Narrative Pages - beginning of manuscript

Chapter 1 - November 2015

“Run all you want, I’ll always be at the finish line.” Sierra jolted upright in bed, gasping for air, her gray Calvin Klein t-shirt and shorts soaking wet with a nervous sweat. She hadn’t slept through her alarm - her room was still dark except for a familiar glow from the streetlights below on Venice Boulevard, softly trickling through her sheer turquoise curtains covering the window behind her. Instinctively, Sierra reached beneath her white down duvet and pinched her stomach. It was still flat, for now, just… wet. Wiping the sweat beads now dripping from her forehead, Sierra had two immediate thoughts. “Thank god I’m sleeping alone, any man would be repulsed by my sweat puddle.” A quick shower and changing the sheets if Sierra felt ambitious enough at 3am would clean that simple mess. But there was no male guest over, so Sierra flipped the duvet over to the non-sweaty side and grabbed one of the countless bed pillows. The second thought presented a haunting realization sending a fear down Sierra’s spine that no ghost or goblin could compete with: After a decade of blissful silence, Alice had tracked Sierra down all the way on the other side of the country in Los Angeles. Sierra was certain, she was back.

 Sierra had no choice. Digging into her nightstand drawer, Sierra grabbed the only weapon that could combat Alice at this hour: a Xanax. 

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May, 2002

Alice first visited Sierra thirteen years earlier, after her freshman year of college. Ignorantly beautiful and blessed with feminine curves throughout high school, the college lifestyle had other plans for the naive freshman. Along with a rigorous daily academic curriculum as a Business major, Sierra also received extra credit in late night pizzas, pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream as study aids, and above all, beer from frat parties laced with the ability to permanently bloat stomachs. Entering her fall semester at a healthy, eye-turning size six, Sierra finished the spring semester at a puffy size 14. Maybe I’m overreacting, Sierra thought, staring in the mirror as she packed sorority memorabilia and now too-small clothes for her parents to collect her for the summer. Sierra’s father, Ira, an avid skier and tennis fanatic, took one look at his only daughter, his only child, and said, “You could lose some weight.” It didn’t matter that Sierra’s mother had admonished her husband for his insensitivity. A tattoo can be covered. Piercings can be taken out. Clothing didn’t hide fat. 

One look into Ira’s now cold and blackened eyes, and Sierra could see he no longer wanted to announce to anyone who would listen, “This is my daughter,” with pride. 

Sending Sierra to fat camp, if that even existed for college students, would have been a trip to Bali compared to the visitor who barged in the first night she returned to her childhood bedroom for the summer. 

Sierra crept into her parents’ bathroom while they were still watching TV and eyed the scale her father so loved to use. “I lost two pounds!” he’d exclaim after playing three sets of tennis in July, denouncing the notion it was mere water weight. 

With her right foot, Sierra stepped onto the evil white contraption with trepidation. The needle moved to the right. Oh fuck. Sierra knew stepping on with the left foot would only make the needle move to reveal a higher number. She was in college, after all.   

With two feet on the scale, Sierra looked down at the number where the needle was pointing. The intensity of the pang in her stomach as she read the number could have easily been an ulcer, kidney stone, anything. This can’t be right. Sierra lifted a leg in the air, maybe her sock was adding an extra fifteen pounds, right? Oh, that still doesn’t make sense, she realized. Sierra stepped off the scale and slipped off her must-be-fifteen-pound-each socks and tossed them in the corner, missing the trash can. Taking a deep breath, Sierra stepped onto the scale on her tip-toes, like her elegant ballet days. When she peered down at the evil needle, it hadn’t budged. So my socks don’t weight fifteen pounds each and I can’t will myself to be ballerina thin, Sierra realized. Frantic, she stripped naked, hoping the spilled water droplets on her shirt from washing her hands or the elastic in her shorts amounted to a surprising amount of pounds. But the stubborn scale didn’t wouldn’t budge. Sierra kicked it. The fuck does that thing know, Sierra thought as she put her ratty t-shirt and shorts back on. No wonder why Zachary Jansen doesn’t like me… I am fat.

That was the first night Alice visited Sierra. 

Thinking she was safe in her room after having an argument with the bathroom scale, Sierra flopped like a starfish on her bed, with only the soft hum of the ceiling fan swirling above her in the dark. 

Sierra would have preferred an evil witch flying into her room over what happened next. Without warning, Sierra’s thoughts were racing, bouncing off the walls of her brain so fast she didn’t have time to process each one until the next zoomed by. It was Nascar, but much worse. Round and round they went, bringing a sensation of dread and doom so intense that Sierra found it difficult to breathe. Is this a heart attack? Sierra would have done anything to escape being in her own body, the racing mind that at one time was hers and hers alone. 

It wasn’t a heart attack, or anything remotely close. Over the coming weeks, after seeing a doctor and obtaining a Xanax prescription, Sierra kept quiet about the visits from Alice. But that didn’t make her any less real. It was as if Alice was  a detested old aunt,  barging in, carrying two extra large bulging suitcases, the worn fabric ripping along the zipper seam. Her equally bulging frame was always draped in a heinous peach linen suit. A matching wide-brimmed hat may have shaded her face, but it didn’t conceal the smell of cheap drug store perfume. She may be a detested guest, but no one turns away family. When most extended family members come for a visit, they usually have the decency to stay in the guest room. Not Alice. She went straight for Sierra’s room, tasking her to lug the suitcases up the staircase each and every visit. There were never any clothes in the suitcases. Instead, they were filled with thoughts even uglier than her peach linen suit. At any chance, Alice would unleash their nastiness at Sierra.

“Yes, you are fat.”

“Don’t think any of the hot frat guys will be taking you back to the house with all that pudge.” “Your pants are giving you cameltoe.” 

“No father could love a daughter like you.” 

Alice even quoted Kate Moss.

“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels… not that you would know.”

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Chapter 2 - That evening, November 2015

“My dating life is more unfair than the California state income tax rate,” Sierra complained to her roommate Vee, which was a rather stupid thing to do. Vee doled out sympathy about as often as it snowed in Los Angeles. But of course, Sierra continued to bark up the unresponsive tree as she paced the living room carpeting. “You’d think I had daddy issues or something.” 

“Jeremy told me when he dropped me off that he wanted to hang out again. We had a great time at the museum and the brewery, blah blah, kisses me good-bye, and it’s been like… FOUR days? That’s a whole day past the three day rule. I mean, this is the guy that texted non stop since we matched on Bumble. I just don’t get it.” Sierra flopped dramatically on the beige couch that had seen too many knocked over drinks and spilled plates of pad thai.

“Sierra, just move on. Sometimes people don’t want to seem like assholes, so they say things they think the other person will want to hear just to save face. I’ve done it before.” Even with her tightly pursed lips, Vee always had luck dating men. Perhaps it was her zero tolerance for bullshit and knack for being worshiped by suitors. Take her current boyfriend of six months, Gregory. On Sunday mornings, he religiously prepared Vee avocado toast topped with a sunny-side egg. 

“But why, Vee, why? I don’t get it. Like save me the time, energy, and bullshit from staring at my phone for four days wondering when a text will appear. God, I’m going to be thirty-two soon, so I’m like almost forty. Before you know it, it’s just a bunch of ugly cats and me. I don’t even like cats.” 

“First of all, Sierra, don’t wait around for guys. That’s dumb. You have your own life and a very beautiful one at that so why are you wasting your time worrying over one person you barely know?” Sierra’s mind knew this. However, that whole mind and soul connection hadn’t yet clicked. 

“Come on, Sierra, I think it’s time for a gratitude list.” Begrudgingly, Sierra got up from her office area, a desk against a portion of the living room wall, and joined Vee at the kitchen table, who tore a sheet out of one of Sierra’s loose notebooks. “Okay Sierra, don’t think, just say what comes to mind.” As each item came to mind, Vee nodded approvingly and wrote it down. 

1. Hot body from running 

2. Hot body from not eating pizza, pasta, or any other evil carb

3. Hot body from Adderall’s magical side effect of appetite suppression (as needed)

4. Tight in all the Right places. 

5. Friends that know how to get lit on a Sunday Funday

6. Bye-bye to the 9 - 5 grind by starting Roth Media Solutions

7. 7. Oh duh, Los Angeles weather

8.  Escaped Pennsylvania

After looking at the list, Sierra’s mood lightened, especially re-reading number eight.