Cousin Wesley and Weird Aunt Edna

I am terrified I will die, Wesley said. It is raining. Rain does not usually kill people, I replied. But lightning can, and thunder is scary. Lightning has never hit me, I replied. It will probably get me, he said. His teeth were shaking. He had been raised by a worst-scenario activist. Everything she says usually includes the worst possibility imaginable. She is my Aunt Edna, and this is the way she talks. I would go to the store, but the roof could cave in. I would vacuum the rug, but I might stir up allergens. There might be black mold under there, vacuuming could kill us. Her husband had escaped years ago. I always wish he had taken my cousin Wesley with him. Wesley is afraid of tornadoes, trains, clowns, hearts and bicycles. He could possibly die from getting a scratch from a nail or eating walnuts. I do not know if he is allergic to walnuts, or if he does not like them. Wesley and his weirdo mother, my aunt, go to church all the time. Praying they will not die in their sleep or in the car or at a bus stop. They don’t even go to bus stops! I wish that they would learn something in church, but they do not listen. They are way too busy worrying about dying. Faith and fear, so linked, and yet, so not linked in their case. I have tried to help. Sadly, they are determined to retain their worst scenarios.