The Brain Bug

It’s the last day of sophomore year and I’m sitting in bed watching an anime about a pair of musicians who fall in love. While I'm watching the anime, I'm cuddling the stuffed boba I got for Christmas. It smells like new sneakers and the straw looks more like a marshmallow but I still love it like it’s my own flesh and blood. His name is Mufus.

Right before I get to the performance scene I realize I haven’t eaten today. After rummaging through the fridge, freezer, and pantry, I settle on leftover shrimp, broccoli, and sausage alfredo. I’m not hungry but I haven't eaten all day so it just makes sense. Plus, it’s hard to watch TV without doing something.

I heat the pasta for one minute like I always do. I walk back into my room and sit on the left side of my bed. I do this all the time too. I take a bite of my pasta like any able person would except it’s not right. The pasta is slimy and there are hard pits in it. I want to puke and let my mouth free from this disappointment but I push it down my throat. I shiver, still feeling the slime in my mouth.

I want to try again because I know it was just a bad bite. It’s like when you’re drinking coke but you think you’re drinking a sprite. It tastes weird at first because you're not prepared. I’m prepared now. The pasta may be slimy but it’s bearable.

Except it’s not. Everything is hurling out of my mouth. I quickly rush to the toilet but I’m too late. I’m vomiting in the hallway next to my brother’s room. Luckily, the floors are wood and not carpet. That would have been terrible.

As I clean up my mess, I’m trying to piece together what went wrong. I ate the pasta last night and I was fine. Sure there were weird sausages in the pasta because my mom was experimenting but I’m not allergic to sausages. I eat them whenever my dad grills or makes pancakes.

The whole experience is freaking me out but I’m trying to move on from it. After cleaning up the puke, I grab a bag of Cheeto puffs and walk back to my room. I, for obvious reasons, am very cautious while eating Cheetos. I take slow and tiny bites like it’s one of those salted bugs they sell at the prank store. And in the end, everything works out. I don’t puke! I finish the bag in one sitting.

Tonight my mom brought back some Americanized Chinese food because she doesn’t want to cook and my brother finished off the leftover pasta when he got back from basketball practice. At least one of us is normal.

The thing about Americanized Chinese food is that it never lets you down. It’s good all the time. From shrimp-fried rice to the fried dumplings. Everything my mom orders makes me feel a thousand times better. Always.

I take a spoonful of everything. Shrimp fried rice, boneless spare ribs, orange chicken, an egg roll, and finally, dumplings.

Just like before, I walk to my room and sit on my bed. The only difference is that I'm nervous. There’s a huge voice in my head telling me that I'm going to puke again. I ignore the voice and pick up my fork but it only gets louder.

This is your life now. You eat, you puke. You know that if you puke too much your teeth will get rotten and your stomach will explode. You’ll bleed from the inside and die.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to bleed from the inside or have rotten teeth. I want to be able to eat without fear. I grab my fork and shove the shrimp-fried rice into my mouth. I’m shoving so fast that I'm choking but I don’t stop until I’m coughing the rice back on my plate.

I press my right hand on my chest and cough up the last pieces of rice. I’m so focused on composing myself that I don't notice the salty liquid filling my mouth until it’s too late.

This is my life now.

*

I’m going to meet Malik today. Well actually, I’ve already met him but this time is different. I’m going to see, hear, and feel him in person. I’m extremely nervous. What if he doesn’t like the way I smell or the way the bottom half of me looks? He’ll probably decide to spend his time with someone else.

Maybe I'm overthinking it.

I grab the box of farfalle pasta I bought at the grocery store earlier and pour it into the medium-sized pot filled with water. I add a dash of olive oil because I think that’s what my mom does. Then, I stir it for a bit before texting Malik.

George: The pasta’s cooking! I hope you’re not expecting a gourmet meal haha.

Malik: Good thing I have the pizza place on speed dial ;)

George: I’m not that bad I swear!

Malik: We’ll see.

I’m smiling into my phone while I'm stirring the pasta. Because I’m not paying attention the water splashes and lands on the burner causing it to smoke. I grab my mitt and wave the smoke away. I need to stir slower.

George: What are you doing right now?

Malik: Driving

George: Then why are you on your phone??

Malik: Don’t worry, George. I’m texting with my voice.

When the pasta’s done cooking I strain it and let it sit in the sink until I need it again. Time for the main attractions. I grab a skillet from the cabinet and wash the dust off. I don’t cook often since I don't eat.

George: Where are you going?

Malik: Picking up your surprise.

George: You got me something? What is it?

Malik: You’ll see ;)

I measure two tablespoons of olive oil and pour it into the skillet. It sizzles immediately since the burner is already hot. I add some good ole fungi and sauté it until it browns.

I add some chopped garlic to the skillet and let the mushrooms cook for a few more seconds. When the few seconds are up, I pour some vegetable broth into the skillet and reduce the heat. Now I wait some more.

Malik: What are you making anyway?

George: I told you already!

Malik: What kind of pasta?

George: You’ll see ;)

Malik: Haha so funny *insert eye roll*

George: You started it!

I move the mushroom to the side with the pasta and start on the spinach. The thing about spinach is that it shrinks when you cook it so you have to add a lot. Like a whole lot. I pour the whole bag into the skillet. It’ll get worse if I don’t.

Malik: I can’t wait to see you tonight.

George: Me too! I just hope you’re not disappointed :(

Malik: With you? Never!

I smile at that. Him saying he won't be disappointed and him not being disappointed are two different things but I'll take it. I trust Malik is telling me the truth.

After two minutes I add some salt and pepper to the spinach and put the mushrooms back in the skillet along with the pasta. Finally, I add some parmesan, Italian seasoning, and red chili pepper flakes and mix it all together.

Dinner is done. Well actually, I need to make garlic bread but I bought some premade ones so I can just pop it in the oven. All I have to do now is pray that I'll keep my food down and not embarrass myself in front of Malik Bailey, the love of my life. Hopefully.

*

When you go from eating everything in your path to not eating at all, someone’s going to notice.

In my house, we eat in our rooms unless we’re watching a movie as a family. In that case, we eat in the living room. Ideally, I would be able to take food to my room and act like I'm eating and then put it in the fridge when everyone’s in their room. What actually happens is my mom sees all the food she gave me when she goes to get her creamer.

“I gave you this chicken sandwich two weeks ago,” Mom says. She’s holding the Burger King chicken sandwich to my face. “What’s going on?”

I want to tell her about my fear of puking but I know she’ll just say I'm being dramatic. That’s what she does whenever I come to her with stuff. It’s the main reason why I stopped talking to her.

“I’m just not hungry,” I say. This isn’t exactly a lie. Ever since I stopped eating, I've been drinking a lot of water which causes me to be less hungry. It also causes me to go to the bathroom a thousand times a day.

“Since when are you not hungry,” she says. She places the sandwich on my desk and leaves my room. Part of me thinks she wants me to eat the sandwich cold but she left the door open so I know she’s coming back. Dad’s the only one who leaves the door open.

Mom comes back with more food. Rice and chicken from panda express, a pizza sub from Hungry Howies, and tuna tacos from Gator BTW. “The only thing you ate was sushi,” Mom says.

Spicy tuna and salmon rolls are my weakness. When mom said she’d buy me some, I was scared. Sushi is my absolute favorite food and throwing it up would be a disgrace. But I had to be sure I couldn't eat it. So, I let her order it.

I usually eat my sushi in the car but I didn’t want to throw it up in front of mom so I waited. Mom thought something was wrong, which technically was true, but I told her I wanted to eat it while I watched my show.

When I was safely in my room I carefully opened the container. I took in the spicy tuna and salmon smell. It made my mouth water in an "I’m not going to throw up way." I grabbed my chopsticks and started eating. 

I braced myself but nothing came. My mouth didn’t fill with salty liquid and I didn't gag. I could eat sushi! It was like my body knew that sushi was too good to throw up. I finished the whole thing in under ten minutes like I always do.

I had an extreme urge to eat later on. It was like this when I first stopped eating but after a week, it stopped. Now it was starting again. I guess I didn't realize how hungry I was. I was living off of chips, cookies, and water for at least two weeks. I thought that was enough to keep me going but I guess not.

I grabbed a plate of food like I did every night my mom cooked and I left it on my desk. For a second I thought of eating it but I drank some water instead.

“You know it’s my favorite,” I say. “I’m not going to let it go to waste.” Mom shakes her head while rubbing her forehead which means she’s annoyed.

“You haven’t been hungry for two weeks,” she asks. She picks the chicken sandwich up and shoves it in my face. Again. “I can’t keep buying food if you’re not going to eat it, George.”

“Then don’t buy it,” I say. Mom puts the chicken sandwich in the pile of food and sits next to me on my bed.

“Are you depressed,” She asks. 

“No,” I say. I think I mean it. People can be super hyper and upbeat and still be depressed. Maybe this is the early stages.

“Then what’s going on,” she asks. “This isn’t normal.”

I tell her about the puking. I know I can’t keep this in forever. Either I'll puke in front of her or I'll lose a lot of weight in a short amount of time. Both situations will draw attention.

“Sounds like a stomach bug, Hun.” She pushes herself off my bed and walks towards my desk. She collects the food and goes back to the kitchen.

A stomach bug. That explains the puking. But what about the voice in my head? When’s that going to go away?

*

“I’m impressed,” Malik says. “This actually tastes good.” I look down to hide my blush. Malik Bailey, a professional chef, likes my cooking.

“I used to cook with my mom,” I say. I stab the pasta with my fork like I’m going to eat it. “She’s a pretty good cook.”

“Maybe I should get with her,” Malik says, winking at me. I playfully roll my eyes but he’s too busy laughing to notice.

I still can’t believe Mailk is physically here in my apartment. It’s like getting glasses after years of not being able to see. With glasses, Malik is taller. He pretty much towers over me which I guess is a good thing. Malik is also way tanner. Regardless of how he looks, I'm not disappointed. Malik is still as goofy and charismatic in person as he is on the phone.

“That’s so gross,” I say, placing the fork back on my plate.

“You mean charming, right,” Malik asks. He takes another bite of the pasta. He looks over at my plate and sees that I haven't eaten. This is the part where I lie.

“Are you trying to poison me or something,” Malik asks.

“No, why do you say that,” I ask.

Malik narrows his eyes and points to my plate with his fork. “You’re not eating, George.”

“I'm not hungry,” I say.

“Oh,” Malik says, clearly disappointed. Great, now I’m bringing Malik’s mood down. 

“Actually,” I start. I want to tell Malik the truth. I think he deserves it. “I have emetophobia.”

My heart drops. That’s the first time I’ve ever said it out loud to anyone. Even when I told my mom I didn’t use “emetophobia.” I just said I threw up.

Mallik nods. “I knew there was more to the story.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” I say.

“Don’t be sorry,” Malik says. “It’s none of my business but I do appreciate you telling me.” How can Malik be attractive and a decent human being? It seems too good to be true.

“I really wanted to eat with you but I don't want you to be disgusted,” I say.

“Do you throw up after you eat a lot,” Malik asks.

“No, I don't really eat anymore,” I say.

“That's concerning, George,” Malik says.

I don’t know what to say. I know that I'm lacking nutrients but I didn’t know it would be bad enough for him to worry. People from class always tell me they don’t eat that well because college is expensive and they can’t afford groceries. I guess this isn’t the same thing.

“I don’t know how to stop the voice in my head,” I say.

Malik put his hand on top of mine. “Have you talked to anyone?”

I shake my head and look back at the uneaten pasta. Malik’s good at these types of things. For the first time, I don’t feel like an alien.

“You should. It can help,” Malik says. He stands up and grabs his bag. He comes back to the table with a business card. “This is my therapist. She specializes in these things.”

“So you're saying you have emetophobia too,” I say. I never thought I’d meet someone going through the same thing I’m going through.

“No but I struggle with anorexia,” Malik says. “I have body image issues but it’s getting better because of her.”

“Oh wow. I’m really sorry, Malik,” I say. “If it means anything, I think you have an amazing body.” I hope I don't sound ignorant. I know just because I think he has an amazing body doesn't mean feels the same way. Even attractive people feel insecure and that’s completely valid.

Malik laughs and It’s really sweet. His eyes squint so much, it looks like they’re closed. He also has one dimple on his right cheek that I didn't notice. “Thank you, George.”

“Anything for you,” I say. I pick my fork up again. Malik knows about my emetophobia so there’s nothing to worry about. He’ll understand if I don’t eat but I still want to try. I can’t marry a chef and not eat.

“Could I maybe...um...try,” I ask. “I would like to be able to eat so I can try your cooking one day.”

“Of course! I’ve eaten enough anyway so losing my appetite won’t matter,” I say.

I stab a mushroom and raise it to my mouth. This is the moment of truth. I bite the mushroom and slowly chew. I can feel the seasonings fill my mouth.

Spit it out! You know how this ends. Malik is acting cool now but wait until he sees you in action.

Pushing the voice out of my head is nearly impossible but I do it. I think of all the times I’ve eaten without throwing up. I think of cheeseburgers, steak, potatoes, Americanized Chinese food, and more. So much more.

It takes me back to before I stopped eating and before mom stopped cooking three times a week. The only worry I had was whether or not the student at my new school liked me. Parts of me wish I could go back. At least then I wouldn't be so messed up.

“How are you doing so far,” Malik asks.

Surprisingly I don’t feel sick. I feel normal. My heart isn’t speeding up like it usually does. I think it’s slowing down.

“Good. I feel like I’m just reading or something,” I say. “There’s no stress.”

Malik raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah”