The Fat Girl (5 page)

My mother and I looked at each other.

“I’ll pick you up,” my mother said.

“No, that’s all right. Marcie’s father will drop me.”

“I’ll pick you up,” my mother insisted.

Wanda was still smiling. She didn’t sense the trap being baited.

“I don’t know what time we’ll be finished, so . . .”

“I’ll call you about ten.”

“No, don’t call.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . because . . .”

“Because,” said my mother, “because you’re not going to be at Marcie’s house. Because you’re lying.”

Wanda sat down and looked desperately at me for support.

“The last time you said you were at Marcie’s house, I was looking out the window when your father dropped you off. And the time before that, the same thing happened. I saw him drop you off at the corner.”

“You’re spying on me,” Wanda shrieked. “What right do you have to spy on me?” Wanda was a shrewd fighter, quick to change directions when cornered and mount an attack herself. But it didn’t work this time.

“Why are you lying, Wanda?” my mother said, her little face all twisted up in pain. It made me hate Wanda, but I swallowed some cold cereal and kept quiet.

Wanda burst into tears.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” said my mother gently in her suffering voice. “I don’t care if you go to your father’s house. He is your father. It’s only right you should visit him. I only want to know where you are because I’m your mother and I love you.”

“Leave me alone!” Wanda shrieked. “Leave me alone!”

“Now stop it, Wanda,” I yelled. “You’ve got no right worrying Mom like that. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“You get off my back, Jeff,” Wanda yelled back. “You’re never home yourself. It’s like a morgue here. And she’s always at me, picking at me and complaining, whatever I do. It’s no fun. It’s fun there. And they like me to come. Linda says she needs another woman in the house. And today’s Sean’s birthday, and I was going to help with the kids’ party in the afternoon. And then at night we were all going out to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. It’s fun there. . . I like to go there.”

“Sean’s birthday?” I said. “I didn’t know it was Sean’s birthday.”

“You don’t know anything,” Wanda yelled. “You’re so wrapped up in Norma, you can’t think of anything else.”

“But . . . but . . . they never told me. They didn’t invite me.”

“Now look here, Wanda,” said my mother very slowly, very stiffly. “I just want you to tell me where you’re going. If you’re happier with your father . . .”

“I didn’t say that, did I?” Wanda shouted.

“If you’re happier with your father . . .”

“Yes, yes, yes! I am happier with him. I hate it here! I hate it!” Wanda jumped up and ran out of the room.

My mother and I sat together over the table, just as we had a few hours before. I could feel the misery and the hurt radiating out from her, but I was feeling pretty hurt myself. They were going to celebrate Sean’s birthday that night, and nobody invited me. It was true that I had declined most of their invitations in the past, but my father had always dutifully extended them. How come he hadn’t this time?

“I told you,” said my mother. “You see? I told you.”

“Wanda’s a pain,” I told her. “She never thinks of anybody but herself.”

“She’s not happy here.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “She’ll get over it.”

My mother stood up and began gathering the dishes. “She’s happier there than here. You heard what she said.”

“Oh, Mom,” I said, “don’t make a big deal out of it. She’s just going to Sean’s birthday party. She always likes to go to parties. Everybody likes to go to parties.”

“You too, Jeff?” My mother was looking at me. I could feel it coming on, but there was no way of stopping it. There never was any way of stopping it.

“He didn’t ask me,” I told her.

“Well, I’m sure you could go if you wanted to,” said my mother, turning her back. “I’m sure they would be very happy if you went.”

“I don’t want to go,” I said to her back.

She was stacking dishes in the sink, scraping the breakfast bits into the garbage disposal unit.

“Why not, Jeff? Why don’t you go too? I could hear from the way you were talking before that you really wanted to go. Why shouldn’t you go? I’m sure you’d have a very good time if you went.”

Very soon we were shouting at each other, and she was telling me that I was just like my father and that I was selfish. It wasn’t until I arrived at school that I remembered I’d forgotten all about Ellen.

seven

She came in late as she usually did, banging against the doorway, dropping her books and clumping noisily to her seat. I tried to catch her eye to smile at her, but she didn’t look in my direction. Later, when I managed to get over to her and said, “Hi, Ellen, how are you?” she turned away and didn’t answer. I knew her mother had told her about my phone call.

Norma went out of her way to heap attention and praise on her. She worked with her at the wheel and kept saying cheerily, “That’s great, Ellen, keep it up. You’re really getting there. Keep it up.”

She must have said something to Dolores and Roger too because they came over to observe, and you could hear their encouraging voices mingling with Norma’s.

I couldn’t work. I was too busy watching the fat girl.

She couldn’t work either. All the attention being heaped on her made her even more clumsy than usual. Her pot collapsed on the wheel. And when Norma urged her to try another, she just shook her head, not looking at Norma, not looking at any of the kids standing around the wheel, cheering her on. It was horrible, and I felt responsible.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I told Norma when the bell rang, and I hurried after the fat girl.

“Ellen!” I called out. “Ellen, wait a second!”

She kept right on moving, her head down. I caught up with her and said, “Listen, Ellen, I want to explain.”

“Go away,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I know you’re sore,” I said, looking at her face, trying to get her to look at mine.

“But I really was worried about you.”

“You promised,” she said, still moving, still keeping her face down, “and you’re a liar. You told my mother. You told everybody. Go away! I hate you!”

“I was worried about you, Ellen. That’s why I called your mother. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I didn’t know . . .”

“What didn’t you know?” Ellen’s head snapped up, and she was glaring at me now, her little green eyes fierce.

“Look, Ellen, I really want to be your friend. Where are you going now?”

She didn’t answer.

“Is this your last class? It’s mine and if you’re free, maybe we can go someplace and talk.”

“I have to go home.”

“Well, can I walk with you?”

“No.”

“How about later then?”

She shook her head.

“I know. How about coming out for a pizza with me later? How about that, Ellen, just the two of us? I really want to talk to you. Come on, Ellen, let’s go to Vince’s later and have a pizza. They have the best pepperoni pizza in the city. You’ll like their pizza. I always get them to add extra cheese . . .”

I was jabbering on and on, but I could see her hesitating. Food, that was the way to get to her. Food.

“Or we could have him make up Vince’s Special with Italian sausage, mushrooms, anchovies . . .”

She was looking at me now, her head slightly tilted, considering. Was she wondering what her mother was cooking for dinner that night? What she’d be missing if she had pizza with me?

“I mean, if you like pizza, we could go to Vince’s. Otherwise, we could go someplace else.”

“I like pizza,” she said solemnly.

“Good. I’ll pick you up about six. Is six okay?”

She nodded slowly.

“Well, that’s fine then, Ellen. I’ll see you later.”

When I told Norma I was taking the fat girl out for pizza that night, her eyes filled with tears.

“You’re a nice guy, Jeff. Did I ever tell you that before?”

“I’m a jerk, Norma, and I’ve really screwed things up for the fat . . . I mean, Ellen. From now on, I’m always going to call her Ellen.”

“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself. She has to take some responsibility too for what’s happening to her.”

“You’re right, Norma, and maybe I can tell her so. I mean, I don’t want it to be too heavy. But maybe if she feels I’m really interested in what happens to her, and she can trust me, maybe I can help her.”

“It should be some evening,” Norma said, smiling. “I’ll be interested in hearing all about it.”

And that’s when it really started—the end, I mean. Because I felt myself growing angry. But at what? At the way she was smiling? At the way she assumed I was going to tell her everything that passed between Ellen and myself?

“And another thing, Norma,” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “You don’t have to lay it on so thick with her. I mean, it’s great that you’re trying to be friendly, and I know you told Roger and Dolores to be nice too, but you don’t have to bury her in it.”

She didn’t notice my irritation. She was a person who could always take criticism without snapping back. She just nodded and said, “You’re right, Jeff. I guess I was too obvious.” And then she kissed me and I kissed her, and the beginning of the end got lost for a while.

My mother worked the seven thirty to three thirty shift at her job, so the two of us got home around the same time. She was unloading some packages from the car, and I helped her carry them up the stairs. The phone was ringing as we entered the apartment. It was my father.

“Hello, Jeff.”

“Oh, hi, Dad.” I was using the phone in the kitchen, and I watched as my mother set down her package and walked out of the room.

“I’m glad I got you, Jeff. I meant to call you last night, but David fell down the stairs and needed a few stitches in his leg, so . . .”

“How is he now?”

“He’s fine. He’s fine, but that’s why I didn’t call you.”

“I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Well, the thing is, I wanted to tell you that Sean’s having a birthday party this afternoon, just with some of the kids in the neighborhood. But tonight we’re all going out to dinner, and I’d like you to come too. I would have called you last night . . .” His voice sounded awkward. Wanda must have told him.

“That’s okay, Dad. I can’t come anyway.”

“You know, Jeff, you’re always invited to any family party here. I wouldn’t want you to feel . . .”

“It’s okay. I’m going out with a friend tonight for pizza.”

“With Norma? Well, look, why don’t the two of you come along with us? I haven’t met Norma yet, but I’d like to. Wanda told us all about her, and you can bring her too.”

“No, it’s not Norma, and I don’t think I can. It’s somebody else who’s got some problems, and we need to talk.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Jeff. I really meant to call you yesterday. I don’t want you to feel left out. You know you’re my number-one son.” He was trying to be funny, and it embarrassed both of us.

“I know, Dad. It’s okay. I don’t feel left out.”

“How about coming over another day this week? We never see you. Why don’t you bring Norma over for dinner one night?”

“Well . . .”

“Come on, Jeff.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“When?”

“Well, how about Friday? If she can make it.”

“Or Saturday or Sunday. Any night’s fine, and Linda and the kids will be so happy. Just let me know.”

“Okay, Dad, and wish Sean a happy birthday from me. And give my best to Linda.”

“I will, Jeff. Thanks. And you know, I really would have called you last night.”

“I know, Dad.”

I was exhausted when I hung up the phone. My mother returned to the kitchen as soon as I stopped talking, and began unpacking the groceries.

“Mom,” I asked, “can I have the car tonight?”

“Of course,” she said stiffly. I knew she was thinking I needed the car to go to Dad’s house.

“I’m not going to Dad’s house,” I told her, “because I have a date with somebody in my ceramics class. Not exactly a date, but I’m taking somebody out for pizza, and I’d like the car.”

She piled a few tuna fish cans in the closet but didn’t say anything. I knew she thought I was lying to her, like Wanda, so I explained.

“I’m taking a fat girl named Ellen out for pizza tonight, because I’m sorry for her and I want to help her. She’s the one who says she’s going to commit suicide. I started telling you about her last night.”

My mother brightened up and I went on.

“She keeps saying she’s going to kill herself, but her mother says she isn’t. Her mother says she’s always threatening to kill herself. At least once a day, her mother says, but after a good dinner she generally feels better.”

My mother shook her head, but she was smiling. “When people say they’re going to kill themselves, you have to take them seriously,” she said. “It sounds to me like that’s a family who could use some counseling.”

My mother handed me the keys to the car and offered to give me some money if I was short.

We ordered an extra-large Vince’s Special and waited about fifteen minutes before it arrived. Since it was Tuesday night, the place wasn’t mobbed the way it always was on weekends. Still, Danny Ryan and his girlfriend, Amy Peterson, were there, sitting at a table on the other side of the room. “Hey, Jeff,” Danny called out when we came in. But then he blinked hard and his smile kind of stuck on his face when he saw Ellen. Amy turned around to stare and gave me such a wide, phony smile, I could feel the irritation growing inside me again. Very deliberately, I rested my arm on Ellen’s shoulder as I guided her over to a table.

She didn’t notice. She was busy sniffing the air as we waited for our pizza. Her eyes rested hungrily on all the dishes that could be seen on adjoining tables. She was dressed up in another one of her old-lady outfits.

“I’ve never been here before,” she said. “When we go out for pizza, we usually go to John’s or Ernesto’s.”

“I think this is the best place in the city.”

She smiled and nodded at me. Good! She wasn’t angry anymore.

“Anyway, Ellen, I wanted to explain about yesterday, and I wanted to apologize. I know I promised not to tell your mother, but I was afraid you would, you would . . .”

Her face grew serious. “Kill myself? I will, too.”

“Now Ellen, don’t start that all over again.”

“I know
she
told you I wouldn’t. SHE doesn’t believe me.
She
thinks I won’t do it, but I will.” She was pouting like a little child.

“Look, Ellen, that’s what I wanted to talk about. Has your family ever gone for counseling?”

“Counseling?” Ellen screwed up her face and twitched her nose as if something smelled bad. “Ever since I can remember, either we’re all going, or I’m going, or my parents are going, or my brothers. Right now, my mother and Ricky are going, but I’m not going anymore.”

“But maybe you should.”

“Why?”

“Maybe it will make you feel better.”

“I’m never going to feel better until I’m dead,” she said. “I just can’t make up my mind how to do it. The best way is to jump off the bridge, but I don’t know how I’d get myself out there. I don’t drive. I could take the 29 bus, but then I’d have to walk and I’m not really sure I’d like to jump off the bridge. I think it would hurt too much. I don’t want it to hurt. I could cut my wrists. That might be the easiest way, but blood makes me throw up. So I guess I’ll have to take sleeping pills, but then somebody might find me . . .”

She went on and on, and I listened. I meant to talk to her about going for counseling, and I meant to say something about changing her attitudes and making friends, but that night I forgot everything, listening to her. I was fascinated as she talked on and on, listing all the possible ways she was considering killing herself.

She stopped talking when the pizza came and she began eating. I talked a little then, but she barely listened. She ate slowly, with deep concentration. Maybe I ate two or three pieces. She ate all the rest.