The hours flip by on the mud-brown digital clock on
my dresser. Fluorescent
red. 1:21. 2:34. 3:18.
4:25. I am awake because I
am counting. My waist is a 27 but
should be 24. An hourglass. 36-24-36.
Toes dug into the sand, face-down on my towel,
whispering under my armpit. “I’m so fucking fat.” I’m 13 years old and
I ate 5 brownies. I should always
weigh 125 pounds.
Peanut butter. 188 calories in 2
tablespoons. 16 grams of
fat. Thickly spread on
soft white bread in the cafeteria at the camp under the redwoods. No peanut butter for
Grade point average SAT/AP scores Class ranking Tennis games Extracurriculars Friends Suitors
3000 miles away. The freezing air
whips my face on 116th Street and Broadway. 40 degrees and I’m
barefoot. On my stoop an old
man says I had Michelangelo toes. In 1984 the drinking
age in New York is 19.
Married at 32 9 pounds 11 ounces 8 pounds 7 ounces 8 pounds 15 ounces Divorced at 42 Married at 49
Carbs Laps Miles Degrees Jobs Salaries
[Belly laughs-Soulmates Awe-Transcendence-Grief Poems-Music Words Silence]
Time How much do I have
* * * * *
Eve Makoff is an
internal medicine and palliative care physician. She is studying narrative
medicine at Columbia University and reads and writes in her spare time.