Dieting Makes Cathy Crazy

by Sally Redwood

  I start the car and go straight to Burger City. The only upside to my diagnosis is that I no longer give a fuck about my calorie count or anything else. I wait in the drive thru. There’s a long line. Of course, it’s Friday.

  People want their gluttonous fix to kick off the weekend. Probably bratty kids and college co-eds high off of recently legalized marijuana and women who plan to binge and purge like the ice skaters I couldn’t keep up with.

  I pull up to the window. A young man’s squeaky voice calls out:

  “Welcome to Burger City where the burgers are bodacious and the fries are first-class. What can I get you?”

  “Let me get your house cheeseburger, a large fries, and a Coke.”

  “Will that be all?”

  “Um … Why don’t you throw in some chicken nuggets, too.”

  “Okay. Your total is $15.39. Please drive around.”

  I head through to the pick-up window. The young man has a cowlick and dark circles under his eyes. Looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Maybe he’s on something.

  “Your total is $15.39.”

  I slide him a twenty. He breaks my change. I flash a big smile, hoping that I look friendly yet not completely deranged.

  “Excuse me … is Ronny here?”

  His eyes are wide. Yep. He thinks I’m crazy.

  “Who?”

  “Ronny? He’s the assistant manager here?”

  “Um...he’s off tonight.”

  “Oh.”

  He hands me a bag of food in a hurry, as if to say get the fuck out of here.

  “Have a nice day.” I try another smile.

  He looks back with panic in his eyes. “You forgot something…”

  “I did?”

  “Your Coke!”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  He practically throws the drink at me. He blinks, as if he’s counting down the seconds before I speed off. I linger a little longer than I should, making him more uncomfortable. What can I say? I have to find humor wherever I can.

  I drive out of there. I open the bag and start scarfing down the food. This is something I never do. Eating and driving is dangerous. It’s not as bad as drinking and driving or texting and driving, but it’s up there. Ask me if I care now.

  I stuff six fries in my mouth and put the pedal to the metal. I glance at the speedometer and my heart skips a beat. I’m going five over the speed limit. Then ten. Oh shit! Fifteen!

  I expect those flashing blue lights in my rearview mirror, but the cops don’t pull me over. Not that I would give a damn. If one of them writes me a ticket, I might not even live long enough to make my court date.

  I make it home faster than ever before. My belly is so full, that it feels like I’m about to burst. I haven’t eaten like this in years. And I also broke my diet rule about not pacing myself between bites. I just went to town on enough calories to feed a small village.

  Dr. Patel said I might slip into a coma. But right now I feel like I’m in a food coma. I move slowly to my front door. I belch as I walk inside. Instinctively I say, “excuse me” to nobody at all. But from now on, I think I’m done with manners, too.

  Chapter Six

  I sit down on the couch and turn on the TV. There’s a commercial for dog food. The happy golden retriever makes me all emotional. I fight back my tears.

  I need to talk to somebody. Zoe. I just don’t know how she’s going to react to the news. Sometimes, she puts me at ease with her words of wisdom. But things could easily go in the opposite direction.

  Like that time I broke up with my college boyfriend. Dennis was my first everything. First real kiss. My first everything! The night I lost my virginity to him … Scratch that. Virginity isn’t something you can lose like a pair of gloves.

  The first time we went all the way, he took his time. It still hurt but eventually, I started to like it. And since I had no previous reference, I thought our sex life was pretty good.

  On top of that, he was studying to be a biochemist. He was a little nerdy, and I thought that was cute. I was convinced that if we made it to the altar we’d give birth to kids brilliant enough to cure cancer.

  Speaking of cures, I wish there was a cure for this shit—Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. I shudder at the thought of it all. Wait, what was I talking about?

  Oh...I was thinking about Dennis. So, we were together for a year and half and all of a sudden, he said that we’ve outgrown each other. Just like that, it was over.

  The main source of my devastation wasn’t because I was so desperately in love with him, but that I felt rejected. Like I wasn’t good enough. I had shared the most precious piece of myself with this man, and he discarded me like a used condom. Thankfully, we always used protection.

  When Zoe found about what happened, she did what any best friend would do … She brought me ice cream—my favorite, chocolate mint—and she listened to me bitch about it for hours. But at the end of the night, she said I needed to start dating again.

  Her suggestion made me furious. Had she not listened to a damn thing I’d said? The last thing on my mind was meeting another guy to repeat the same cycle of misery. But that’s her style, so I guess she thought it would work for me too. As much as I love Zoe she can be tone deaf sometimes.

  Now I sit here, realizing that I have no choice but to call her. Who else can I reach out to? Ted? Ronny? The biker-looking Uber driver? I pick up my phone, there’s a shit ton of voicemails, I delete them…what’s the point? I scroll through my contacts and press Zoe’s name. She answers.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey.”

  “I’m on my way out the door.”

  “Oh. Sorry if I caught you at a bad time.”

  “No. It’s okay.”

  “You got a date?”

  “No. I’m heading to that new bar I told you about. Remember?”

  “Yeah. I hope you have fun.”

  “What’s up?”

  I swallow. Here goes. I’m about to tell my best friend in the world that a) I’m about to die and b) I only have a year to live. C) Can you be the executor of my estate? And d) Next time you make lasagna bring over the whole fucking thing!

  “Cathy? You there?”

  I clear my throat.

  “Cathy?”

  “Yeah. I’m here. I … I …”

  “Is everything okay?”

  A tear slides down my face. This is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I think about that scene in It’s A Wonderful Life when George Bailey realizes how many lives he’s touched.

  I’m no George Bailey. I’ve never done anything as noble as dive into freezing water to save my kid brother or give up my dreams to keep the doors of my family’s business open. But I know I’ve been a very good friend to Zoe.

  Memories of her exposing me to everything from an eyelash curler to Jell-O shots come flooding back. We’ve had some amazing times together. Lots of laughs. She’s probably the only person who will really miss me. Her and all of my bill collectors because I always pay shit early.

  “Cathy?”

  “Yeah. I … um … What time are you leaving to go out?”

  “In a few minutes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why?”

  “I was thinking about coming with you.”

  “What about your weekend work?”

  “I can catch up on that later.”

  “Now you’re talking! I’m so glad you changed your mind. This is going to be so much fun!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you want me to swing by and pick you up?”

  “No, I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Cool.”

  She laughs. I hear the joy in her voice.

  “We’re gonna have a blast!”

  “Hell yeah!”

  We hang up, and I take a deep breath. I’m not as strong as I thought. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. Not tonight. But I have to figure out a way to do it soon. Be
fore my symptoms get worse.

  I look at the info packet and flip through the pages. Here are just a few things I have to look forward to: muscle spasms, problems with coordination, depression, hallucination. I stop reading. I don’t want to know anymore. Besides, since memory loss is also a symptom, I’ll probably forget all of this shit anyway.

  I head to my bedroom and open the closet. I grab my oversized sweater and skinny jeans. I hold the outfit up to my chest. This will do. I hate drawing attention to myself, I wish I looked like Zoe.

  She’ll probably show up at the bar in something skin tight that leaves little to the imagination. But then again, she has the body for it. It doesn’t really matter what she’s wearing, I’ve seen men go bat-shit over her in overalls!

  Zoe always tells me that it’s not just about looks. It’s about exuding confidence. Whatever the fuck that means. I guess I missed the boat altogether on that because I’ve been self-conscious for as long as I can remember.

  Whenever I smile and men stare at me, I assume I have something between my teeth. And when they try to make conversation, I’m convinced that they’re thinking, This girl has a desperate look in her eye, and she’s really not my type, but I need to get laid.

  Little do they know that I’m not that kind of girl. The man is supposed to work for it. At least that’s how I’ve been conditioned to think. Which brings me back to my sex drought.

  But maybe I can end that tonight. I don’t have much longer to live. It’s time to do away with all of my old rules. And while fucking a stranger isn’t guaranteed to get me off, it would be a welcome distraction.

  If I want to attract a halfway decent man, this outfit has got to go. I slide the hangers around in my closet searching for the most daring thing I own. I grab my black leather skirt and a purple low-cut blouse. I bought this shit so long ago that I forgot I even had it. Hope it still fits.

  I shimmy into the skirt. Damn it’s tight. But I have to admit that my ass looks pretty good in it. I snap on my padded push-up bra. Now for the blouse. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I don’t think I’ve ever looked this slutty a day in my life. I might as well go all the way so I put on my thigh-high black leather boots.

  My steps are a little wobbly as I walk to the bathroom. It’s obvious that I’m not used to wearing heels. Either that or some symptom is already ravaging my body. Okay fine. As long as I get a man to ravage it, too.

  I open my makeup bag. Tonight, I’m giving the neutral colors a rest. I go crazy with the smoky eye shadow and heavy mascara. I slide on some burgundy lipstick. Silver hoop earrings.

  That’s it. My look is complete. I’m sure I’ll be mistaken for a prostitute tonight—and not a high class call girl either, just a fucking street walker who gives twenty-dollar blow jobs.

  There’s no way I’m driving tonight. I have every intention of getting sloppy drunk. So fucking plastered the bartender will have to cut me off. For the first time EVER.

  But I hope I don’t get so drunk that I end up telling Zoe what’s going on. I just want us to have fun tonight. And all that stuff about getting laid, I can’t really do that. No way.

  It would be just my luck that I go home with a modern day Ted Bundy. But maybe I should be grateful to him if he chops me up into little pieces. It would spare me the misery of my fate.

  People would feel so sorry for me and the local elected officials would decide to make a law named after me. Cathy’s Law. And I would be featured on Dateline. That’s not a terrible way to go in the grand scheme of things. At least I’ll be remembered.

  Where it stands right now, Zoe is the only one who will give a fuck. And when she’s gone, it’ll be like I never existed at all. The only trace of me will be the quality control procedures at the factory and my car with the ugly scratch.

  I press the Uber app on my phone and head outside. It’s a little cold. I should probably get a jacket. But, no. Jackets aren’t sexy. I refuse to cover up.

  A black Nissan pulls up with the oh so familiar “Uber” sticker plastered on the windshield. I hop in. The driver is a middle aged man with thick eyebrows and a mole like Cindy Crawford. He grins at me.

  “Hi!”

  “Hi.”

  He pulls off. Every few seconds, he glances at me through the rearview mirror. It’s like he can’t keep his eyes off of me. I’m flattered, but he’s so not my type that I don’t even know where to start. Do I have a type?

  If I’m going to open my legs to some stranger, I need to be at least remotely attracted to him. I just hope there are cute guys at this bar because, if not, then this Uber driver might just get lucky. No. I haven’t quite hit that level of desperation.

  I’d much rather text Ronny late at night. He can come over to my place smelling of burger grease and industrial cleaning products. And I’ll let him have his way with me one last time. No. That’s not what I want either.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look very nice tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re very beautiful.”

  Okay. Now I know his motive. He’s laying it on way too thick now. Either he wants a fat tip or some pussy or both. This is a first for me.

  “I’m recently divorced myself.”

  Thanks for sharing, I didn’t ask. I look down at my phone and hope that he gets the hint.

  “Are you single?”

  “Huh?”

  “I asked if you’re single?”

  “No. I’m engaged.”

  I can’t believe I just lied like that. But it felt kinda good. From now on, I can say whatever I want and be whoever I want. It’s a kind of freedom I’ve never known.

  “Where’s your ring?”

  “Um … it’s expensive, so I don’t wear it out much.”

  “Oh.”

  If I’m going to lie, I have to be a little more convincing. Or maybe I don’t. Who cares? Even if I get caught in a lie, the consequence of that is miniscule compared to what’s ahead for me.

  “He must be a lucky guy.”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  The driver blushes. I’m having fun being a pretend lesbian for a moment. But then I realize I may be taking this too far. He’s probably fantasizing about a threesome with me and another chick. Gross!

  “I think it’s okay. People love who they love, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I still think you’re very beautiful though.”

  Aw, that’s really nice, maybe he’s not a creep. I’m not used to this at all. Men behave this way around Zoe. Not me. I might as well be chopped liver. But with my ass and tits on display, my invisible cloak is gone.

  “Thank you, you’re very kind.”

  “I don’t want to sour you on marriage, but after the shit I just went through, make sure she’s the one before you say, I do.”

  “Oh. I have no doubt that he’s … I mean that she’s the one.”

  “I thought that same thing about my ex-wife.”

  I glance at his face through the rearview mirror. His green eyes are sad. I can’t believe I was being so horrible. If I was as drunk as I’m planning on getting, I might make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  “It’s hard being on my own. I’m not used to it. We were married for fourteen years. I’m still not over it, but she’s getting remarried in the summer. Can you believe that crap? Not like it’s going to last though. He’s Mr. Rebound.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I know I’m right. I told her that to her face. Of course, she told me to fuck off. But the way she said it, I could tell she’s still in love with me. I don’t think it’ll ever completely go away. That kind of love.”

  Now he’s telling me more than I ever wanted to find out about him. I should’ve taken a taxi. What is it about Uber drivers? Is there a handbook that says conversation is mandatory? Anyway, I just listen, and nod, and count the minutes until we arrive downtown. I stare out of the window.

  “I never thought I’d
get divorced. But she had to go and cheat on me. I gave her everything, and she just couldn’t keep her fucking legs closed. But you seem like a nice girl. You wouldn’t do that to your wife would you?”

  “Never.”

  “That’s what I thought. I have an eye for these things. I should have known it all along with my wife, but when you’re young, you overlook all types of shit, you know? And the worst of it is that I’m driving Uber at night just to make my damn child support payments. I’ve got two daughters. And I see them every chance I get. I’m not going to let them grow up to be like their fucking whore of a mother. I shouldn’t have said that … I just … This has been the toughest year of my life.”

  “I totally understand.” What is this guys problem!? Oh yeah, tough year.

  He pulls up to a bar on the corner. The building has a sleek exterior. There’s a long line of beautiful people waiting to get inside. Now I’m really glad I didn’t wear that oversized sweater. The driver smiles at me as I reach for the door handle.

  “You take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

  “You, too.”

  Chapter Seven

  When I walk inside, there’s music playing. I think it’s Beyoncé. Could be Rihanna. This isn’t the kind of stuff I listen to, so the hell if I know. But I don’t mind. It’s a new experience.

  Men are staring at me with every step. I feel so self-conscious as their eyes linger on my cleavage and my butt. I’m waiting for one of them to yell out, “How much?”

  This outfit was probably a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. Across the room, I spot the back of Zoe’s curly blonde hair. She’s sitting at the bar. And of course, there’s some handsome guy chatting her up. This is just another day in the life of my gorgeous best friend.

  A short guy with a god-awful toupee steps in front of me. He smiles at me like we’ve known each other for years. This is the exact opposite kind of man I wanted to attract, but if I get enough liquor in me, I might be a little more open-minded. He does have nice blue eyes.

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  “Hi. I don’t have time to talk. I’m here meeting a friend.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, is it a girl or a guy?”