Woolgatherer

 

Birds soaring high above the clouds to reach a comforting patch of blue sky, a duck resting boldly on a turbulent wave or an escape into a movie drama that is destined for a happy ending… These were only a few of the places where Rita could find solace, and for a brief moment become anyone other than herself. Rita Collins was more than a daydreamer. Her knack to transform ugly thoughts, bad imaginations or negative conditions into something uniquely whimsical was a gift she relied on for many uncomfortable situations.  Quite simply, her mind could enter a level of animation that, when done in public, always caused a giggle or two. Her sudden outbursts of one-way conversations were usually an instant response to the pleasantries she fabricated to distort the reality of taunting, which was constant during her high school years. One afternoon during her lunch period, Rita was caught staring at a beautiful butterfly hovering over a flower bush. ”Such a beautiful insect,” she thought as she studied the brightly colored wings fluttering in flight. She closed her eyes but could still see the multiple reflections of color that reminded her of a kaleidoscope. She closed her eyes tighter and tried to imagine herself being that beautiful and exciting.
The weather in California was considerably hot and most of the students at Jefferson High School were dressed appropriately for it. Rita, on the other hand, wore a long black loose-fitting dress to offset her obesity, and a hat to protect her pale, pasty, sensitive skin from the sun.  Still mesmerized by the butterfly, she stood up to get a better glimpse and immediately drew attention to herself; unbeknownst to her, standing directly in her line of sight was Keith, a very popular and handsome football player. “Look at that fat disgusting pig drooling over something she can’t have,” a girl from the in-crowd said to amuse those with the same mind-set.  Rita noticed the snobbish clique who, as usual, was gathered in their sacred spot, and even though she could not hear what was being said she could identify with the glares and snickers that were undoubtedly directed towards her. By this time Keith was among the arrogant group feeling like the king they had dubbed him to be.
“Did you see the junk food eater checking you out?” Marsha, the leader of the pack, asked. Keith gave no response but he knew exactly who she was referring to. After all, he was the one to coin-the phrase.

“Rita, Rita the junk food eater.”

Rita was the only living child of Dr. Bernard L. Collins and his beautiful wife Linda. Her eight-month-old sister died a crib death (SIDS) on April 3^rd exactly one year before Rita was born, which everyone except for her mother, considered ironic.  Linda clung to the illusion of reincarnation; she spent most of the time living in an uncomfortable state of déjà vu believing the erroneous familiarity was a curse due to her bad parenting. During the first pregnancy, Linda was determined to keep her shapely figure. Although warned by doctors to increase her daily calories she continued on a diet of lean meat, vegetables and cottage-cheese.  She exercised faithfully with little or no regards to the unborn child. Her husband was aware of her obsession to stay thin, but after reviewing her food choices found nothing wrong with them; however, he did find the exercise routine to be strenuous and too risky. He tried reasoning with her, but being a clinical psychologist he handled the situation as a professional rather than a caring husband.

“We need to address the root of your problem… You need to let go of the past…. Your modeling days are over…” These were just a few of the insensitive remarks that made matters worse.
“My modeling days were over when I married you… I sacrificed my career for yours… but I’ll get it back!” Linda was convinced that she would one day return to the catwalk and eventually re-claim her status of supermodel.  She stuck to her diet, and to spite her husband, exercised even more.

Baby Grace was born prematurely and a little undernourished, but under the circumstances she was considered healthy. Linda was so smitten with the newborn she never wanted to leave her alone. Dr. Collins became concern when he frequently saw his wife standing over the crib monitoring their daughter’s breathing.  As fate would have it Linda’s anxiety was not unwarranted.

One year later Rita came into the world under a different set of circumstances. Her mother had set aside her modeling expectations to concentrate on, what she believed was her second chance of becoming the perfect mother. Her father, who often felt neglected, dedicated all of his time to the troubled souls referred to him by the judicial system. During Rita’s preschool years, her mother clearly overcompensated for her past selfishness by using food to pacify her cranky toddler. Candy, cookies and other sweet enticements were always available and frequently offered once the child became unruly.  When Rita entered the first grade she was a cute chubby little kid.  When she entered the fifth grade she was a pretty little girl who, according to her mother, was still carrying her baby fat. By the time she entered high school she was a beautiful young teenager, painfully over weight and clinically considered obese.  Her father diagnosed the condition as a compulsive eating disorder but her mother considered it a lack of willpower; she also considered it an embarrassment to the family, especially when the family included a doctor and a former supermodel.
Finally, when the sight of her daughter became unbearable, Linda decided to take matters into her own hands.  She devised a plan to monitor the number of calories Rita could consume. Referring back to her own starvation practices, she restricted her daughter to a thousand calorie a day diet and posted what she thought was an acceptable food list on the refrigerator door.  Rita often complained to her father about the unreasonable routine but he usually sided with her mother, however there were times when he felt empathy for his two hundred and fifty pound daughter.  He knew better than to sabotage his wife’s plan but he saw no harm with a little aiding and abetting once in a while. “Take this money and buy yourself something and remember this is just between the two of us,” he would say with a wink and a smile, a gesture that felt like a rite of passage, a moment to mark her transition from adolescence to adulthood. “Thanks for your trust Dad,” she said…. “I only wish Mom could trust me too,” she thought.

The secret money exchange was repeated so often it became expected. At least twice a week Rita would find a way to be alone with her father, and without saying a word receive his cloak-and-dagger gesture; this additional money plus the sum of her allowance was enough to support her compulsive eating demands. At school, usually during lunch break, her routine was to suddenly disappear and show up in front of a vending machine and when she thought no one was looking attack it with vengeance. One afternoon during math class Rita asked to be excused; after getting permission to go to the restroom she went directly to her food source instead.  As she stood in front of the machine feeding coins into the slot, a bag of potato chips got stuck. She quickly deposited more coins but the machine rejected them. ”I don’t have time for this,” she said kicking and shaking the ruthless machine that refused to accept ransom for her captive bag of saturated fat.  All of a sudden she felt the presence of someone standing next her, but being too embarrassed to turn she used peripheral vision to see that it was Keith, the handsome football player.  Keith was standing so close she could feel the heat generated by his body. She quickly closed her eyes and visualized herself being beautiful, she pretended her body had morphed into a slender voluptuous figure and her hair had become long, silky and a beautiful shade of ginger.  “Hi Keith…,” she said, still under the illusion of make-believe.

Keith looked at her with a generous smile. “Hi Rita, is that stupid machine stealing your money?” Rita took a deep breath to absorb the diffuse fragrance of toiletry. “I could live in his scent forever,” she thought.  Suddenly, Marsha, the alluring little tyrant who had been infatuated with Keith since preschool, appeared from out of nowhere.  “No, the machine isn’t stealing money. It’s probably empty because she ate everything in it,” she smirked and took Keith by the arm as if to stake her claim. “Everyone knows Rita has a thing for the vending machine.” She sneered again before pulling him away.  Keith went willingly and immediately reverted back to his macho image.
“Rita, Rita the junk food eater,” he shouted as he strolled away laughing.
“Rita, Rita, the junk food eater. “That’s a good one,” Marsha laughed.

Rita was devastated. She tried to imagine herself away from the cruel remark, but Marsha’s voice continued to jab and stab as it echoed through the corridor. Soon everyone in school caught on and the trendy little phrase became her dreaded moniker.

 The Michaels

Keith Michaels was a good-natured kid, but like most kids of his generation, he was bound by the challenges of peer pressure. His good looks and athletic abilities automatically set the pace for those who admired and tried desperately to be like him. Keith walked through the corridors, especially after a successful game, like a rock star or more to the point like a Hollywood star working the red carpet. His high school popularity was fashioned by girls smitten with his sex- appeal and boys infatuated by his incredible football stats. Students and faculty alike were so enthralled by his athletic qualities they failed to recognize the façade and how uncomfortable he was in his own skin. The cocky attitude, the witty remarks and the taunting, aimed at those his clique considered beneath their social level, were merely in response to peer pressure. Keith was actually a person with passion, he never considered himself better than the ones he pretended to be better than.   Whenever he was separate from his inner-circle he would go out of his way to be kind to the not-so-cool- kids, this gesture elevated Rita’s admiration to an even higher level. “Why can’t he just be himself,” she always wondered. Keith, the youngest in his small family of three, had an older brother Paul, a Marine who after two deployments in the Middle East decided to make the military his career. Keith often wondered if his brother’s choice was a devotion to the military or an escape from an embarrassing home situation. The two boys grew up without a father. The only thing they knew about the man was his name, “Paul Michaels,” a name whispered only on occasions when a story about “the good old days” was being told. Mr. Michaels was a good looking man with a lot of charisma and a wandering eye; with his smooth talking and alluring methods he could charm even a dedicated wife away from her husband, and that’s exactly what he did. Paul Jr. was only two years old when his father left home, leaving his mother alone and pregnant with his brother Keith. His mother Catherine was an educated woman who put her life on hold to support the get-rich-quick schemes her husband would constantly come up with. The numerous failures of these ridiculous ventures put a strain on their dwindling bank account and always created an unhealthy atmosphere of tension. As time moved on Catherine found ways to endure the harsh realities of being a single parent. As each day brought new tribulation she turned towards food as a way of coping. Her daily routine usually began with a trip to the local donut shop; her trips became so frequent everyone in the shop knew her by name. At first the recognition made her feel special but after her visits increased, and her weight soared to a noticeable extent, she began to feel self-conscious. Her obvious gluttony became such an embarrassment she decided to discreetly buy her pastry from the grocery store. Within a few months Catherine, according to the definition of the word, was considered obese and her life as a recluse was suddenly cast. It was during the week of Christmas, while Paul was home for the holidays, that Keith decided to do an intervention. Paul however had doubts about it; he felt his mother wouldn’t leave the house for anything, especially for a therapist who would undoubtedly challenge her eating habits. Keith had anticipated skepticism and came prepared. “Hey man, I know what you’re thinking… but Ma won’t need to leave the house, Doctor Collins has agreed to Counsel her here at home.” “We can’t afford private counseling and who the heck is Doctor Collins? Keith clearly understood his concern.  “Remember that chubby little girl Rita, the one with the sexy mother, you know…the lady we used to gush over?” Paul laughed at remembering. “Yeah, man she was beautiful.  I remember when we saw her picture in a magazine; I think I kissed it a thousand times.” Keith’s mind drifted back to join the intimate thoughts of his brother.   “I think I kissed it a million times; all the boys in the neighborhood had the hots for her.”

Both brothers were now resting in an illusion that was teetering on the brink of lust. Keith shook his head as if to tell it “You better not to go there,” and so he didn’t; instead he forced his thoughts in a different direction. He began to think about Rita, not the chubby little girl he used to play with but the high school senior he was ashamed to be seen with.  He thought about his rudeness towards her and wondered why she had never tried to retaliate, especially with the damaging information she probably had about his family, more to the point… his mother. The more he thought about it the more he wondered why he hadn’t thought about it before. “Rita’s really not that bad; she just likes to pretend a lot,” he concluded.

Paul unintentionally interrupted his brother’s delusional thinking. “Wasn’t her husband some kind of doctor?”

“Huh?“

Paul laughed at the dumb expression on his brother’s face. “I was asking you about Rita’s father. Wasn’t he some kind of a doctor?”

“Yeah, he was a Doctor and still is… He’s a shrink”

“Oh yeah… Good old Doctor Collin. I remember him”

“The best part about good old Doctor Collins is, he won’t cost us a cent. He’s doing this pro-bono.”

 

 Intervention, for lack of a better word.

When Catherine walked into the room of familiar faces, she knew immediately that their serious expressions had everything to do with her. As she hesitated, contemplating flight or submission, a surreal feeling of encouragement guided her into the room. Doctor Collins who sensed her hesitation was not out of defiance but out of embarrassment, quickly jumped to his feet as if coming to the aid of a sightless person. “Hi, I’m Doctor Collins,” he greeted her, stretching his long arm around her broad shoulders and carefully guiding her to a designated seat. Catherine knew exactly who he was: He was the Doctor who had the beautiful wife with reality issues, he was the doctor with an obese child that talked to herself, and he was the doctor who could not fix his own problems but had the audacity to think he could fix hers. Catherine felt humiliated by the sympathetic eyes that meant her no harm, she felt like a sheep being led to slaughter, yet she allowed herself to be handled and for the sake of good intentions she complied.

Everyone in the room had a chance to voice their own opinions. Keith was the first one to spring into action by discussing the effects his mother’s depression had on him; he went on about his concern for her health and her apparent lack of it. Paul, who eagerly agreed with every word, rocked back and forth with his lips tightly compressed and his fingers stiff and interlaced. His revealing body language quickly caught the eye of Doctor Collins who recognized his psychological discomfort and decided to give him his turn to speak. “Paul, is there something you’d like to add?” Paul’s lips suddenly parted. “Yes,” he replied with a long drawn-out sigh followed by a hardy gulp of air to help build his momentum. He knew he had to seize the opportunity to vent his truth; he had to come clean about his reason for staying away so much. “Its tough love,” he told himself before confessing how embarrassed he was by the sight of his mother. He accused her of caring less about her appearance and more about wolfing down a dozen glazed donuts. Auntie Gayle, Anita’s older sister who was there merely for the sake of increasing the number of attendance, went on a rant about the negative effects an intervention could have on a person. She accused Doctor Collins of being incompetent and her nephews of being insensitive. “My sister knows she needs to lose weight, she doesn’t need you to tell her.” Catherine finally had enough. “SHUT UP! My sons are only trying to help me,” she shouted with tears streaming down her face. Keith could feel her pain and he felt responsible for it. Paul sat there feeling guilty for being so blunt. “Boys, I am sorry it had to come to this.” She hung her head in shame.
Doctor Collins sat quietly knowing the back of hopelessness had just been broken.

As weeks turned into months and the months developed into a full year of counseling, the initial stage of progress was finally in the making. The unchallenged demons of a lost soul were brought into light and defeated by a man who cared, and a young girl with an active imagination.

Catherine attributed everything about her new attitude to Doctor Collins, not for the reason one would expect but merely on the grounds of him being the father of a remarkable child. It was on the day when she mustered up enough courage to leave the house and walk to her counseling session. Although the office was only one block away, it felt like a thousand for a woman who stood five feet tall and tipped the scale at a gaping three hundred plus pounds. With each agonizing step she could feel insult to the soles of her feet, and prayed they would carry her just one step farther. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” she prayed aloud, as she painfully attempted another step. “God help me, I don’t think I can do this…”

“Yes you can,” a soft voice said coming from behind.

Before Catherine could turn around, the voice, now recognized as Rita’s, was standing next to her. “Hi Mrs. Michaels, it’s good to see you out and about. Are you on your way to see my father?”

Catherine wiped her brow with a ratty piece of tissue drenched in perspiration “I was trying to, sweetie, but I don’t think I can make it,” she puffed and patted her forehead again.

“Hog wash! I just heard you say you could do all things through Christ. Don’t you believe that?” Catherine looked around as if wishing a chair would miraculously appear. ‘Well… I believe God works in His own time and not ours,” she replied. Rita began taking baby steps, inching her way forward urging Catherine along with her. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if we were running in the Boston Marathon right now?’ she asked trying to encourage a conversation. Catherine didn’t laugh at the notion, she just smiled. “Can’t you just see us, two fat asses crossing the finish line?” Rita continued, but this time Catherine did laugh, and without realizing it, she had taken a few more steps. “We could become the poster children for fat-ass marathon runners,” Catherine said as she inched her way into another step…and another… and another, until finally she had reached her destination. Doctor Collins was near the window when he caught a glimpse of his daughter and his student frolicking together. The doctor liked to refer to his patients as students, because to him that’s what they were. They were students trying to learn how to live life on life’s terms, so when it came to recording their progress, he specifically, used two academic categories: Freshman and Senior. Freshman, being the first level of therapy and Senior being the last; anything in between was considered acquaintance.   While he watched, almost to the point of clinically studying the oversized figures, a sense of discernment came over him. “What progress have I actually made with my daughter? She should definitely be more than an acquaintance; maybe I’ve been too lenient with her and those ridiculous fantasies. As he continued watching the women he noticed them looking up at the sky and laughing, they seemed to have a mutual interest in something real or unreal depending on who was telling the story. He also noticed that in spite of their age difference they seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves. His face suddenly brightened with a smile. “I can’t remember the last time she took pleasure in a real person,” he thought.

Without warning his wife Linda entered the room upsetting the atmosphere. “Misery loves company,” she mocked, spying over her husband’s shoulder. “Wow! I had no idea Mrs. Michaels was “that” big, and look at our daughter! She’s nearly as big. And then came the rhetorical question. .. “Where did we go wrong?”

When Catherine sat across the desk from Doctor Collins for the first time, she seemed like a changed person. Unlike most freshmen, who usually appeared detached and timid, she was totally relaxed and oozing with questions. “How many steps does it take to complete a mile?” was the most impressive one. The doctor wanted to smile, but for fear of diluting the seriousness of the question, he held back. “It takes two thousand steps to complete a mile,” he replied with cast-iron certainty. “Do you plan to start walking?”

“Well… thanks to your daughter I’m willing to try.” The Doctor was more curious than impressed. “Really?”

“Yeah, she invited me to start walking with her. Your daughter is incredible, and she’s so mature, more mature than a lot of adults I know. Did you know she walks a mile every day?” The doctor could only repeat himself “Really?”

“You sound a little skeptical Doc, Don’t you believe it?”

Doctor Collins had to weigh his words carefully, the last thing he wanted to do was alienate a promising relation by portraying his daughter as a liar. “Sometimes Rita indulges in fantasies; she tends to alter unfavorable situations by using her imagination to correct them.” Suddenly he was reluctant to continue; he hesitated, perhaps he had said too much.

Catherine felt compelled to continue. “That’s exactly what she does, she uses her imagination,” Catherine got so excite she had to stand up. “She had me believing I was running next to her in the Boston marathon.”

“Yes, my daughter can be very persuasive, but I seriously doubt she’s walking a mile every day. I’m afraid she just pulled you into her little fantasy of the day.

I’m sorry doctor, but I don’t think you really know your daughter.

 

  My mysterious child.

The more he thought about it, the more plausible his daughter’s secret about walking a mile became. He thought back and remembered the sound of the front door locking much earlier than usual, and to his daughter’s heavy panting as she rushed to sit down to the breakfast table.  “Perhaps I don’t know her as well as I thought I did,” a disturbing thought, but not as disturbing as hearing about his only child’s endeavor through a patient. A new patient, even.

For a while he just sat there staring at Rita’s picture, a beautifully framed photograph he kept next to his computer. “Oh, my sweet little woolgatherer…you always shared everything with me.” He thought about her quirky little notions and realized how much he missed that part of her unique personality.

Suddenly he was interrupted by his wife, who as usual popped –up from out of nowhere. One minute he could hear her voice in the distant gossiping on the phone, and in the next minute …Bam! She was just there, faceless, like a misfiled library book without a category. “It smells like someone’s been smoking in here” she barked rushing over to open an already opened window. Doctor Collins laughed at his wife’s predictability. He knew in advance what her reaction would be, especially from the scent of his “Cedar tobacco” candle, a gift given by his prettiest female patient. “Tobacco scented. Ridiculous.” Linda murmured as she tapped the candle wick with her finger to extinguish its tiny flame. “And by-the-way, your pretty little gift bearer is getting fat.” She maliciously added before storming out of the room. Dr. Collins laughed to himself but said nothing. He chose to invest his energy in a more important concern….his child

Rita’s, morning walks would routinely put her in the vicinity of Keith’s house, a route not as practical as the path next to her house that was generally used by bikers, dog walkers, joggers and feisty senior citizens governed by their pedometers, but the route that led her to the bedroom window where she knew the boy of her dreams slept. There were mornings when she stood beneath his window draped in a cloak of illusion, with an imagination so vivid she could actually smell the imaginary coffee brewing for her invented husband. However on this particular day, the day after meeting Catherine, she felt a real connection to the house. She felt authorized to walk up the steps and boldly ring the bell.

“Hey Rita, what brings you here so early?”

Rita was stunned. She had not anticipated Keith answering the door, especially shirtless with his hair dripping wet. She just stood there knowing her mouth was open but not even her imagination could close it for her. “Um, um.” she grunted as if mentally challenged. Keith removed the towel from around his neck and started teasing her with it. “Um. Is that all you can say?” Suddenly, Catherine was there for the rescue. “Stop teasing my new friend. Rita invited me to start walking with her every morning; we’re training for the Boston Marathon.”

Catherine felt extremely motivated, not only by her new mission, but by the confidence her young and unusual commandant had in her. Catherine wondered, but refused to question her young friend about her social life; she could only assume it was similar to her own… nonexistent.

Nonexistent would be an accurate way to describe Rita’s friends, social activities and boyfriend prospects; however, the circumstances of her situation where self-imposed. She ignored the empty seat at the outcast table during lunch break, and any invitation to join a study group she considered an insult to her intelligence.

Rita always felt older than her peers. She considered them shallow and their actions, especially the choices they made, confusing. The attraction she had towards older people added fuel to the notion of her being peculiar.  She had a remarkable talent for reading people; unfortunately her appraisals were usually harsh but always on point. Such was the case with Catherine, an honest assessment by an intuitive young lady.
“BFF” followed by a fist bump became their salutation.

Although he would never admit it, Keith was becoming captivated by the odd girl who, purely out of good intention, befriended his mother and created an environment of healthy living and a realistic purpose. It had been six months since Rita and Catherine or “Cat” a nick- name she now preferred to use, joined a weight loss program and the results of their enthusiasm was obvious. “Ma, why is Rita still wearing those baggy clothes? You’d think she’d be proud of her figure …What the hell? It’s Rita we’re talking about, Rita the weirdo.”

“Watch your mouth son. We only use the “H” word when we’re trying to save someone from going there.” Catherine playfully scolded. But why the sudden interest in the way Rita dressed? Perhaps there’s a bud of romance on the vine.” She smiled …after all; by his own admission he thought Rita’s new figure was something to be proud of. Catherine’s reasoning began to invoke the cupid within allowing her to clearly see the possibility.

Another shopping bag with a designer logo missed the bed and landed on the floor as Linda flung it with less enthusiasm than before; her repeated efforts to showcase her daughter’s new, improved and acceptable body had become a challenge; another new dress and another excuse not to try it on. “This dress is perfect for you; it will accentuate your figure.”

“But I don’t want to accentuate anything. I don’t want people staring at me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You should be proud of your new figure…I am.” Rita was becoming agitated “I didn’t do it for you Mom. I did it for me. I did it to save my life.”

 

Sweet Blossoms 

Rita and Catherine became inseparable. The combination of their intelligence and creativity blended so perfectly it was inevitable that a lucrative venture would arise from it.
The job of crystallizing edible flowers took a lot of time and patience, but the rewards were well worth it. The ladies spent a lot of time researching the many variations of blossoms and also their potentials. For example, the Calendula, also called Marigold is a wonderful edible flower; its flavors range from spicy to bitter, tangy to peppery. The dandelion, a member of the daisy family, is sweetest when picked young.  It has a sweet, honey-like flavor ideal for crystallizing. Lavender, day lily, thyme, dill, cilantro, squash blossom, chives, and basil were other nuggets of nature the ladies enjoyed working with. Catherine, who had a background in marketing, knew the importance of advertising. “We need a logo and a catchy little tagline.”

“What’s a tagline?”

“Well basically, it’s a summary of what you’re selling reduced down to one simple catchphrase.
Rita closed her eyes and placed her hand on her forehead. “Hum mm, hum mm…
I feel a tagline coming on,” she joked, but when she opened her eyes she smiled and whispered. “Sweet Blossoms with a touch of elegance.”

Rita’s passion was in the whimsical aspects of the venture. Her amazing talent for transforming sugary little pedals into pieces of art allowed her comfort in the realm of reality and pleasure when she created her tiny pieces of sweet make-believe. Rita with her artistry and Catherine with her marketing skills were quick to transform a simple receipt of nature into a sweet little money maker.
One Saturday afternoon as Rita was filling orders; Keith sat down next to her and asked if he could help. “Football practice was canceled and I have nothing else to do,” he sulked.

“Aren’t I the lucky one; a big handsome jock like you, wants to help a poor pitiful girl like me.”

Keith got up and stood behind Rita. He gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, leaned over and whispered into her ear “There’s nothing pitiful about you Rita. On the contrary, I think you’re special. “Will you please go to the prom with me?

Two strangers harboring the same secret met on a day when one cried out for help. Two outsiders made miserable by their circumstances decided to trust each other and the rest, as they say, “is history.”