Eating My Feelings by Mark Rosenberg Page B

after John Amos left.”
    “Whatever,” I said. I had no intention of offending Janet Jackson to her face more than once, but James Evans was the glue that held the Evans family together and there was no denying that.
    “Anyway, you don’t want to get old and have to worry about your weight. There are so many health concerns that come along with it.”
    “Maybe you’re right, Janet,” I said, “but my stepmother is such a whore. I kind of want to stay fat just so that bitch doesn’t get what she wants.”
    “Yes, your stepmother is a complete bitch, there is no doubt about that,” Janet said, “but, maybe if you lose weight you’ll shut her up for good.”
    “I never thought about it like that, Janet Jackson,” I said. I had never thought that the only reason I ever once thought about my weight was because my father and stepmother were constantly bringing it up. I wasn’t ready to lose weight because I was being told I needed to, and whenever you’re forced into doing something, the results are never what either party intend for them to be. Like how date-rape drugging your girlfriend never works out in anyone’s favor so you should just wait until she’s ready to put out.
    “Just trust me,” she said.
    “I will, Janet. You and your brother have entertained mefor years. I listen to everything either one of you says. But why didn’t you write me back when I asked for a lock of your hair a few years back?”
    “Oh that,” Janet said. “Well, I was on the Rhythm Nation tour. I was super busy. Here,” she said as she yanked a lock of her weave out of her head and handed it to me. “Take this. Lose the weight and prove to that bitch you can do it. And remember, Mark, growing old means giving up everything that gives you any pleasure whatsoever, so cool it with the cookies.”
    Janet disappeared. In a matter of seconds, Jeremy appeared.
    “Janet? Is it you?” I said.
    “Janet? Who’s Janet?”
    “You know, Miss Jackson, if you’re nasty.”
    “What?” Jeremy said.
    “Never mind.”
    It was all a dream.
    “It’s time for dinner,” Jeremy said, sniffing around. “Have you showered? Like, at all since you’ve been here?”
    “I plead the fifth on that one.”
    “You smell like shit!”
    “Yes, yes, yes, I know. I smell like shit. You and everyone else I have encountered today have told me that. I’ll shower after dinner.”
    “I’m sorry, Mark,” Jeremy said to me, “but I cannot sit next to you at dinner if you smell like that. You’re going to have to sit with the Italians.”
    It had taken a divine intervention from Janet Jackson, but I finally decided to bite the bullet and get my shit together. I had exactly three weeks left at camp before I got to go home, so I figured I would make the most of it. Besides, exercising wasn’t that bad. For the rest of the month of August, I ran, swam,played capture the flag, and even learned how to play basketball. As the summer came to a close, I had never been more excited to get out of a place more and was very happy to not have to be in New Hampshire anymore.
    “Bye, Mark,” Jeremy said. “I’m really going to miss you. Will you keep in touch?”
    “Probably not,” I said.
    “Well, that’s okay,” Jeremy replied. “We’ll see each other next summer.”
    “Probably not,” I said.
    I gathered my things and checked my bags one last time to make sure I had everything, but noticed several important items that I had brought to camp with me were missing.
    “WHERE ARE THOSE FUCKING ITALIANS?” I yelled.
    “They left already,” Jeremy responded.
    “They stole my
Clueless
CD and my
Melrose Place
cologne!”
    “I’m sure they didn’t mean to.”
    “Jeremy, you need to get a clue. Those Italians have sticky fingers.”
    I was about to throw something in a fit of rage when Glenn walked in.
    “GLENN!” Jeremy yelled. My confusion about everyone’s enthusiasm over Glenn continued. I still didn’t understand why everyone liked him so