The Fat Girl (6 page)

eight

That night it happened again. I woke up so frightened I could barely get my arm out from beneath the blanket to flip on the lamp next to my bed. Even with the light on, I could feel it pressing in on me. I knew it was because of Ellen.

The next day I walked her home from school. I talked and this time she listened. It was just before the Christmas break, and the stores and houses that we passed shone with bright ornaments.

“You have to stop talking about killing yourself,” I told her. “You have to think about living.”

She shook her head.

“You have to find ways to enjoy your life,” I insisted. She shook her head again.

“You have to make your life better,” I told her, “and you’re not going to feel better about yourself until you lose some weight.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why can’t you? Is it something glandular? Is it a physiological thing?”

“No. I’m just hungry all the time.”

“Hobbies,” I told her. “You need hobbies. You need to take your mind off food. You have to join clubs. Do you belong to anything at school?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There’s nothing I’m interested in.”

“Come on, Ellen, there’s got to be something you’re interested in.”

She had a guilty look on her face, so I said, “I mean, besides food. What do you like to do?”

“I like to watch TV.”

“And?”

“Sometimes I like to read.”

“And?”

“Well . . . I did get interested in ceramics, but . . . well . . . I guess I’m not good at it. I thought maybe I could be good at it, but you see . . .”

“No, I don’t see,” I lied. “Why shouldn’t you try? You could go over to the museum. They give courses after school or on weekends. Or you could study with a professional potter like Ida O’Neill. She’s the one Roger studied with, so I know she gives lessons.”

Ellen’s face scrunched up thoughtfully.

“Maybe if you worked at it a little more—on your own, I mean. Maybe if you took some private lessons with a real good potter. After all, Ms. Holland isn’t that good. Norma, Roger, and Dolores are much better than she is, and she’s kind of disorganized anyway. Why don’t you go and take lessons with Ida O’Neill?”

“Maybe,” Ellen said. “Maybe I will.”

When we reached her house, she hesitated and then said, “Do you want to come in?”

“I’d like to,” I told her, “but I work at the hardware store on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

She looked away and began speaking very quickly. “Well there’s something else I want to ask you. It’s my birthday Sunday, and my mother is making dinner, and I thought if you wanted to come, she said I could invite a friend, but if you’re busy . . .”

“No,” I told her, “I’m not busy. I’d like to come. What time?”

She looked at me then with such a soapy, gooey, worshipful look, I had to turn away. It was the kind of look that was okay for a dog, but not for a human being.

But I smiled at her and patted her on the arm and went off, feeling embarrassed but happy too.

Norma called me that night. “What’s been happening with you, Jeff? I haven’t had a chance to talk to you in days.”

“I’ve been busy, Norma.”

“Well, what happened yesterday?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, dummy. With Ellen De Luca? And then I know you walked her home today, so you’re really being the Good Samaritan.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,,” I said, feeling irritated again. “I really don’t. Can we just forget about Ellen?”

She shut up for a minute and then she said softly, “Okay, Jeff, if you promised her you wouldn’t say anything, it’s okay with me.”

“It’s not that . . .”

“You’re just a real nice guy, Jeff. Even nicer than I thought. Not many people would take the trouble . . .”

“Let’s just drop the whole subject,” I snapped. “Just drop it!”

“Okay, Jeff,” she agreed, “but if I can do anything at all . . .”

I wanted to hang up on her. Why couldn’t she just get off my back? I didn’t want her helping me with Ellen. I didn’t want anybody helping me with Ellen.

“Let’s change the subject, Norma,” I said quickly. “I forgot to ask you if you’d come with me to my father’s house this Friday. He’s invited us both to dinner. I couldn’t get out of it, but if you’d rather not go, I’d understand.”

“It’s fine with me, Jeff. I’d like to meet your father.”

Norma brought a couple of jars of pickled watermelon rind, and Linda acted like she was overjoyed to get them. I’ve never really liked Linda. I know my father’s happy with her, and she tries hard to make friends with me, maybe too hard. She’s always asking me what I think, and she agrees with whatever I say. I guess she’s pretty in a large, blonde, smiley way.

They live in a little house over in the Sunset district. Linda isn’t much of a housekeeper—not as bad as Norma’s mother, but all the furniture looks scuffed and worn, and there’s usually a clutter of kids’ toys, sweaters, and newspapers lying around.

Sean and David were looking out of the windows when we drove up Friday night, and they came tearing out the door before we even got out of the car.

“What darlings!” Norma said.

It took only a few minutes for them to get over their shyness with her. David is five and Sean seven. They’re cute kids. I don’t mind them as much as I do Linda.

“How are you, Jeff?” said my father, giving me a manly handshake and a quick hug.

Norma giggled when she saw him. “You and Jeff look so much alike, Mr. Lyons,” she said. “It really is something.”

My father liked Norma. So did Linda. So did the boys. They sat on either side of her during dinner and talked to her both at the same time. I sat near Linda and struggled through a typical conversation.

“So what’s going on, Jeff?”

“Nothing much.”

“Are you still working in the hardware store?”

“On Monday and Wednesday afternoons and every other Saturday.”

“Well, I was just telling your father that he ought to go down and get a new showerhead for the bathroom. I thought maybe you could suggest a better one than the one we have. It’s never worked right.”

“I don’t know anything about showerheads.”

“I thought you could show him what you had and maybe tell him which one you think might be best. I don’t mind spending a little more.”

“I don’t know anything about showerheads, Linda.”

“Well, I’m sure you know more than he does.”

It was rough going. After dinner, Norma helped Linda with the dishes and my father and I went into the living room and looked at each other helplessly. Bad as it was talking with Linda, it was even worse talking to my father when we were by ourselves. When the kids were around it wasn’t so bad, but now they were both in the kitchen. You could hear their high, excited little-kid voices.

“That’s a nice girl you got there, Jeff.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“She’s real sweet.”

“Mmm.”

“Nice looking too, but that’s not really important.”

“No, I guess not.”

“So what’s new?”

“Nothing much.”

“We don’t see you very much these days.”

“I know, Dad, but I’m real busy. There’s school and my job at the hardware store, and I have to help Mom around the house.”

My father leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Jeff, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s Wanda. She’s not happy.”

“When is Wanda ever happy?” I laughed.

My father went on slowly. “She wants to move in with us.”

“With you?”

“Yes. She says she’s not happy with your mother.”

He was watching me, waiting for me to say something. From the kitchen Sean’s voice yelled, “Norma, look at me! Look at me!”

“It’s not fair,” I said to my father.

He leaned back and his large, handsome face looked worried.

“It’s not fair,” I repeated. “Mom would go to pieces if Wanda moved out.”

My father said carefully, “I know it won’t be easy for her, but she’s got her job and you’d still be there. I do have to think about what’s best for Wanda.”

“It’s kind of late for that, isn’t it?” I snapped.

“Jeff! Jeff!” he said sadly. “You know, Jeff, I tried. But it didn’t work. It nearly killed me to leave you kids.”

“And what about her?” I said. “What about Mom? Her whole life is the two of us. You’ve got another family. You’ve got other kids. You’re married. You’re happy.”

I could hear myself talking at him. Attacking him. I could hear myself sounding just like my mother.

“I know how you feel. I know you’re going to take her side. It’s only right. I know . . .”

“You don’t know anything,” I yelled at him. “You don’t know what a lousy life she has and what a rotten thing it would be if Wanda moved out.”

“Just let me tell you something,” my father said, leaning forward. “I don’t want to say anything about your mother. She does the best she can, and she’s a good woman, but . . . And listen, Jeff, let me talk and don’t get excited. She can’t help herself, and I know she tries. But I tried too. We were married for eight years, and I got to thinking that life wasn’t worth living. Nothing I did made any difference. She was miserable and I was miserable. So I left, and—sure, Linda and I fight sometimes, but it’s good now just being alive. And when I hear Wanda talking, when she cries and says she’s miserable, what can I do? I’m her father. I have to try and help her, don’t I, Jeff?”

I didn’t say anything. My father watched me for a while. Then he said, “You too, Jeff. I’m your father too. If you ever needed me . . .”

“I’m fine,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

“But Wanda isn’t,” he said. “And I’d like her to live with me, if that’s what she wants.”

“Mom has custody,” I told him. But I knew she wouldn’t stop Wanda if she wanted to go. My father knew that too.

“I thought maybe you could talk to your mother.”

“Not me,” I told him. “I’m not getting involved. I think Wanda’s a louse, and if she wants to move out, she’ll have to handle it herself.”

“Okay, Jeff,” said my father. He patted my arm and began talking about football.

“Your father’s very nice,” Norma told me as we drove home. “That’s the way you’ll look when you’re his age. And the boys are darling. I promised them we’d come and take them to the zoo one day.”

“Mmm.”

“And Linda’s very sweet and friendly. She’s such a good mother. I bet she never loses her temper.”

“Mmm.”

“What’s the matter, Jeff? Is something wrong?”

I told her. “Wanda wants to move out. She says she’s not happy. My father told me tonight. He wants me to talk to my mother.”

“So—will you?”

“Are you kidding? Do you know what will happen to my mother if Wanda leaves?”

Norma put an arm around my shoulder. “Poor Jeff,” she said. “Poor Jeff.”

“It’s not me,” I told her. “It’s my mother.”

“Well,” said Norma, “it’s easy to see why Wanda wants to move in with them. They’re a really happy family.”

“But Wanda has some responsibilities too,” I said. “My mother’s the one who’s taken care of her all these years. My father just took off and did his own thing, while my mother was stuck with the two of us.”

“Wanda’s only fourteen, Jeff, and if she’s really unhappy . . .”

“It’s not fair,” I said. “It’s just not fair.”

“Poor Jeff!” Norma said.

She wasn’t any help. When we got to her house, I told her I was too tired to come upstairs with her, and I could see the hurt in her face. I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt everybody—my father, Linda, Sean, David, Wanda, and my mother too. I knew I was going to wake up scared again that night, and I did. I ate some leftover macaroni and I remembered the doglike look in Ellen’s eyes. I began to feel better.