Parfait: 

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The Paris sun cascaded on to the cobblestone road, rays dancing among the sidewalks and warming the faces of the people passing by. Sitting alone on the shaded patio of my preferred café, my eyes scanned the streets back and forth watching as the day wore on. My big black hat shaded my face from the warm sun, and the sunglasses perched upon my nose hid the harsh blue eyes that so many people were fond of. A quick breeze wafted scents of flowers being sold down the road, teasing my nose, and reminding me of the many bouquets of flowers I had received over the last few months. My waiter approached with a single cup of black coffee.

“Here you are Elizabeth , the usual.”

I responded with a brisk nod, and then focused in on my lunch, a cup of the finest coffee in Paris. Suddenly, my stomach purred, reminding me of its emptiness. I was startled by its noises. Being perfect meant no bodily sounds. I quickly stood up and decided to go for a walk down the road, hoping to calm my stomach.

Gracefully long legs extended out of my sleek black dress, and led in to simple nude heels. My flat stomach lay below a proportionate chest which was topped with a string of pearls, a present from my late grandmother. As I walked along, my straight blonde hair flowed behind me in the slight breeze, and I wore a subtle grin across my face, perfectly aware of all the heads I was turning. I walked with a purpose that wasn’t there, as I had no final destination. I was perfect, and perfect people never need a set place to go, they can just ride along, seeing where they end up. My ears perked up with a sound flowing from an open apartment window above me, and made me stop in my tracks to close my eyes and sway in the music. Curtains billowed out from the window as Edith Piaf’s soothing voice drifted along the street. Her warm songs were slowly pulling me back to reality, and all of a sudden my eyes shot open.

The scenes of Paris had disappeared, replaced with the cold dark ceiling of my basement. I lay naked on my bed, sheets soaked in my own blood, with red stains decorating my arms and wrists. Scars lined my exposed body as flecks on my porcelain skin. Edith Piaf was playing from my record player in the corner, to make it easier to escape to the French paradise in my mind. Not bothering to clean my arms, I silently padded to my full length mirror with the unrealistic hope that finally, I would see the graceful woman of my mind as my reflection. However, I was faced with the inevitable disappointment of my disgusting body instead. My teenage form was projected on to the mirror, reminding me of the truth I tried to run from. I was an ugly, fat, teenage girl, who escaped in to her mind to live as someone perfect. Elizabeth . I closed my eyes to see her looking back at me. She was a constant shadow, hovering above me, daring me to challenge her, and knowing that I never would.

She slowly evaluated me as she scanned my naked body up and down. Her lips drew in to a smirk and I waited for her lovely voice to speak.

“Biss, what do you see in the mirror? Is this acceptable? Oh of course it isn’t! Get on the scale, you disappointment. Get on the scale. The numbers must drop or you will fail. GET ON!” Tears streamed down my face as I stepped on the scale, my enemy, sucking in as much as I could. My life was based around this small household item. It determined my fate within it’s small digital numbers. The scale read 90 and I closed my eyes to wait for her response. “Good. Two pounds lower than this morning, but not good enough. You’re losing control Biss. You will never look like me. You will never be perfect. Run. Get rid of everything. Don’t look so faint, it has only been 4 days since your last calories. You’re pathetic. Go, run.”

I obeyed my idol, and ran around my room until I collapsed, but it wasn’t enough. Although I knew there was nothing in my stomach, I insisted on shoving my hands down my throat, and I stood there at the sink, throwing up bile. Turning back to my room, I smile at my control in that moment, and then lay down next to my new bouquet of flowers. Soon I would deliver them along with the others.

It was time for my next test, the dinner table. 8 days had passed since I had any sort of meal, which meant it was time for me to eat, in order to please my mother. We sat down to plates of pasta and peas, and my mother wore her constant look of worry mixed with sad hope as she watched me decipher my plate. Elizabeth flowed in to my vision.

“She’s the devil, Biss, you know that. Always trying to make you eat, polluting you with the notion that you need food. If you want to be perfect, you must prove that you are in control. Resist her, Biss. She’s your enemy.”

Taking my fork, I meticulously crushed a pea, looking at it with a face of disgust. Our house was enveloped in a drowning silence, almost all day and all night, so when she opened her mouth and spoke, I jerked up, scared at the sudden noise filling my ears.

“Please Biss, please eat. You need food.”, my mother said to me, receiving a glare in return.

How dare she challenge me, she wasn’t perfect. After crushing all of my peas, I turned to the pasta. I first cut the noodles in half, and then fourths, until each one was cut into eight pieces. I allowed myself four of these pieces, and then dismissed myself from the table.

Once downstairs, I did as many situps as I could manage until I fell down, but Elizabeth was not satisfied until I threw up the pieces of pasta that were contaminating my stomach. She forced me to my bed and threw my binder at me. I opened it up and stared at the collages I had made late at night, filled with beautiful models and thin, perfect girls. I stared at their bodies, the ridges of their bones, their sunken cheeks, and their stomachs which seemed to sink into them rather than out. I then used my fingers to trace the lines of my own body. Running them over every curve and dent, I feel the horrid truth that I try to escape from. I am not like those beautiful girls, and I’m certainly not like Elizabeth, but one day I will be. My hipbones pierced my skin, and my ribs could be easily counted by someone looking at me, but it wasn’t acceptable to Elizabeth, so it wasn’t good enough for me.

Now sitting in class, I feel everyone stripping me down, judging me as I shake, partly due to hunger, and partly because of the control I seem to feel. This morning the scale read 85. As I looked to Elizabeth for praise, all I received was a stare.

“You cannot be happy yet. Not at all. Look at yourself in the mirror, now is that satisfactory? Oh no no…. You are failing once again, remember what happened last time you failed? He’s dead Biss. You failed and now he is dead.”

As I sit propped up against my elbow, I begin to drift off to the Paris of my mind, and I slowly turn back to Elizabeth.

Laying on the chaise lounge in my apartment, French love songs play from my record player, and drift off through my open windows. A coffee by my side provides a warm odorous steam which curls up from the cup and whirls around my head keeping me awake. Flowers strew around my room, bouquets from various people vying for my love, but I keep them waiting, for I do not need anyone else to create happiness. Walking by the shore, the sea air weaves through my hair, making intricate patterns of salt upon my blonde strands and creating a unique soft texture.

In a retro style bathing suit, I lay on the sand, pretending not to notice all the attention I am receiving, but an echo startles me.

“Biss…. Biss?”

I begin to state that my name is Elizabeth, but with a shock, I am back in my classroom, being shaken awake by a girl who used to be a best friend. She was now a shadow in my life, a blank face who I knew was an enemy. Months ago, she tried to convince me that I was thin, that I needed to eat.

“She needs to go.” Elizabeth would tell me, so I shut her out. Now, however, she was standing here worried.

“Biss,” she said, “You need to eat. You look like you’re going to die.”

I looked at her as if she was the worthless enemy that she was, and then walked out of class as the bell rang. She wasn’t worth my words, she wasn’t perfect.

I ran the 2 and a half miles from school back home, all the while feeling like my bones were going to stab me through my skin. Elizabeth was next to me the whole time, seemingly walking gracefully down the road, with a coffee in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

“You know its your fault, correct?” She said in her perfect voice. I nodded.

“You could have stopped him, but you didn’t. You weren’t in control, Biss. This is your fault. If you were me… He wouldn’t have left.”

I kept running, until my lungs felt like they would collapse. 82.5. Elizabeth nodded as she handed me flowers and sent me on my way. More workouts followed, and by the time I was done, it was midnight. Elizabeth gave me one last talk. She sat me down and looked me dead in the eye.

“You aren’t perfect Biss, you never will be. You could never be like me. Look at you, you’re disgusting. Perfection is something you will never reach. Give it up, you are meaningless.”

I sat looking in the mirror, watching this all play out in my mind. Elizabeth was the judge, and I was on trial. Biss was the name they all called me, but secretly I wanted to change in to Elizabeth. She shoved her fingers down my throat one last time, and sent me hurling in to my room.

“You killed him. In your own way, you killed him. You couldn’t even be perfect. You will never be perfect, Biss!”

I grabbed all the flowers and letters and ran. She was always behind me, managing to keep up with me although she seemed to be casually walking. Elizabeth was screaming at me now, repeating my flaws to me.

“You will never be perfect, Biss! Never! Look at you!”

I ran until I reached the graveyard, and then frantically searched. Finally I reached my final destination. I had a set destination, because I was not perfect. Elizabeth snorted at this thought, and told me yet another reason why I couldn’t be like her. I threw the flowers on to the ground, and the letters as well. My bones felt like they were going to break as I leaned on the tombstone. All I managed to read was “Loving Father” before I collapsed to the ground. “Never. Biss, you will never be perfect!”

“I know!” I shouted. Elizabeth was startled as the first words in months echoed from my mouth.

“I know.”

My eyes closed on the image of Elizabeth sitting on top of my father’s tombstone, holding a bouquet of flowers and a cup of his favorite coffee, imported from Paris.

The Eiffel tower stood in my view as I stepped back out in to the crisp breeze of the city. My eyes gleamed bright as they looked around the street, watching people’s eyes land on me, and the jealous faces that they wore afterwards.

“Elizabeth!” someone called from a distance.

I looked up to see my father, standing under the Eiffel tower holding a cup of his favorite coffee. Finally, I had made it to Paris, and there was no turning back. “Biss” didn’t exist anymore, only Elizabeth, only me. As the Paris sun set on my father and I, the sun rose in reality, lighting up a graveyard where “Biss” lay, untouched and not breathing. Biss had finally realized that she would never be perfect, except for in the world created in my head, as Elizabeth. Perfection could never be reached in reality, so the only escape was the mind.