Father, Son By Zary Fekete

Sigfrid Lundberg CC



Father, Son

33 years ago, he was a swimmer. He wore tight speedo briefs in the school pool and swam laps and raced with his teammates. He loved the feeling of slick water sliding past his muscled arms, working like pistons up and down the lanes. 

But one day when pulling himself out of the pool he felt the soft roll of his belly against the wet elastic of his briefs. He hated that feeling. Nothing could be hidden in such tiny briefs, and a gnawing worm began to chew through his mind. What had been thin now seemed thick in the mirror.

That boy created a careful system of eating. In the mornings when his mother prepared Minnesota country breakfasts of pancakes and French toast, he learned how to take just one piece. One piece could be cut in two. One half could be concealed under the napkin, pressed apart as though it were a casualty of the meal. The second half could be carried in his mouth to the bathroom for a final pee before the school bus arrived. A quick flush and he was free of the awful weight of food for the morning.

Lunches were easier. His friends believed him when he told them he needed a few more minutes of studying in the library. So, while they all ate together in the molded plastic cafeteria, he hid away among the top racks of books on the upper mezzanine and chewed through two gumballs, savoring the sweet saliva in his mouth.

He was pleased how quickly his young body shed flaps of skin. 

He was one of the lucky ones. He was scared how quickly he became bones and sinew. He hated the Minnesota cold which seeped beneath his skin no matter how many layers he wore. He finally told his mother one morning and begged to see the doctor. 

You were that boy. Today you have a son.

Your son is a dancer. He wears tights and stands before the mirrors of his rural Minnesota dance class, plieing and pirouetting. He loves the feeling of the air gliding past his face when he jumps. 

But one day when he changes out of his tights he feels a jiggle in his thighs. He hates that feeling. Nothing can be hidden in dance tights. He starts to feel the skin on his face when he makes tiktok videos with his friends. His face feels puffy and full. The gnawing worm reappears.

He creates a careful system of eating. He insists dancers needed a special diet. He asks permission to make his own meals. He loves how quickly his young body dissolves fat. 

He isn’t one of the lucky ones. He eats one egg and half an apple each night for weeks. He shivers under his five blankets during the Minnesota winter. Soon he doesn’t have enough energy to climb out of bed.

You tell your son about the boy from 33 years ago. You tell him even though that boy’s world had no tiktok or cell phones, it did have tight elastic and a gnawing worm. 

You ask him a question. Your son’s thin face nods. For six months he sits with other boys and girls through long online sessions on body dysmorphia and countless times answers the question, “What lies is your eating disorder telling you today?” 

Six months ago, that boy graduates from the clinic. 
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Today the two of you compare your twin minds and smile as you look up at the Minnesota sky.

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Zary Fekete……grew up in Hungary

…has a novelette (In the Beginning) out from ELJ Publications and a debut novella being published in early 2024 with DarkWinter Lit Press.
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…enjoys books, podcasts, and many many many films. Twitter: @ZaryFekete

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