michele, like the beatles song (lyn)

Because I wasn’t able to attend last Wednesday’s meeting, I decide to go to one this morning.  I have to pick something up at Bloomingdales, so I plan to attend the meeting that is nearby the store.  New group.  New leader.  Should be interesting.

I arrive at the new center and am eager to be weighed in.  My last weigh-in, four days ago, showed little improvement from the previous week, only point two pounds.  I get in line.  At the front of the line is a woman, I’d say mid to late 60’s, who looks like a cross between Margaret Thatcher and Madeleine Albright.  She appears to be in a deep and personal and complicated discussion with the weigh-in lady.  The line is getting restless.  But suddenly she turns around and notices me.  She looks at me mischievously and her eyes clearly say, “My goodness.  Why are you here?”  I smile at her as if I have actually heard her say this.  She concludes her conversation and walks right over to me.  “You look amazing,” she says.  I thank her.   “And next time you see me there will be less of me.  You’ve given me inspiration.” 

Now it’s my turn.  I get up to the scale and an attractive militant woman tells me that I cannot weigh in, as I already weighed-in this week.  But then she rethinks her position and says, “Oh, I’m sorry.  You can.  Sunday begins a new week.”  I step on the scale. She’s expressionless.  No big smiles like the ones I always get from Robin or Miriam.  From the solemn look on her face, I expect to be told  that I’ve gained five pounds.  But no, I’m down a pound from Wednesday.  I try not to show my elation for fear she’ll tell me that exuberance is not allowed at this center.

I take my seat, and nearby is a very chatty woman with a big black patch over her left eye.  I overhear part of her conversation and realize that the patch is not permanent, so I ask what happened.  That’s how I meet Michele (pronounced Mee-shel, not Mish-shel; her mother was French).   In five minutes I learn this about Michele:

·     12 years ago, while trying on a Ralph Lauren winter hat with ear flaps, the tag got in her eye and her life “was forever changed.”

·     She sued Bloomingdales and lost “because the jury viewed me as a spoiled upper east sider.”

·     She used to be “gorgeous and thin; I was a runner.”   This is when she pulls out a small accordian folder from her purse that houses a picture of herself from 12 years ago (she was thinner but not gorgeous).  I ask if she always carries pictures of herself and she says yes, with no explanation.

·     Then she pulls out another picture and says, “Here’s me when I got my Masters.  I graduated with all A’s.  I never got even an A minus."

·     She doesn’t have any children because of the eye incident 12 years ago (I’m not sure how they relate but I was afraid to ask).  She's 44 now.

·     She hands me her business card (“if you ever want to get together for coffee”) and tells me she coaches young children (birth to 5 years) who have behavioral problems or who are gifted. 

·     She asks if I have children.  “Yes, one.  A seventeen year old.”  “I’m shocked you have a child so old,” she says.  “I thought for sure you had a toddler.  You look about 31.”   She is only seeing out of one eye so maybe she’s only seeing half my age.

·     Finally, she answers my original question about her eye.  “I had a relapse.”

The meeting begins and Ellen is the leader.  She also happens to be the person who did my weigh in.  She is  more proficient in her second role.

Michele announces to the group that:

·     All she can eat while she has on the eye patch are crackers and weight watchers bread (she doesn’t explain this odd phenomenon); and

·     This is the third time she has gotten weighed this week and she hasn’t gained any weight.

And then, she gathers up her things, says good-bye, and leaves, taking sadness with her.