Alan’s Diet

You are what you eat

Carly stood on her grandmother’s porch staring at the doorbell. The GO button for a portal to Hell. Green light for misery. Abandon hope and all that. She looked back at her car. She could still escape. No one would even know she had come. She waited half a second.

The door flew open, Carly flinched.

“How long were you going to stand there? You know Granny has a doorbell cam now, right? You would if you ever stopped by.” Aunt Cicely stood on the other side of the screen door looking down her glasses at Carly. She wore a pink track suit a size too small with sequined tennis shoes.

“Sorry, I’m not great at self-immolation.”

“What did I tell you about using big words in public?” Aunt Cicely flipped the latch on the screen door and pushed it open for Carly, “Get in here, come on. Your mother is freaking out. She thinks you got in a car accident.”

“I’m not even late.”

“You’re not early, either. The rest of us were early. Except you and Alan of course, so inconsiderate.”

“Hey, Aunt Cicely.” A man in his early thirties walked through the front door, past Carly and stood next to the coat rack while he shrugged out of his jacket. He carried a large ziplock bag filled with some kind of leaves in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He was tall and pale with red-rimmed eyes.

“Alan what is that? We told you two not to bring food because we knew you couldn’t manage not to screw it up, Alan, and you,” she turned to Carly, “we don’t want to eat anything you touch.”

“Hey, Alan,” Carly popped her head out from behind her Aunt, ignoring the insult.

“At least I’m not going to suffer alone.” He attempted a smile, but only managed to look strained as he lifted the bag of bright green leaves, “And this is just for me, I’m on a special diet.”

“Diet? God Alan, you’re pretty gaunt as it is,” Carly grabbed the bag from him to inspect it.

“Big words, Carly!” Her aunt barked, snatching the bag from her. Alan reached for the bag but his aunt turned.

“It’s only five letters,” Carly muttered, taking off her coat.

“What is this, Alan, honey, I don’t recognize this kind of lettuce.”

“It isn’t lettuce, it’s Radermachera sinica, it’s for inflammation.”

Carly eyed her cousin. “You look about as inflamed as an ice cube.”

Alan finally smiled, “See, it’s working.”

“God love you, Alan, but who cares about inflammation,” Aunt Cicely said, handing back the bag of leaves.

“You should, chronic inflammation has been linked to neurological disease, chronic fatigue, blindness, cancer, arthritis, and even death.” He waved the bag in the air, “This is saving my life.”

“Is that all you eat?”

“I also eat dairy.”

“Dear, sweet, child you are insane,” Aunt Cicely muttered as she walked off toward the kitchen.

“Sorry, Al, but I’m inclined to agree with her on this one. It can’t be healthy to only eat two things.”

“It’s fine. I also take a multivitamin.”

“Oh boy.” Carly left him by the coat rack to go and find her mother, who turned out to also be in the kitchen, wearing the same, one-size-too-small track suit as her aunt, but in mint green. She was in her stocking feet, padding around the kitchen with a stirring spoon in each hand.

“Hey, Mom,” Carly tried to sound casual.

“HONEY! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.” Her mother pulled her into a tight hug, crossing the spoons behind her back like spears.

“I’m not late. I’m on time, even.”

“Well we were all early.”

“Yes, Aunt Cicely told me.”

“It’s the early bird, Carly, the early bird.”

“Please tell me we’re not having worms instead of turkey.”

“Don’t be stupid. Why do you have to be stupid?”

“Just a joke, why can’t you get jokes?”

“I don’t find the thought of eating worms funny. That horrible job of yours is turning you too morbid.” Her mother went back to the stove, roughly stirring two pots at the same time.

“Do you need help with anything?” Carly watched her mother slosh gravy over the side of a pan.

“Gross. No, go watch TV with your cousins.”

“Yes, mother,” Carly said in a dreamy, hypnotic tone that drew an exasperated sigh from her mom. She turned and nearly ran into a third woman, this one wearing a lavender colored track suit one size too small. “Oh, hey Aunt Nell.”

“Will you watch where you’re going?” Nell carried a huge platter of cheese, crackers, little tiny quiches, cut veggies, deviled eggs, and stuffed mushrooms. “Take this with you. But God help you if you touch anything!” She shoved the tray into Carly’s hands and scuttled quickly around her.

“Good to see you, too, Aunt Nell,” Carly said as she left the room. She could hear her Aunt Nell saying something about blood under Carly’s nails as she walked through the kitchen’s open pocket door.

“And they wonder why I never come to anything.” Carly made her way down the hall to the family room. As she got closer she could hear football and mixed conversation wafting her direction. Thoughts of putting the tray down in the hallway and sneaking back out to her car crept into her mind. Probably no one would notice anyway. But her feet carried her all the way to the room where she plopped the tray down on the coffee table.