Part III: What Happens a Cappella? (Chapter 56)

“Just when it starts getting’ good.” What did you mean by that?

I said that?

Last time. You were talking about your Auntie.

Oh, that.

You seem reluctant today.

It’s just that I was never sure about Auntie, always uncertain about her agenda. I mean, she was a lot of fun, and all, but...Well, I’m just not sure. The last time I saw her I was still so young, just 19. And then when I was about two months pregnant with Nicole, Doug and I hitched to Pennsylvania, and I never saw Auntie, or California, again. And then she died when I was 29. But, in retrospect, I’ve always wondered, you know, about her orientation ‒

Sexual?

Well, yeah. Oh, don’t get me wrong. She never did anything to me, or even really suggested anything untoward. But I still felt uncomfortable, especially at night. We slept in the same bed, and she’d squeeze me tight, as if she were hanging on to life itself.

Maybe she was just lonely.

What do you think?

I don’t know. Can we talk about something else?

Like what?

Weight. Body image.

Okay. Shoot.

Auntie had this friend. Hilda Grove. A really big woman who enjoyed eating. Real sweet, too. But Auntie was always razzing me about her. Said I was going to look just like Hilda if I wasn’t careful. So, naturally, I decided I didn’t like Hilda at all, like maybe she might be contagious or something.

Funny.

It was pathetic. Hilda loved Auntie unconditionally, even when Auntie was mean to her, which was a lot. She stuck with Auntie even when she was very ill and all her other friends had bailed. From what I hear, Auntie was a difficult dying person, raging at anyone who dared to visit.

Doesn’t surprise me, though.

Let’s explore that.

Nothing complicated. In life, Auntie always fought hard for the upper hand – I’d think that she’d fight death as well. People don’t suddenly become nice just because they’re dying. Also, I don’t think she could stand the thought of leaving her money behind, to finally be exposed as a fraud. Everyone thought Auntie was very rich, and she used that assumption to keep the family in line.

All my life, I heard, “You’d better be good because you’re still in Auntie’s will.”

And everyone knew how Mother had been excised like a cancer from the famous will.

You haven’t talked much about your mother.

As Bartleby says, “I’d prefer not to.”

Oh, I see. A sore spot.

She’s not important. I hardly knew her. How did we get off track, anyway?

You tell me.

You want to poke in areas that don’t concern you. You’re supposed to be helping me with my weight problem, not snooping into my past.

Well, then, let’s talk about your weight.

That’s more like it. Now, let’s see. Oh, yes. I went on and off Dr. Noonan’s diet ‒ and variations thereof, including sugar-and-lettuce diets, grapefruit diets, the banana and ice cream diet, the water diet ‒ for years and years. I’m sure my grandmother’s concern was well-intentioned, but the thyroid pills?

Your family doctor prescribed thyroid medication?

Yeah. I was only 13, and I took them all through high school. Granted, my weight did stabilize, but no one knew that I was fasting off and on to keep myself around 130-140 pounds. Once, in my senior year, I was so weak from fasting three days in a row that I passed out in the Dean of Women’s office, and she called for Nana to come and pick me up. I told everyone it was my period making me sick, but the truth was, I was out sick a lot. In fact, I spent so much time out of school that I kept all my friends up to date on what was going on in Days of Our Lives.

That was the year that skinny Susan Martin fatally shot her sexy husband David because she hated him for the death of their son and loving the voluptuous Julie ‒ well, let’s just say I got Nana hooked on Days as well, just like I was hooked on the pink pills prescribed by Dr. Noonan and, later, when he dropped dead, Dr. O’Hara.

And then when my periods really started getting bad ‒ I’ve always had bad periods ‒ Nana took me to see Dr. MacCormack, a chiropractor ‒

Why a chiropractor?

Nana was mad at Dr. O’Hara ‒ Dr. Noonan had died by then ‒ and this MacCormack was a real Svengali. She was ga-ga over him, but I hated him.

Tell me about this Svengali.

He was slime. He told me my menstrual problems would go away if I lost weight. And he had some weird rituals having to do with old shoes...

Would you like to talk about it?

There’s nothing to talk about. The guy just had a fascination with shoes, the uglier, the better. That’s all.

Incredible. Oh. Time’s up for today.

You think I’ll ever lick my problem, Dr. Garrett?

What do you think?

I don’t know. That’s why I’m paying you.

No guarantees, Samantha. You know that.

I wish I could take a magic pill and wipe all my fat away.

That’s what got you into trouble in the first place.

Well.

For next time, write down what you need to say to your grandmother about your dieting life.

You mean I should actually tell her?

Of course not. We’re going to do a little role-playing next time, and I’m going to be your Nana.

That’s a laugh. She’s not as cute as you.

I’m serious. You’re going to tell me what you need to say to Nana but can’t.

I’ll think about it. Ciao, Doc.