I awoke Monday morning to the sound of my phone ringing. Surprisingly, it was the mother of a close friend of mine and Ly’s. She informed me that her seventeen-year-old son Stefan had fallen gravely ill and was currently in the hospital. I was shocked and devastated. The idea that my friend was locked up in some cold, sterile environment made me feel physically sick.

Due to our considerable difference in age, Stefan’s mom held a grudge against Ly and me. She effectively accused us both of leading her son towards anorexia, even though Stefan was deeply entrenched in the disease years before we met him. And while we may not have guided Stefan towards recovery, we certainly did not lead him to the shared suffering that ultimately bound us together in friendship.

Despite all this previous animosity, Stefan’s mom asked, in as polite and diplomatic a tone as she could muster, if Ly and I would visit Stefan, as he was feeling alone and lost in his hospitalized state. I instantly offered my support and immediately texted Ly all the details of the situation. Without hesitation, we both agreed to visit Stefan on the upcoming Saturday.

Elio booked the day off work in order to join us. He announced his intentions on Saturday morning, just as Ly and I were getting ready to leave. Upon hearing this, Ly pulled me aside to the kitchen and gave me an uncertain look. I gently shrugged my shoulders in indifference.

“It’ll be okay,” I whispered, low enough that I was certain Elio couldn’t hear.

“If you say so,” Ly muttered doubtedly, sarcasm permeating his every word and facial expression.

We took a bus to the hospital and waited for Stefan in the cafeteria. Ly and I were both too scared to go anywhere near the psychiatric ward, where the eating disorder unit was housed, for fear that the staff might see us and try to commit us. And since Stefan wasn’t allowed to leave the hospital premises, the cafeteria seemed like the best place to meet. Ironic, since cafeterias and other eating establishments are the bane of an anorexic’s existence.

“So, how do you know this kid?” Elio asked as he looked at us both suspiciously.

Ly and I glanced at each other then rolled our eyes, having been asked this question on multiple occasions and grown tired of answering it.

I began fiddling with a napkin I pulled from a metal dispenser placed at the corner of the table. “We met Stefan about a year ago, at an eating disorder support group. He was sixteen at the time but had already been sick for almost four years. He said he was always a naturally skinny kid. Very attractive, very stylish, and very well-liked. But he was highly competitive; he always wanted to be the best.” I began slowly tearing at the folds of the napkin. “According to him, when he was ten, he became addicted to video games, determined to be the best gamer in his circle of friends. So, he spent hours sitting, playing video games, and eating potato chips and other junk food. He said he quickly started packing on the pounds. By the age of twelve, he had developed a big, round, protruding belly that everyone began to mockingly rub, smack, and jiggle, calling him a fatty. Even his parents made rude observations about his rapid weight gain. Terrified of losing his position as a pretty boy, he began a rigid diet and exercise regimen.” Ly and I exchanged a quick glance, knowing exactly what that experience was like. “By the age of fourteen, he had lost all the extra weight and more. And by the time Ly and I met him, he showed no trace of fat on his body.” I shook my head to cast aside my physical attraction towards someone who was much younger than me. “He didn’t seem to think he had a problem, which I guess was true of all of us at the meeting.” I directed my eyes downward, ruminating, as I was struck by the truth of this statement. “He was happy not eating, which everyone there agreed with, though I suppose we probably shouldn’t have.” I had ripped the napkin to shreds and pulled two more from the dispenser. I swallowed a flood of gathering saliva and tried my best to calm down, though my body shook uncontrollably. Ly looked away ashamedly. Elio placed his hand on my shoulder and began reassuringly rubbing it. I glanced at him then quickly turned my gaze to the new set of napkins that I was quickly tearing to shreds.

“Ly and I were having a smoke after one of our meetings when Stefan approached us, asking if he could have a cigarette. I remember looking at him with disgust, thinking him nothing more than an annoying little kid. I gave him a smoke just so that he would go away. But he didn’t go away. He started talking. And talking. And talking. I wanted to be annoyed but I found him fascinating. He could talk about anything. I felt that he was an old soul trapped in a young man’s body. Ignoring his age, Ly and I invited him to hang out with us. To a sixteen-year-old this must have seemed pretty cool.” I stole a guilty glance at Ly. “We talked about our experiences with self-starvation. We gave him ideas. We shared our secrets. He learned from us.” Tears began to gather in my eyes. I fought them back as best I could, which caused my cheeks to swell and my eyes to burn a bloodshot red. I finished tearing the napkins to shreds and arranged them in a neat pile on the table. I grabbed two more and started tearing away at them. “And now he’s here!” I ripped the napkins to pieces, which went flying all over the table. “And we’re free!” I spat these words from my mouth.

I crumpled the shredded napkins into a huge, loose wad and used it to wipe my eyes dry. I glanced upwards and saw a spectral figure approaching our table. He looked almost abstract at first, just a black speck against a background of sterile whites and pale grays. He had a thick, heavy blanket wrapped around him that appeared to swallow him and weigh him down so his shoulders sagged, and every movement seemed to require all the strength he could muster. He dragged a pole behind him, with a bag hanging from it that was filled with a beige liquid. From this bag extended two tubes: one that attached to a machine with a lot of flashing lights, and another that extended from the machine and was inserted through the figure’s nose, presumably stretching down his throat and into his stomach, where the beige liquid was being slowly, continuously pumped. The thought of my stomach being constantly filled with food disgusted me. I cringed and fought back the urge to begin dry-heaving.

As the figure came closer, I quickly realized it was Stefan. I momentarily betrayed a look of shock where my mouth dropped open, and my eyes bulged out of their sockets. I pulled myself together and tried to make my expression appear as neutral as possible. He sat across the table and greeted us with a casual, communal, “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good, and you?” I muttered, accentuating every syllable as I stared without blinking at the ghastly figure sitting across from me. Stefan’s entire body looked as though it was shrivelled and decaying, like a rotting corpse. His arms were like twigs projecting from a child size t-shirt that hung loosely from his scarecrow-thin frame. His skin was a pale, sickly gray with tinges of yellow that made the red and blue of his veins appear to float unnaturally above his body, as though they were a separate entity, slowly and forcefully pumping blood that wasn’t his. His face was hallow and sunken, his cheek bones protruding beyond the dark blue-purple circles that surrounded his sagging eyelids. His normally thick, lush hair now resembled withered pieces of straw that projected haphazardly from his dry, flaking scalp. He looked cold and tired, his whole body straining to keep from collapsing in a heap on the floor. I swear I could see his heartbeat vibrating through every skeletal, bony projection of his starved physique. The tube protruding from his nose and taped to his left cheek seemed to accentuate, contrast, and compliment his fading physical appearance. He reminded me of the personification of Death from Albrecht Durer’s woodcut print The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

“I’m fine,” Stefan croaked in a raspy voice. He took a deep, long breath, as though he were physically exhausted.

Ly’s mouth hung agape, and he began to shake and pour sweat. Without taking his eyes off Stefan, he quickly muttered, “I’m going to get each of us a cup of coffee. Be right back!” As Ly darted away from the table, I could see a look of sheer horror release itself across his face. Elio, looking equally as horrified, stood up to follow him. I grabbed his hand and pulled it as close to my body as I could without hurting him, as if to say, “Please don’t go!” Elio seemed to understand and sat back down. He began to gently massage my hand, trying to relax my quickening pulse.