Elena Vanishing Read Online Free PDF

American man with his deep voice, freshly ironed lab coat, and habit of talking about me right in front of me as if I’m some kind of animal.
    â€œI guess so,” she says, and we avoid each other’s eyes for a minute. I count my breaths to give myself courage, one-two, one-two, and pick up a pickle spear as a gesture of good will. Pickles are safe. They don’t have many calories.
    The sodium will bloat you up
, says the voice in my head.
    â€œI like your eye shadow,” I say to the tech and then bite the pickle spear. It tastes nasty, so I put it back down.
    â€œThanks,” she says, brightening.
    â€œDo you like working here? Are you an RN?” I ask.
    As I talk, I pick up the sandwich with one hand. With the other, I pick up the plastic wrap. I spread the plastic across my lap. Then I hitch my chair closer to the table so the wrap won’t show.
    â€œI love it here!” she says. “I started this spring. I’m an LVN right now, but I’m going to start an RN program in the fall.”
    â€œHave you always wanted to be a nurse?” I ask. “When did you know that’s what you wanted to be?”
    â€œLet’s see . . . ,” she says, shifting her gaze to stare thoughtfully into the distance. People generally stare into the distance when they’re trying to remember.
    That’s when I slip the cheese from the sandwich and drop it into my lap.
    By the time the meal is over, I feel like I’ve made a new friend. I’ve also managed to stuff half the food into the plastic wrap. I hold it in a fold of my gown while the tech clears away the table, and I stash it under my pillow until she leaves.
    She’s supposed to stay with me till Mom gets back, but she and the other tech take a minute to haul away the little table. That’s a lucky break. There’s no time to get to the bathroom, but I slip out of bed and hide the contents of the plastic wrap inside a low cabinet by the door. I’ve managed to keep hold of the chip bag, too. An empty bag might be useful. My stomach feels tight, and the pickle has bloated me up, but it’s not as bad as it could have been.
    Take
that
, you damn psychiatrists! Let’s see you figure this one out.
    This new psychiatrist is just as bad as the other one
, says the voice in my head.
He’s going to have you locked up with real anorexics.
    The thought staggers me. I’m nowhere near thin enough to handle that! Anorexics have serious willpower. They’ll see me as a big fat failure. They’ll think being in an institution is my idea, like I’m trying to join their club, and they’ll hate me for it. I already wasn’t thin enough to meet real anorexics before, and who knows how much I’ve ballooned thanks to this feeding pump?
    My hand flutters nervously to my collarbone to feel how much flesh is there. I can poke my finger into the fat on either side of it. This isn’t good! If there’s even a chance I could end up with real anorexics, I’ve got to find a way to lose more weight.
    Mom comes back from the cafeteria. Her face is older than I remember. She ought to wear makeup. Everyone can see how tired and pale she is.
    â€œWhat did you do while you were thrown out of the room?” I ask, trying to cheer her up.
    â€œI went and ate supper, too, at the hospital cafeteria,” she says. “Chicken-fried steak and collard greens—you can tell we’re in the South. And chocolate pudding for dessert.”
    â€œI wish I’d had pudding,” I joke. “I guess there’s no dessert on the anorexia protocol.”
    â€œThat’s too bad,” Mom says, and she means it. Mom has a sweet tooth.
    The blond nurse comes back to check on me. I like her because she’s so direct. “No passing out, remember,” she warns me, and she moves a chair into the shower stall so I can wash my hair. I take note of how she turns off the