Sarai Walker - Dietland

“Just a minute,” I called, slipping on the white and purple dress with the stained knees.

When I opened the door I saw another generic white guy, this time with blond hair. “Are you . . .”

“Plum, that’s me.”

I couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t seem to notice the makeup. He didn’t seem to know where to put his eyes; they jutted every which way but at me, to the door frame, to his watch, to his feet. Finally he scanned my body, trying to take me all in. He swallowed a lot. We made it as far as the bottom of the stairs before he said, “I heard you work at a fashion magazine.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No offense or anything, but you’re not really my type. I’m attracted to a different sort of woman. It’s nothing against you personally or anything. I don’t like redheads either, not that you’re a redhead, but you know what I mean.”

We stood at the bottom of the stairs, on the inside of the street door. He didn’t want to be seen with me in public. “Let’s forget dinner. Go home,” I said. Then I added, “You’re not my type either. You look like a girl.”

He wiped a curl back from his forehead. I walked up the stairs and knew he was watching me from behind, my ass cheeks moving, my hand grasping the rail as I huffed my way to the top. “Fat bitch,” he called after me.

I reached the landing and turned to face him, out of breath. “I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder than that to insult me, sweetheart. I’m bulletproof.” Thanks to the New Baptist Plan, my sensitive side was growing a callus.

Once in the apartment, I locked the door and held my breath until I heard the downstairs door shut. I took off my tights and the Thinz and my bra and my dress. I washed off all the Halloween makeup and then rummaged in the cupboards. I didn’t have my appetite back, but I pulled out a graham cracker, broke off a corner (15), and popped it in my mouth.

“Fat bitch,” I said.

Alexander

I was going to meet Alexander at a BBQ restaurant in Brooklyn Heights. Once again I was wearing the white and purple dress, which I had washed out in the sink, leaving the knees not black but a dishwater gray. For this date I wore only light makeup and no Thinz. There was no need to go to extremes. Alexander was blind.

When I read Gina’s notes I was intrigued. I had often wondered what it would be like to have a blind boyfriend. I thought it might feel nice for a blind person to run his hands over so many soft layers, without the hardness of bones getting in the way.

In the taxi on the way to the restaurant, a wave of nausea hit me. The never-ending symptoms of Y—— withdrawal. I nearly fell over onto the back seat.

“We’re here,” the driver said, and I picked up my head.

Inside the restaurant, the hostess, wearing a denim skirt, led me to the middle of the crowded room, forcing me to squeeze between the tables. When I arrived at Alexander’s table, there was no stare. What a relief, I thought. He took my hand in his, but I pulled it back quickly, worried that my fleshy fingers might give me away. I was playing Alicia tonight.

Alexander’s brown eyes were vacant and slightly shrunken, but he looked in my direction when he spoke, as if he could see me. I didn’t know if this was for his benefit or mine. I took my seat and looked at the menu. Alexander ordered a platter of ribs, but I wasn’t hungry and ordered a salad. He probably thought I was one of those girls who didn’t eat.

When the waiter left, Alexander began to talk without pause. I could tell he didn’t like silence in conversation. I wondered how many dates he went on and how he could decide whether he liked a woman. He must have been sizing me up for my potential as a sexual partner, but there wasn’t a hint in his questions to let me know what he was looking for. He told me about himself and his work as a session musician. He asked me about my job with Kitty. His blindness didn’t seem to imbue him with any special qualities. Nothing about Alexander interested me, but I played my part. I was sitting across from a man on a date in a restaurant, just as Alicia would do. Alexander didn’t know I was an impostor. He talked about musicians I had never heard of and I was glad I didn’t have to hide the bored expression on my face.

When our food came, Alexander navigated his plate, the ribs and sauces and side dishes, with remarkable skill. He cleaned each bone of meat and then dropped it onto his plate. My salad was modest and I picked my way through the tangle of lettuce leaves, radish slices, and tomato wedges. The sight of Alexander feasting on the bones, with the red sauce on his lips, was unpleasant. His eyebrows jutted out from his forehead as if on a ledge, almost prehistoric; he had the profile of a Neanderthal.

“Are you enjoying your salad, Alice? Are you sure you don’t want something more?”

“It’s Alicia,” I said. “And no thanks, I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“You’re not on a diet, are you?” he said, somewhat playfully.

“I like to watch my figure. It’s not easy maintaining a size two.” It was difficult to say this without laughing. I nearly choked on a lettuce leaf.

“Don’t want to get fat?” he said, and smiled.

I laughed, a deep-bellied guffaw, too big for my imaginary thin self. He continued eating, cleaning one bone and dropping it onto his plate, then doing the same with another. There was a growing pile of bones in front of him, stripped clean of meat, the sauce sucked off.

“I used to be fat,” I said. “ Enormously fat. Morbidly obese, in fact. On the insurance company weight charts, there’s only one level after morbidly obese and that’s death. It goes underweight, average, overweight, obese, morbidly obese, and then certain death. When you reach certain death, they ask you to write your will and special-order your coffin. I was nearly at certain death, Alexander. I was browsing the coffin brochures.”

“Jesus, how fat were you?”

“Over three hundred pounds. I was a real blimp.”

“ Really? How did you lose the weight?” He held a bone in midair.

“I tried dieting, but that didn’t work. Then I had surgery. My stomach is now the size of a walnut, hence the salad.”

“Does your body look, uh, normal? ”

I saw the black marker, the arrows, the dotted lines. “With clothes on, yes. Naked it’s another matter. I have scars all over my body. I’ve been reconstructed, you see. Imagine Frankenstein.”

Alexander set down his bone and looked as if he was fighting off a belch.

“It’s not a pretty sight, Alexander, but what does it matter to you?”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “The thought of it is unappealing, I must admit, but I appreciate your honesty, Alice.”

“Alicia,” I said. I am Alicia. I am Alicia. I repeated it to myself, but that didn’t make it true. I was not Alicia and I feared I never would be.

“I’m not feeling well,” I said, setting down my fork and scooting my chair back. The Y——-related symptoms returned. It felt as though there was a sparkler inside my mouth. “I think I should leave.”

“Don’t let me keep you. I’ll just stay here and order dessert.”

I left him alone at the table. Alicia’s first date was over and it hadn’t gone well.

Aidan

It was Sunday night, my last date. Aidan had been described to me as a human rights lawyer and drinker of fair-trade coffee. I put on my dress and the Thinz and the makeup. Aidan knocked on the door, and a few moments later a generic white guy with brown hair stood before me.

“You’re my date?” he asked.

“That’s me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”