Previously: Shevi has a run-in with a bully in school.
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Spicy potato chips, check. Sour sticks, check. Caramel popcorn, check. Fudgy chocolate brownies from last night’s dessert, check. One small bottle of orange soda, check. Satisfied, I crammed the stuff deeper into the knapsack and put the hideous dance clothes on top. Hopefully, it would be enough to last me for at least half of the dance class. I would ration it, I decided. I’d eat slowly and mindfully, like Mrs. Rich had told me to do.
Enjoy each bite, she’d told me, smiling. Hashem gave us food to enjoy. She’d said more, about using food as fuel to build our bodies and help us serve Him better, so I added a pear to the knapsack to make myself feel better. In the coming weeks, we’ll learn which foods help us build our bodies properly, Mrs. Rich had explained. We’ll discover which foods to eat, and how much of them we need.
Well, I need lots. I crammed in a small package of animal crackers for good measure and quickly zipped up the bag as Mommy came into the kitchen.
“Ready to go, Shevs?”
“Sure,” I said. Mommy shot me a suspicious glance and opened her mouth, but then seemed to change her mind and snapped her mouth shut.
“Let’s go, then,” she said with forced cheer.
“Please make sure Gayil stays out of the boys’ Lego,” Mommy called out to my sister as she headed to the front door. I trailed behind her. I felt sneaky and I knew what I was going to do was wrong, wrong, wrong. But I had tried to talk to Mommy, really I had. She hadn’t even tried to listen, let alone understand. I set my jaw and clenched my teeth. Well, then, she’d have it her way. I’d go to the dance class.
But I wouldn’t put myself through that agony again.
So when Mommy dropped me off at the Beis Yaakov with the same smile plastered across her face, I smiled, too, and waved her off. She looked relieved as she carefully backed out. I turned and walked resolutely into the building, past the noisy, big gym where the girls were happily gathering and up to the second floor. At this hour the school was empty and I squirreled myself into a corner in one of the deserted classrooms.
I watched the hands on the large clock on the wall sweep ‘round and ‘round the face until they reached 5:04. The dance class had started already, for sure. I couldn’t hear the music, but the gym was far away. With a little sigh, I unzipped the backpack and peeked in at my loot. I chose a purple sour stick to start with.
Mrs. Rich had said to focus on the food. To feel it in my mouth. To taste it, to feel the texture, and to chew it well. She said that when food isn’t chewed properly, it’s harder to digest. She said that when we chew food properly, we eat more slowly.
The strangest thing she said was that it takes our mind 20 minutes to realize that we’ve eaten.
Silly mind.
So I chewed that sour stick. And chewed and chewed. I felt the sugar crystals coating the outer layer of the sour stick melt on my tongue, sour and sweet and wonderful. I felt the chewy, sticky texture of the stick as I chewed it. I moved it around my mouth and thought about it.
Usually I can eat a pack of sour sticks in three minutes. Now it took me almost three minutes to eat the one stick.
The self-control felt good.
Mommy came to pick me up right on time. I was outside waiting for her. The hour had gone slowly and I was bored and irritable. My snacks had lasted, but spending an hour doing nothing but snacking, and going behind my mother’s back, hadn’t made me feel too amazing.
Apparently Mommy wasn’t feeling too amazing, either. Her eyebrows were drawn together, her face was serious and her eyes looked angry. I felt myself stiffen, and my fingers trembled as I buckled my seatbelt.
“Where did you spend the last hour, Shevi?” Mommy’s voice was even and calm, belying her agitation.
My pulse quickened. Caught.
“Your dance teacher called me. She said that some of the girls saw me drop you off, but that you didn’t show up to class. She was very worried.”
Sweat dribbled slowly down my back and I felt cold and clammy and hot and nauseous. I tried to swallow but my mouth was painfully dry.
“Where were you, Shevi?” Mommy’s voice felt like the sharp edge of my pencil sharpener.
I tried to answer her, tried to ignore the awful heaviness pressing down on me on every side. “I… I went… I…”
“Shevi!” The car was completely airless. I wanted to retort, I wanted to snap back, I wanted to scream and shout and yell. But I couldn’t bring myself to be chutzpadik. I might be heavy, but I’m not obnoxious.
To be continued…