My shrink said it took about twenty-one days to break a habit. It was Friday, day twenty-two and I was still addicted-addicted to Hewitt Johnson. He was a gorgeous black man, tall and fit, with luscious lips I could suck on for hours. And he had a walk. A sexy guy with street-smarts, business-smarts, confidence, money, and a high credit score walk. I loved it. It was the first thing I noticed about him at the Metro Atlanta Hair Show three summers ago, where his film production company was a sponsor. It was mostly "urban" stylists at the show, and I was one of the few white people there. I didn't mind. I grew up in Southwest Atlanta and I'd been around blacks practically my whole life. When Hewitt introduced himself, I greeted him with a simple hello and a smile. The next thing I knew, he asked me out for a bite to eat. That night over dinner, I found out he was nine years older than me, divorced with no kids, and looking for a "special" friend. I didn't know soon after that he'd be in a relationship with a simple, twenty-three year old hair stylist like me. And I didn't know being with him would be some of the happiest and saddest times of my life.
Tracey, you're supposed to be shopping for groceries, not thinking about him, I thought, pushing my cart down the aisle. If the food could talk, it would've probably told me how dumb I was. It would tell me about all the bad decisions I'd made, the stupid things I'd gotten myself into, or how I'd always put myself in bad situations. It would tell me the truth even though I already knew it. I was just too afraid to face it, too scared to be alone, and too frightened to let go.
Why did all the aisles with the forbidden, unhealthy foods call my name? Tracey! Tracey! Row two had the snack cakes, brownies, and donuts. The sodas, chips, and dip were on row five. Row eleven had the ice cream, and popsicles, and sorbets, and sherbets, and flavored ices, and-anyway, I tried to steer clear of those aisles. Instead, I stopped by the fresh produce section and looked over the carrots, lettuce, celery, and cucumbers. I tried to psyche out my stomach by telling myself the vegetables looked delicious, but my stomach wasn't stupid! My diet was going to be so hard.
My cell phone rang as I picked up a cucumber. I was glad because it temporarily distracted me. Too bad it was Hewitt's number on the caller ID and not someone I actually wanted to talk with. We hadn't been on the best terms lately. We kind of, sort of broke up, but not really. Things had been like that on and off, but it had been really intense for like two weeks-basically, ever since I told him Rejina, my roommate, saw him at the Perimeter Mall with someone else. Everyone knew that was the mall you went to when you didn't want to get caught sneaking around with someone else. The odds of running into someone you knew were slim-which made it the perfect place. If you went to Lenox Square Mall, you were sure to run into several people you knew-maybe even the one you were cheating on! That would be too risky.
I answered my cell. "Yes?"
"You can stop with the games now. Are we done with this separation deal?"
"I'll let you know when I'm done, Hew."
He was quiet for a minute. I knew he was shaking his head. He sighed and said, "I saw this special on TV today, they said sea cows are an endangered species. I said to myself, 'Really? 'Cause I've been dating one!'"
I hung up on him. I didn't have time for his bull. Why did I even answer the call anyway? I must've been delirious. Giving up just about every type of food I liked for the sake of losing weight was driving me out of my mind. I was depriving myself and still not losing weight quick enough.
I hadn't always been big. When I first met Hewitt, I was slim and sexy. I could get any man I wanted. The weight problems started after my mother was killed. Some thug shot her twice in the chest even though she gave him her purse. I was in the middle of relaxing a client's hair when I found out. I dropped to my knees right there in the shop. I felt like it was my fault. She asked me to go shopping with her earlier that day. I told her I couldn't because I had to work. Maybe if I'd gone, she'd still be alive.
The time following her death was horrible. My father died when I was eight and now my mother was gone too. I went into a serious state of depression. Food was my comfort. I swelled to 175lbs. At five-feet six, it wasn't a pretty sight. I wasn't one of those people who carried weight well. I didn't care at the time. I'd eat, turn off the ringer on the phone, and lock myself in my bedroom away from everyone. My sister convinced me to get help. She took Mom's death better than me. She had a husband to turn to for support. I felt like I had nobody. I started seeing a psychologist three days a week. Eventually, it went down to two days, then one. After that, I only saw her whenever I thought I needed a session. Soon I was getting myself on track, starting with how I looked. Name any type of diet and I had tried it: grapefruit, South Beach, low protein, low carbohydrate, Atkins, cabbage soup-and that was from last year alone. Every one of them gave me the same results. I'd lose a few pounds and gain it all back plus some. The idea of starving myself for weeks at a time only to swell up even bigger became so mentally and physically draining that for a while, I quit trying all together. It was New Year's Eve and starting Monday, January freakin' third, I'd be dieting again, I'd be a member at a health club somewhere, and I'd be giving it one more shot. I was going to stick to it!
My watch said it was almost 8:49 P.M. That meant I had roughly three hours to splurge before the New Year. I swung my cart around and headed straight for the forbidden aisles. I moved quickly before my guilty conscience kicked in. By the time I finished, my cart had a mixture of goodies I'd eat for the night, and healthy stuff I'd start eating later. I salivated over the oatmeal crème pies, zebra cakes, guacamole Doritos, chocolate chip cookies, and chocolate ice cream in my shopping cart. I couldn't t wait to munch. There was even a fifty percent off coupon attached to the box of oatmeal crème pies. I wouldn't call myself a bargain shopper. But that was a good deal. It was destiny.
I practically broke my neck trying to get out of the store and to the car. It was a chilly night, and the temperature was steadily dropping. I could see my breath disappear in front of me. I walked fast to get out of the cold.
My stomach made hunger sounds I never heard before. It anticipated my goodies. Soon as I sat in the driver's seat, I ripped open the box of oatmeal crème pies. A few fell on the floor mat. I'd pick them up later. I was occupied. Before I could swallow one pie, I stuffed another in my mouth. I licked the sticky crème filling from the corner of my lips, wiped my chin, and quickly glanced around the parking lot. I didn't see anybody. I made sure I parked far from the store. I'd be so embarrassed if I got caught.
"Mmmm, ohh," I moaned. To me, eating was like sex minus the sweat and heat.
I opened a pint of milk, took two huge gulps, burped, and shove another pie in my mouth. I could feel myself getting fatter. I just knew it. I already felt heavier, but I had a special way of dealing with that. I sucked down the last drop of milk, slung open the car door, and ducked my head so I could stick my index finger down my throat. I had to get that crap out of my stomach quick-like ASAP. As if knowing what I was about to do, my stomach contracted before my finger even reached my mouth.
"Excuse me?" said a teenager as I pushed my finger to the back of my throat. I slowly looked up. I took out my finger, cleared my throat, and faked a smile. The boy froze for a minute. He looked confused and sickened at the same time.
"Uh…yes?" I groaned.
"…You forgot your receipt." He handed it to me like he was afraid he might catch a disease or something.
I wiped my mouth. "Th…Thanks." I barely got the words out before he walked away shaking his head. Stupid kid. I watched him until he disappeared into the store, then I put my finger back in my mouth to finish what I started.
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