The Skinny Girl
Saturday, January 30th, 2010
I first noticed the girl because unlike every other teenager in our Marin neighborhood, she walked everywhere. I’d be washing dishes at my kitchen sink and see her through the window, coming down from one of the houses at the very top of the hill, the ones my husband Tim calls McMansions.
She always walked with her head down, her pale face framed with curly brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail, earphones stuck into her ears; and she always wore the same outfit: gigantic over-sized gray sweatshirt printed with the name of a fancy private high school, black leggings, and red running shoes.
And she was skinny. Too skinny. “See that girl?” I said to Tim one day as we stood by the kitchen window and she passed by. “That girl is borderline anorexic.”
“Her?” Tim watched as she disappeared down the hill. “She’s a runner. Runners are always thin.”
But I knew I was right. Just by looking at her, I could tell she was an over-achieving good girl who played first clarinet in the school orchestra and got straight As, the one who did the right kind of community service to get accepted to an Ivy League college. I also recognized the anorexia warning signs: the oversized sweat shirt to hide a disappearing body, the headphones to block out any opinion from the rest of the world. The obsessive burning of calories.
I’d known girls just like her when, as a young woman, I’d studied dance in New York. Girls who, seemingly overnight, had gone from slender to skeletal, their weight dipping to the danger zone of double digits. You could walk into the bathroom of any New York dance studio and be knocked over by the smell of vomit and laxative use. Or see girls huddled on a bench in the dressing room, gnawing on a single square of chocolate from the corner of a Hershey bar, their calorie allotment for the day. There was nothing anyone could do for such girls. No amount of reasoning could change what they saw when they looked in the mirror.
I thought about those New York days every time I saw the skinny girl. I debated whether I should call her mother. But who would that be? Not any of the women I knew from our kids’ bus stop. No one from soccer, or violin, or church. No, this mother was someone from a different circle, her girl in high school, on the track team, their family somewhere up the hill. I considered following the girl home, but then what? Break the news to her mom that her daughter was suffering from an eating disorder? As if her mom needed to be told. I talked myself out of taking action, convincing myself that I shouldn’t intrude.
Yesterday, I was sweeping the driveway while the kids played outside and as I scooped up the pine needles and dumped them into the green can, I saw the skinny girl walking toward me downhill. She looked like a corpse. Her cheek bones were as sharp as knife blades; her black-clad legs as spindly as toothpicks. As she got closer, I could see that a thick coating of hair covered her face, her body’s last-ditch effort to keep itself warm before it gave up and starved.
When the girl walked by, I put down my broom and tried to make eye contact. I raised my hand to say hello. But the girl didn’t break her stride or turn her head. She didn’t even see me.
tagged under: anorexia.Marin neighborhood.New York dancers.track team.Writing MamasABOUT THIS AUTHOR
Jessica O’Dwyer worked for 20 years in magazine publishing, art museums, and as a high-school English teacher. After she and her husband adopted their daughter from Guatemala, she was so moved by the experience she felt compelled to find a way to share her story. She joined the Writing Mamas in 2004, where she found a supportive community of other mothers with their own stories to tell. Jessica’s essays have been published in the San Francisco Chronicle Magazine, Adoptive Families, and the Marin Independent Journal; aired on KQED-FM; and won awards from the National League of American Pen Women. She has taken workshops with Joyce Maynard, participated in the Squaw Valley Workshop, and is a dedicated student of classes at Book Passage. Her first book, MAMALITA: AN ADOPTION MEMOIR, will be published by Seal Press in November 2010. Visit her at http://www.mamalitathebook.com
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What a vivid piece. Such images!
I hope next time you catch her eye. Maybe she just needs somebody to really notice her.
Great piece, Jessica. I remember the too-skinny girls from high school as well and see others today on the bike path and at the gym. My step-sister died from an eating disorder. I’m careful not to make negative comments about my own body in front of my daughter and try to help her feel positive about hers. But at 7, she’s already picking up on messages from TV, dolls, kids at school, etc. that it’s good to be skinny. She makes comments about her tummy and legs being “too big”–they’re not– that break my heart.
What a powerful piece. You beautifully portray the dilemma of what, if anything, an onlooker can do. My sister-in-law died of adult-onset anorexia at age 57. We all stood helplessly by as she withdrew from our attempted interventions. I hope this girl has a different fate.
I also hope this girl’s fate is different, although I know how formidable an opponent anoxeria can be. Thank you for understanding my feelings of helplessness.
Too bad she didn’t notice.It almost looks as if she does need that kind of attention- I guess at one point of our life, we all would.
I’ve read in one article from the net that force-feeding should be done for these people who have annorexia. I think that’s a complete violation of human rights. What do you think?
Evan, I once knew a young girl who was hospitalized with anorexia; when I saw her, she was hooked up to an IV feeding tube. But she was a minor and her parents made that decision for her. Fortunately for her, with a lot of therapy and intervention, she recovered. It was a long road.
I could be wrong, but I do think it’s illegal to force-feed an adult who is competent enough to make his/her own decisions. That said, many recovery programs insist a person eat according to their rules if they elect to participate, but that involves free will. In the end, to eat or not eat is a personal decision. Thank you for your comments.
Hey everyone, greetings from Finland. This is a cool site. I’m wondering if you have any advice on staying out of the friend zone with women? I’m really tired of girls telling me they just want to be friends. Perhaps I’m being too much of a nice guy?
Hey Nathaniel, welcome! Glad you like our site. Re: your question. It’s been a long time since I’ve been single. Sorry I can’t help more….