The thoughts begin to line up, finally making sense. "I thought that if I could make my body more streamlined, more thin, moreEuropean, I'd look more like everyone else. That I'd fit in."
"Did you think you were overweight?"
"No, not at all. But I had junk in my trunk. Not to mention the girls here." I gesture to my chest. "I knew if I lost weight those might get smaller. Do you know the irony? Fijian people don't share the same build and bone structure as some of the more well-known Polynesian peoples, like Samoans or Maori. They tend to be lean and streamlined. I get my stock from my mom's hearty Irish peasant and Bavarian heritage. The Germans are known for an ample bosom. But again, people just thought it was because I was black. Or part-black."
"You were trying to control something you had no control over."
"I can control how big my chest gets." Not really, but at my thinnest, I was a cup size smaller. They didn't bounce around as much. It was nice. I mean, I still couldn't wear a leotard without a sports bra like everyone else, but the diminished jiggling was a welcome reprieve.
"You can't control your race. You can't control your bone structure or body composition. You have to accept them."
I don't like that word. "To accept sounds like I'm settling. And when you settle, you aren't doing your best. You don't get to be the best by settling."
"You can't ever be the best if you don't accept who you are and what you bring to the table. And trying to control those things by controlling your food intake is not going to get to the bottom of the actual issue."
"So in trying to solve one problem, I created another?"
Malachi nods.
"And it's not actually about food. It's about who I am. I was trying to change it by not eating."
Malachi nods again.
"Well, that's pretty stupid. If someone explained that to me ten or more years ago, I …"
"What would you have done?"
In all honesty, I don't know. Probably exactly what I did. Kept pushing forward. "I would have kept trying to change who I was."
"Why?"
"If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn't be here."
"When you figure out that answer, you'll be able to move forward. You have some homework to do."
"Then I'll be fixed?"
"Fixed implies that you're broken. You're not. You're growing."
I like that mindset—growing—better than anything I've ever thought about myself, which is probably why I'm in desperate need of therapy.
It's another one to remember for my merch collection.
I walk back up the hill to The Edison.
When I figure this out, Josh and I don't have to be only friends.
Chapter 24: Josh
The summer is flying by. I need time to slow down so I can get this damn show finished. The orchestrations are taking me a lot longer than I'd planned. The book still needs tons of work, and I'm not even sure all the songs are right.
The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm not sure of any of it.
"Howzit going? Makin' progress, mate?" Henderson slides into the chair next to the piano bench. I'm in my usual posture, hunched over the keys, furiously scribbling notes as I try to figure this out.
"Great. Awesome. Swell. Totally …" I run out of synonyms. "Rad," I limply finish.
"That bad?" Henderson laughs.
