Shevi and her mother go to see the doctor who makes it clear that her weight is unhealthy for her. He refers them to a pediatric nutritionist and suggests Shevi begin exercising.
* * * * *
Mommy smiled at me brightly as we left the doctor’s office. “Sounds fun! I think there’s a dance class for teens at the Bais Yaakov. I’ll look into it when we get home. You’ll get to meet new people! And move around to fun music! Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“No,” I said darkly, glowering. “It doesn’t.”
Mommy went right on talking as if she hadn’t heard me. “I’m going to schedule a meeting with the dietician for as soon as possible. We’ll do this, Shevi, we can do it! You’ll look amazing, you’ll feel good, you’ll be healthy – and you won’t be teased anymore.” Mommy shot me a meaningful glance as she said that.
I didn’t answer. The day before I had been quietly eating my snack at school during a short break between classes. Two of my classmates had sauntered over to me. Feeling my heartbeat quicken, I had glanced up anxiously. Past experience had taught me to be wary. Very wary.
“So, Shevi,” Tamara had drawled, “Don’t you think you should be eating celery sticks or an apple or something? I mean, vanilla wafers aren’t going to enhance your appearance too much now, will they?”
Sometimes I felt jealous of my brothers. They had no problem beating kids up if they were being made fun of. I could just see my fist whizzing through the air and smashing Tamara’s maddening smile into bits. Of course, I couldn’t do that. I’d get in trouble, and besides… I didn’t want to hurt people. But oh, Tamara was hurting me so badly that my chest hurt.
“Yeah,” Adina had continued with a sneer when they saw I wasn’t planning on answering. “And all you do is sit here in your seat. All day long. Why don’t you join us outside for some sports in the yard? You know, move a little, get some exercise? It’ll do you a lot better than sitting here eating wafers.” Tamara and Adina had burst into loud, rollicking laughter as I sat there silently, clutching the plastic snack bag tightly.
Now, in the parking lot walking beside Mommy in the sunlight, the pain returned sharply. I had to struggle to catch my breath. Mommy noticed, and said, “You know, when you lose the extra weight, walking won’t leave you so winded anymore.”
I felt my insides crumple. Never before had I felt so utterly, completely alone and misunderstood.
*****
So my fate was sealed. Written in stone. No way around it. I was signed up for the teen aerobic exercise class, and I was supposed to be excited about it.
The classroom was stuffy and I slumped lower in my hard plastic school seat. Hadn’t Dr. Segal said I should do something I enjoy? When had I said that I enjoyed dancing? My goodness, I despise dancing. Honestly, I have no clue why people enjoy dancing – I watch them whirling and twirling and I’m like, Why in the world do you think this is FUN? I think I’ve mentioned this in the past, but my idea of fun is sitting on the couch reading a deliciously good book and munching on even more deliciously good cookies, preferably with lots of chocolate or powdered sugar on top. I’d even compromise and take chips or pretzels if there weren’t any cookies.
Something told me that there would not be any cookies at the exercise class. Or chips. Not even pretzels.
I screwed up my eyes tightly, trying to block out the images of what would happen on Tuesday afternoon. Five o’clock would find me showing up at the gym, looking like a blimp next to all the tall, willowy and skinny girls lining up. Then the teacher would turn on the music and probably start showing us steps, which we’d be supposed to follow. All around me, graceful dancers would move effortlessly, while I, like a little elephant, would proceed to make an utter fool of myself. What’s that expression about two left feet? Well, whatever it is, I think I have that. Two left feet, that is. I know that I’ll never be able to coordinate my movements and move the right foot at the right time. And I can’t keep a rhythm – gosh, my siblings won’t even let me sing zemiros at the Shabbos table, I go so off-key. How in the world would I survive this?
No, I decided firmly. I can’t do this. I won’t go. It’s that simple. I simply won’t go and make myself into a laughingstock, a spectacle. Mommy couldn’t make me. It would be cruel. And anyway, what would she do? Haul me off my bed and into the car? I’m too heavy for her to drag anywhere…
I couldn’t decide what I was dreading more: the scheduled appointment with the dietician next week, or the dance class. After contemplating for a few moments, I decided the dance class was decidedly more terrifying.