I doubt it will ever stop.”

“That is so maddening,” Catalina says.

She reaches over and hugs me.

Just like Viv used to.

GETTING SOMEWHERE

I hand Doc a mini-coffin

when she wants to see my collection of

the hurtful words people say to me.

She turns the box over in her hands.

“That’s where I keep the lists,” I tell her.

“Well, I’ll say this for ya.

You never fail to surprise me.

Why a casket?”

I could tell her because it was on

clearance after Halloween,

which it was,

but I tell her the whole truth.

“Journaling showed me

I bury my feelings,

so it seemed fitting.”

She smiles.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I included the hurtful stuff

I say to me, too.

Fat Girl Rule:

You need to bully yourself

as much as,

if not more than,

everyone else bullies you.”

“Tell me more

about the Fat Girl Rules,” Doc says

as she flips through them.

“So these are the rules you live by?”

I nod.

“There sure are a lot of them, Ellie.”

“And I add new ones all the time.

I used to think if I could just

follow the rules, then

people would stop

being mean to me.

But, duh, that didn’t happen.”

Doc asks to borrow the list

to look over all the rules.

I let her.

I have them memorized.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

I know two things when

my parents hand me a

plane-shaped birthday card.

I’m going to visit Viv

over Thanksgiving break,

and Dad made it happen.

He throws his arms around me.

My dad gives the world’s best hugs,

holding me without smothering

and filling me with

warmth and love.

I lightly hug Mom,

try to keep her from feeling my fat.

Our hugs are like

trying to make puzzle pieces fit

in the wrong places.

Mom pulls away.

“Now, Ellie, remember to—”

Dad clears his throat.

She sighs.

“To have a great time.”

Away from her, I will.

FOOD BRINGS YOU TOGETHER

Catalina invites me to

an early Thanksgiving celebration

since her family’s spending

the holiday in Mexico.

Relatives pack her house,

and I wish I could live in

her kitchen.

Catalina’s mom and aunts

cook honey-baked ham,

chile-rubbed turkey with mole gravy,

tamales, tortillas,

corn bread with jalapeños,

rice and beans,

and other foods

I don’t recognize,

which smell irresistible.

They switch languages,

sometimes mid-sentence,

from Spanish to English like

Bobeshi switched from

Hebrew to English with

Yiddish mixed in.

When it’s mealtime,

it’s like a game of musical chairs

as everyone scrambles for a seat.

Catalina’s dad and abuelo

say prayers of thanks; then

everyone passes

bowls and platters around the table.

Once we fill our plates,

everyone starts

eating,

talking,

laughing.

And no one

watches what I eat.

The laughter grows after dinner

as we play games and

eat dessert:

pumpkin empanadas and flan.

I feel so happy and relaxed