so their children can have in the tool shed. I tossed the lifeless ragdoll to the A shirt on theirs. corner and hoisted up a shovel. I had to bury it before CEOs we’ve never met Barney strutted in to show off his tackle box to the boys. Govern whether we can afford Cursing at none of them in particular but perhaps at the That trip to Hawaii. male ego that consumed them all, I swung open the They have a summer home there. wooden door and got a noseful of stale sawdust. My coughs didn’t slow me from digging. We rise up in grassroots— I flinched hard when I discovered the Cardboard signs on the sidewalk, incriminating mud caked on the front of my dress like The glint of a small rosary, blood splattered on the hands of a murderer caught A coin slipping through the red-handed. I wasn’t a murderer. I was a self-defender. Slot of the red bucket I had to hose off the filthy brown stain to cleanse myself And braving the bitter cold from suspicion, and I had to do it now. To ring the bell for help. Peering in through the yellow-glowing window to ensure the room wasn’t quiet, I cranked on the hose If you wish to invest in yourself, and sprayed the frigid water on my stomach. This, Invest in others, combined with the winter night’s howling wind, chilled And they will invest in you me down to the marrow. It was a familiar feeling—not In return. welcome, but familiar. Like how I felt when she first dropped dead. The crack of a twig filled the cold air, and I gasped before I could think. I stood as still as possible, Thoughts on Greed dropping the hose and feeling the water pool beneath The Modern Petruchio me. The heels of my shoes sunk into the mud as if I When I was green in judgment, my throat were stuck in quicksand. Please, please, I thought, begged to be refreshed when I hadn’t been thirsty in the please be a squirrel. I’d never pleaded for a dirty rodent first place. In the distance I saw a rushing river, until that moment, frozen in time like the leafless trees overflowing with material, and I craved to touch the standing still in the breeze. tangible. Not tangible like the caress of an infant’s Nothing came from the crack, so I assumed it chubby hand or the protective hug of a mother. was a false alarm and pressed my abdomen to the air Tangible like clacking coins in a pocket, a cheap conditioning unit on the side of the house, cautious not jingle-jangle reward spilled out in exchange for to leave my ducking position and reveal the top of my supposedly valuable prizes. At the time, I suppose I head through the window. I shivered so hard, I think I didn’t understand that no monetary number matches the may have rattled her dead bones back to life for a pricelessness of a life of love. Love was what I lacked, moment. Forget the possibility of prison—this was and no item could replenish the gaping cavity in my karma enough for my careless act. chest, carving my insides, cold in blood. Once I felt dry, I scampered back behind the tool shed to finish the job. My arms roared with painful Wise Investments flames, but a greater, more primal instinct overruled my Our children’s stomachs grumble with hunger body’s complaints. My shoulders whined, but my gut All while executives bathe in paper money kept shouting, “Do it! Keep going!” I wasn’t a human Green with the jealousy that fuels with free will—I was a mindless gorilla. Our selfish spirits. It occurred to me in a flash. A dancing image of The currency soaks into their skin, guests chattering over hors d’oeuvres, their little Replenishing desire but never quenching crackers and cream cheese and chilled shrimp, burned in The yearning thirst for love in us all. my mind. I’d been missing for a noticeably long time.

Again, my body took control of my brain, and The corrupt forget what creates long-term joy, my legs rushed me through the grass and into the house. Instead settling for short bursts of cheap pleasure Despite my blazing speed, I felt as if I were being Like sparklers over fireworks, chased in a dream. The sort of dream when you pick up Three cherries on a slot machine. depths of my stomach. I gulped. This was wrong. one leg to run, but it lands in the same place you started, “I have to tell someone,” I finally whispered. I and the unidentified threat behind you is lurking closer. was afraid she might rain fury down on me for my I slammed the door behind me, then silently betrayal, but shame hung over her head instead. scolded myself when dozens of eyes locked on me. “No,” she said. Barney put his hand on my still-shaky shoulder. I flinched. The abrupt word sliced through the “There you are, babe!” he said. “Where’ve you been? I air. I rubbed my elbows, trying to figure out how to was worried about you.” reason with her. The thought of prison time was He looked me up and down. I tried my hardest petrifying, but what other choice did we have? The to pretend I’d simply been out for a smoke. I felt an deed was done, the punishment was due, and I knew I imbalance between my feet, perhaps the dizziness of couldn’t live with myself if I chose to hide it for her dread weighing down on one side. sake. Then he asked: Then she spoke. “What happened to your shoe?” “It’s my crime. I have to confess.” I glanced at my feet. One was shielded by a high heel, but the other was naked and drenched in mud. Busy as a Bee A Guilty Conscience Focus is narrow when it’s sharp. That’s what I discovered the day I chased my cat Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. with a water gun. The sun was ablaze, the season was Even in a room graced with naivete and ripe, and it was time to make a splash. oblivion, the miscreant fears lingering eyes. She ducks I crept behind the cat, clutching my yellow and covers when a friend takes a casual sip from a red Super Soaker, ready to fire. In waiting for the whites of plastic cup and throws out a thoughtless compliment. her eyes, I failed to notice the short garden fence that She ignores her grandmother’s calls, plagued by the fear guarded our vines of green tomatoes. By the time I saw of disappointing an elder, when her grandmother was the fence, I was already screaming. I had tripped on it. actually calling to say the quilt was finished. Any At first the scream was foreign, until I tasted it attention is a blaring siren in her anxious brain. on my tongue. Then the sight of my S-shaped wrist Even the person who has committed a crime slithered in, and finally, the throb of flaming pain. without witness senses eyes from up high—the heavenly I think that was the first moment in a chain of clouds glaring down upon an earthly scum. The events in my life, like one falling domino causing the paranoia that hangs over the offender is perhaps a rest of the line to succumb. As I grew like our garden burden heavier than grief. Grief fades into soft and came to know myself in red-ripe form, the remembrance, a blanketing echo, but guilt grips the soul revelation hit me: I’m dangerously unaware of the world and never lets go. Even in death. around me. … Sometimes I just can’t help it. Swarms of As she leaned back and the contents of her thoughts buzz inside my head, worker bees pollinating whispered breath registered in my ear, it occurred to me the garden. A whole universe thrives inside me, an that I must have been the first to know. intricate network of glistening honeycombs and sharp Her shifty green eyes refused to lock with mine, stingers of truth and love and righteousness. Sometimes but the words had already escaped. I couldn’t believe it. I drift so deep into the colony that everything around me My best friend committed a crime, and not just any melts to fuzz. White noise. The static hum of a radio crime—a felony. wave. Suddenly, my duty as a friend declared war on The people in my life see the absence in my my conscience. She still didn’t speak, and neither did I, but soldiers with bulky combat boots marched in the eyes. They try to snap me back, tell me to pay attention. My Daddy’s Dream Live in the moment, and that moment is now. Contrary to their pleas, which the bumblebees My daddy dug his sneakers in the dirt before we will never comprehend, I only feel alive when I’m not sat in the stands, sliding back to a time when he colored there. his jersey brown. He coulda gone major league, that’s what he tells us, if it wasn’t for that broken ankle. It snapped him into sorting boxes at the post office.

When my brother crossed home base, Daddy’s beluga bellow filled the air. He swigged beer and clapped my back with his meaty hand. I still got the bruise from last game. When I glided from behind the wings in my pink leotard, I spotted an empty seat in the audience. Lizard Skin “Won’t the egg be raw?” I asked as it spun around under the hot lights. I imagined a gang of giant It gives him a thick skin to breeze through the chickens shoving a human baby in there and letting it programmed steps of each calculus problem. He never spin and cook. gives it much thought—it’s a leaf floating on the surface Tara rolled her eyes. “At first, some of it, yeah,” of a pond. His hand moves mechanically so that even she said. “It’ll be half-cooked. You break up what’s ∫∫∫, with the potential to flow over like a passion-raging cooked and put it back in for another 45 seconds.” waterfall, appears as jagged shards of glass. As a result, Before I could ask another question, she bolted he grows a spiny shield against the brutes who taunt him back to bed. day in and day out, tossing him aside like a limp banana When the microwave beeped, I pulled out the peel. half-cooked concoction. The egg fluff sat in a pool of Even his love for mathematics becomes too yellow yolk juice, a body bathing in blood. Grief rose mathematical in his quest for armored protection. He in my throat, gripping my shoulders. My vision swam sheds the soft skin of his innocent long division days into blue blotches. I pondered placing it back in the and morphs into a leathery lizard. microwave, a lethal injection to put it out of its misery, I wasted my teenage days, days of discovery and but I couldn’t bring myself to finish the job. I scraped it new horizons, developing my defense mechanism. into the trash can with a dishrag and vowed to … appreciate the instant eggs and all the meal plan When planning my wedding, I crunched the masterpieces. They sheltered me from a primitive life numbers. of shooting bow-and-arrows in the jungle and roasting “We can’t afford a cake with so many layers,” I animals over firewood, just to sustain myself. told my fiancée Sandra. I showed her what I punched I returned to studying, like civilized people do. into the calculator. She didn’t say anything, only bit her lip and moseyed over to the window. My voice cracked. “I love you, but we just can’t afford this kind of debt. If you want the cake, you’ll have to send back the dress in exchange for a cheaper one.” make your own eggs, you can do it in the microwave. Sandra’s shoulders tensed. She flung off her You don’t have to have a stove.” engagement ring. It clinked on the table. I scratched my head. Eggs in the microwave? “Maybe I should just exchange myself for a Noticing my confusion, Tara supplied, “In a cheaper woman, too,” she said through gritted teeth. mug.” “You clearly clutch your money tighter than you’ll ever She motioned for me to come to the fridge, hold me.” where I watched her dig out a carton of eggs I didn’t With that, she plopped down on the couch and know she had. She cracked one on her Class of 2020 fell into a sobbing heap. Not knowing how to remedy mug and plopped the yolk inside. the female’s broken heart, I stood there rubbing the back “Don’t you need, like… a whisk?” I said. I’d of my neck until she stood, put the ring back on, and left never scrambled eggs myself—my mom did all the for the kitchen to fix us each a plate of macaroni and cooking for me. But based on my repertoire of cooking cheese. shows, wasn’t a whisk necessary? We got married a few months later. I sucked it Tara shook her head. “What are you, a chef?” up and paid for the cake. she said as she pulled a simple fork from the drawer. … “Here, you stir it up.” I jolted up from my slouched position. At first I was hesitant, afraid that provoking the “That’s not possible,” I said. “I measured out yolk would result in a volcanic eruption over the side of my calories. I counted.” the mug. I gradually stirred faster until the egg was Dr. Petersen shrugged, as if it were no big deal nothing but yellow liquid. I felt sorry for the unborn that the plaque in my arteries was blocking my blood. chicken I’d just mangled. Was this how cooking “If you don’t get your cholesterol down, you’re in worked? Had my mom seized a live chicken by the danger of a heart episode,” he said bluntly. neck and cut off its head with an axe and dragged it My heart hummed like a hummingbird’s. Sweat inside to serve over rice? dribbled down my forehead. Dr. Petersen fiddled with Tara must have sensed the steaming lava his stethoscope and avoided eye contact. bubbling over inside me when she said, “It’s just an My family was counting on me, like I counted egg.” the calories, and I failed. She placed the mug in the microwave and set it ... to 45 seconds. Sandra’s voice rises and falls, paralleling the jumps of our children on the trampoline. “Whoa, you just touched the clouds!” she Instant Gratification laughs. She exudes a carefree spirit like the drifting It was week three, and the meal plan still wasn’t clouds themselves. cutting it. I sit on the sidelines. I enjoy the spectator sport, The bland muffins, dense with homesickness, but I can never seem to match their energy enough to and the instant eggs, fluffy with nervous butterflies, join in. They bounce more in the grass than I could on never satisfied my stomach in the mornings. the trampoline. Maybe I could lose a few, I think, My mother’s signature chicken and rice, a staple glancing down to examine the blubber gushing above of our family’s diet, was replaced by fattening fried my belt. Not too long ago, I was the scrawniest kid in chicken and a stinging soda to gulp it down. I was the neighborhood, and now I’m an old mass of dough. already struggling to make it up the stairs. I wondered “Jump with us, Daddy!” Joseph, my youngest, how Colonel Sanders stayed so slim—maybe the shrieks. military workouts? I sink lower into the lawn chair and hear it groan I stayed up past midnight and crunched ramen as its legs plunge into the mud. “Sorry, buddy,” I tell noodles while my eyes ached from reading about cell him. “Not today.” biology. The dry noodle chunks hit the pit of my His face isn’t the simplistic picture of a sad child stomach hard, like the sharp contrast of the bold black deprived of candy or toys. Instead it’s more solemn, words on the crisp white pages that set my tired eyes on carrying a mature air. “Daddy, your voice is boring,” he fire. I craved my mother’s homemade beef noodles, says finally, then returns to prancing. melty and soft like an amoeba. He’s right. While Sandra’s voice moves and I collapsed and bawled into my knees. curves, mine is unleavened bread. And, despite my “What is it?” my roommate Tara asked with plump presence, the skeleton underneath is a rickety alarm. She rushed in from bed like my mother did when machine. My joints are stiff and in need of an oil bath. I broke my leg. I’m merely three years older than Sandra, but I My brain felt mushy, like the instant eggs. “I’m feel like a cranky curmudgeon married to a stunningly sick of instant eggs,” I choked out. youthful model. And even if I had rock-hard abs and a Tara raised an eyebrow. “Those are gross. I head full of hair, I’d feel the same way. haven’t eaten them at all. But if you really want to Such is the life of a lizard.

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