The Fat Girl (7 page)

nine

I had worked up quite a speech to lay on Wanda, but none of it turned out as I had expected.

She was ready for me. I guess she’d spoken with my father and had spent some time on her own rehearsing a speech for me. We traded a few whispered words back and forth the next morning, and then I said to my mother, who was washing some sweaters, “Mom, Wanda and I have to go over to the library today. Can we borrow the car?”

“The library?” said my mother. “Over on Anza?”

“No—we have to go down to the main library. But we’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Okay,” said my mother. “I need to go shopping later, so don’t stay out too long.”

We parked the car at Stow Lake and sat inside, watching a couple with a little girl feeding the ducks. The little girl kept putting the bread crumbs into her mouth.

“Do you remember when Dad used to take us here to feed the ducks?” Wanda asked.

“Both of them,” I told her. “I remember coming here with Mom and Dad.”

“Yes,” said Wanda, “but Mom used to sit on the bench and read a magazine. And Dad let us feed the ducks, and sometimes he used to take us rowing.”

“Okay, Wanda,” I said, “let’s talk.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’m ready.”

I told her what I thought. I told her I thought she had a responsibility to Mom and I reminded her that ever since the divorce, it was Mom who’d taken care of us and whose whole life centered around us. I told her that I knew Dad loved us. I didn’t want to say anything about Dad. But she had to remember that Dad had another family now, and that Mom only had us.

“I know that,” Wanda said impatiently.

I tried to stay calm. “I’m not saying things are perfect at home, Wanda. I know Mom can be difficult, but it’s not fair to just walk out on her after all the years she’s looked after you.”

Wanda looked right at me, her dark, little face defiant.

“You too,” she said. “Don’t forget she’s looked after you too.”

“I’m not forgetting, Wanda,” I said. “I know I have a responsibility to Mom. I’ll always have a responsibility to her.”

“That’s right,” she said, “but you’ll be graduating this June and going off to college. I’ll be all alone with her. I don’t want to be all alone with her. I can’t stand it if I have to be alone with her.”

“How can you talk like that?” I said.

“It’s easy,” she came right back at me. “Just like it’s easy for you to tell me how to act. You’ll be going away in the fall, and as it is, you’re never home anyway. You’re always away, and I’m the one who’s stuck with Mom. So don’t go telling me about my responsibilities.”

I should have expected that Wanda would attack. It’s very seldom that you can get her at bay. I looked through the car window at the little girl with her face all covered with bread crumbs, and I didn’t know what to say next.

Wanda put a hand on my arm. Her voice was kindly. “It’s not like I’m going to Siberia,” she said. “I’ll just be across the park. I can spend a night or two with her during the week from time to time, and maybe we can get together over the weekend. She’ll get used to it. Maybe she’ll even be happy once I go. We fight all the time as it is.”

I shook my head. “She won’t be happy.”

“No, I guess not,” said Wanda. “No matter what happens, she’ll never be happy. You know that, Jeff. There’s nothing we can do. You’ll be going away to school, and I . . . I’ve got to look out for myself. I don’t want to be like her, Jeff. I want to have fun and feel good.”

“But can’t you wait?” I said. “Maybe after I’m gone, maybe after a few months . . .”

“Uh uh, Jeff,” my sister said. “I’m not waiting. It’ll be better now. You’re still home. You’ll be home until September. It will give her time to get used to being alone. It would be worse if I waited.”

“How do you know you’ll like it with Dad?” I asked her. “They live in such a tiny house and the place is a mess.”

“Well, maybe I can help. I’ve learned a lot from Mom, even though she never lets me do anything important. I’m a good cook, and I can help Linda with the housework. Dad says the boys can move in together for a while and I can have Sean’s room. Dad’s going to fix up the back of the basement and put in another room and a bathroom. So maybe after a year or so, I can take that . . .” She went chirping on and on.

It was funny how upset I was. I hated the thought of Wanda moving out—not only for Mom, but for me too. Wanda belonged to me. She was my drippy kid sister who took at least two showers a day, clogged up the drain with her hair, and whined all the time. But she was part of my territory. I didn’t want her to move out. I didn’t want to lose something else that belonged to me.

“Listen, Wanda,” I tried again. “Maybe we can work out some kind of compromise. Maybe I can try to spend more time at home with Mom. How about you spending every other weekend with Dad?”

Wanda shook her head.

“Okay, how about every weekend? I’ll spend more time at home with Mom. I’ll try to run a little more interference for you.”

Wanda kept on shaking her head.

“Wanda, I really don’t want you to go. You’re my sister, and . . . I’ll miss you. You’re a pest, but I don’t want you to go.”

I tried laughing when I said it and she stopped shaking her head.

“Jeff,” she said finally, “I can’t stay. I’ll miss you too. I guess I wasn’t thinking that you won’t be there either. I guess I forgot about you. But you’ll be going away soon, and I’d have to stay home alone with her. I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Now she was crying and I began crying too. We sat there in the car, looking out at the ducks in Stow Lake, and we cried together.

But the only thing we agreed on was that she wouldn’t say anything more about moving out until after Christmas. That she wouldn’t spoil the holidays for Mom.

I stayed home that Saturday. Usually I’m either working at the hardware store or out with my friends. My mother does her heavy cleaning on Saturdays, and all I’m ever supposed to do is keep my room neat. Whenever my mother gets angry at me, she says that I don’t help around the house. But actually she never really lets me do very much. That day I tried.

“What can I do to help, Mom?” She was washing down the fixtures in the kitchen.

“Just keep out of my way, Jeff.”

“Do you want me to vacuum, Mom?”

“No,” she said. “You always miss all the corners when you vacuum.”

“I’ll be careful, Mom.”

“Well, okay,” she said doubtfully.

Later she ran the vacuum over all the areas I had done earlier.

I offered to help her shop. She declined. “What’s the matter, Jeff? How come you’re not out with your friends?”

“I thought I’d hang around the house and help you, Mom. You’re always saying I don’t do enough. So I thought I’d grant you your wish.”

She smiled at me. She was in a good mood that day. “You must be feeling guilty or something.”

“Uh uh, Mom, my conscience is clear.”

“Money?”

“Nope.”

“Well—that’s all right then. You did your duty. Dismissed!”

“Actually, Mom, I’m free until tonight. Norma and I are going to a movie. What are you doing tonight?”

My mother cocked her head to one side and inspected me. “So that’s it—you want the car? Well, you usually can count on it for Saturday night. You know that. I’ll be home with Wanda, unless she’s going to a friend’s. You can have the car, Jeff.”

I wanted to ask her why she was always home Saturday nights. Why she never went out with friends. Both of my grandparents were dead, but my Aunt Lisa, Mom’s younger sister, and her husband lived over in Kensington. The trouble was that she and Mom weren’t talking to each other this year. Some years they talked to each other, and some years they didn’t. But there were other relatives as well.

“What ever happened to that uncle of yours, Mom? Uncle Charles?”

“Oh, he’s in an old-age home. I should go out and see him sometime.”

“And Mom, what about those cousins of yours, the two brothers?”

“Roger and Bill Porter? I don’t like Roger’s wife. And Bill, well, he’s moved again, I think, and I don’t know where he is.”

There were no men in my mother’s life. Danny Lefferts, whose parents are divorced, complains all the time because his mother always brings different boyfriends home to spend the night. I don’t think my mother ever even went out with a man since the divorce. It always made me feel relieved that she didn’t. But now I worried about what was going to happen to her when Wanda left, and later, when I went off to college. It gave me a heavy, empty feeling just thinking about it, and I wanted to make it up to her in advance. I wanted to make her happy now, so in those lonely days ahead maybe she could remember.

“Hey, Mom, how about coming to the movies with Norma and me? If Wanda wants to come, she can come too.”

My mother looked at me nervously.

“Why?” she said.

“Oh, I just thought it might be fun. We haven’t gone out together for a long time. I thought maybe you’d like to.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” said my mother stiffly, “but I’d rather not.”

“Why not?”

“What is it, Jeff?” said my mother. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“So why are you acting so strange?”

“What’s strange about asking you to come to a movie with me tonight?”

“And Norma?”

“Well, all right, Norma too.”

“Boys don’t usually invite their mothers along to chaperone them on dates, do they?”

“Well, I just felt I’d like you along tonight, Mom. I don’t think it’s strange. You always twist everything I say.”

Naturally, it ended in a fight, and I went storming out of the house.

I spent the afternoon shopping for a birthday present for Ellen. I didn’t know anything about her—what kind of books she read, the kind of music she liked. I couldn’t even remember if she wore jewelry. I ended up buying her a scarf. It was a green one with blue flowers. I found myself thinking about Ellen’s green eyes and the adoring way she had looked at me the other day. Nobody had ever looked at me that way before, not even Norma.

Norma and her family were going away skiing for the holidays. They had a place up at Tahoe and generally spent Christmas there.

“I wish you could come too, Jeff.”

“I’d like to, Norma, but I always spend Christmas at home. And this year, especially . . .”

“Well, come and have dinner tomorrow night. I’ll cook, so it shouldn’t be too painful. We’re going to get off early Monday morning.”

“I can’t. I’m going to a birthday party at Ellen’s house. It’s her birthday.”

Norma was trying not to smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing, Jeff. Well, come over after. I’ll wait up for you.”

“I’ll try, but I don’t know how late it’s going to go on.”

“Whatever time, I’ll wait up.”

“I’ll try.”

Norma said slowly, “Don’t you want to come, Jeff? We won’t be seeing each other for a couple of weeks.”

“Well, sure I want to come.”

“Because to tell you the truth, Jeff, something is wrong, and I wish I knew what it was.”

“It’s nothing, Norma.”

“Maybe it’s all the problems you’re having at home. I guess you’re worried about Wanda moving out and how your mother is going to take it. Is that it?”

“Yeah—I guess that’s it. I’m sorry. I guess I haven’t been much fun lately.”

“No, you haven’t,” she said, “but that’s what I’m here for. Just remember that, Jeff. I really care about you, and I want to help.”

“Thanks, Norma,” I said.

“And you’ll come tomorrow night?”

“I’ll try,” I told her.

ten

Ellen looked horrible on her birthday. She was wearing a shapeless dress with pink and white checks and a ruffly collar around her fat neck. Her eyes glittered when she opened the door and saw me standing there.

“Happy birthday, Ellen,” I said and handed her the package.

I followed her into the living room where her family was seated, almost as if they had been arranged there, waiting for me. It must have been the event of the year—the arrival of a friend for Ellen. I could see the amazement in her father’s face when he saw me. But he controlled himself, shook my hand, and said something friendly.

Mrs. De Luca hurried back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, carrying one tray after another of elaborate hors d’oeuvres. Even though it was Ellen’s birthday, it was obvious who the real guest of honor was.

“Well, Jeff, what are you planning on doing after you graduate?” her father asked. He was a small, thin man who spoke with a slight lisp. Later, I found out that he was an accountant.

“I’m still waiting to hear from the schools I applied to.”

“Which ones did you apply to?”

“Oh, Berkeley, Stanford . . . I won’t get into Stanford, and I guess I won’t get into Berkeley either. They’ll probably redirect me to Irvine or Riverside. I wouldn’t mind San Diego if I can get in there.”

“What are you interested in?”

“I wish I knew,” I told him.

Everybody laughed. I was the focus of all conversation during the whole evening. Even Ellen’s two brothers seemed absorbed in everything I said. I liked it. I found myself speaking with authority on every subject that came up, and being listened to with respect. I advised Matt on the best kind of shoes to wear for soccer, even though I had played it badly as a sophomore. Ricky and I exchanged stories of how many cars we had dodged on our skateboards, and Mr. De Luca and I disagreed in a friendly, lively way on politics. I sparkled as I felt their admiring glances on me. I couldn’t do anything wrong.

Nobody noticed Ellen very much, and she said very little. But her face glowed and she smiled and laughed whenever the others did. Her mother kept pushing food on me. It was a good dinner too—paella and a big guacamole salad. I knew I’d be eating it again later that week, after my mother heard about Ellen’s birthday dinner and had to make the same thing, only better.

The only bad moment, and it was a short one, came when I mentioned Norma. I had been telling them about the ceramics class and how frustrated I felt because the clay eluded me.

“Jeff is one of the best,” Ellen cried out.

“No, no, no!” I protested. “I’m just a beginner but my girlfriend, she’s really exceptional.”

All those smiling faces froze just for a very quick second. Then Mrs. De Luca spoke. Passing me the French bread, she asked casually, “Ah, does she expect to do it professionally?”

“Yes, she does. I think her work is good enough right now, but she’s planning to go away to Alfred University next year. I’m sure she’ll get in. That’s one of the best places in the country.”

“Where is it?” asked Mrs. De Luca.

“New York state somewhere. I think near Buffalo.”

Mrs. De Luca smiled a little more cheerfully and poured some red wine for me.

“I went over to Ida O’Neill’s today,” said Ellen. “Today I took my first lesson.”

She was leaning forward, looking at me, speaking quickly, eagerly.

The wine was warming my cheeks. I felt pleased and very proud that Ellen had acted so quickly on my advice. “That’s great!” I said, giving her a big smile of approval.

“She’s real nice,” Ellen said. “She showed me how to hold my hands, and I didn’t have any trouble centering a pot. If I want to, I can come in other days during the week, too, for more lessons.”

“Well, Ellen, I can take you over whenever you like,” said her mother, trying to sound casual.

Ellen’s mother had baked a large German chocolate cake. She carried it into the dining room with seventeen candles burning, and we all sang happy birthday to Ellen.

“Make a wish, dear,” her mother urged.

Ellen closed her eyes for a second but I could see the wish printed on her forehead—
JEFF
. She loomed up over the cake, her huge face serious as she puckered up her mouth. You could hear the blast of air as it snuffed out all the candles.

“Now you’ll certainly get your wish,” said her mother, being very careful not to look at me.

The cake tasted great. Even my mother would have had a hard time matching it. But Ellen took a little taste and then put her fork back on her plate.

“What’s the matter, dear? Isn’t it good?” asked her mother.

“It’s very good,” Ellen said.

“She can eat a whole cake,” Ricky told me. “Last year she ate a whole cake. My mother made two, and she ate one all by herself.”

There was pride in his voice, the way you would speak if you had an Olympic gold medal winner in your family. But the others all started talking at the same time. Ellen looked at me, her face purpling and tears welling up in her eyes. She shook her head slightly and got up and left the table.

“How about some more cake, Jeff?” her mother asked quickly.

“I’d like another piece,” I said heartily.

“I think I’ll have another one too, dear, while you’re at it.” Her father laughed.

There was a lot of movement, dishes clattering, voices raised, laughter. Ellen returned to the table and sat over her plate with the uneaten cake as the rest of us ate and talked and laughed. After a while, she began laughing too.

“Aren’t you going to open your presents, Ellen?” asked her mother.

Ellen saved my present for last. First she opened Ricky’s. His, Matt’s, and her parents’ were all wrapped in the same flowery kind of wrapping paper, so I figured that her mother had bought and wrapped all of them. Ricky’s present was a pair of fuzzy blue bedroom slippers.

“Oh, thank you, Ricky,” Ellen said and rose from her chair, lumbered over to Ricky and kissed him.

“Happy birthday, Ellen,” Ricky mumbled.

Matt’s gift was a jade heart on a gold chain.

“Oh, isn’t it pretty!” Ellen said and barreled over toward Matt, kissing him also.

“Happy birthday, Ellen,” Matt said, looking away.

Her parents gave her a hair dryer, and she thanked them and kissed them too.

Then she opened my present. “Oh!” she squealed, just as if she were a normal, pretty girl. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Jeff! I love it!”

“Just the right color for her,” said Mrs. De Luca, and the others all murmured their approval as well.

Ellen was looking at me. I knew she wanted to get up and kiss me too as she had the others. I wouldn’t have minded, but she didn’t.

“Happy birthday, Ellen,” I said.

Later, all of them seemed to disappear when we returned to the living room. Somebody must have given a signal, because suddenly Ellen and I were all alone. She had my scarf tied around her neck.

“Good dinner, Ellen. Your folks are really nice.”

“I’m glad you came, Jeff.”

“Well, I’m glad too.”

“And I think the scarf is really beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s the most beautiful scarf I ever saw.”

“That’s nice.”

We were sitting on the couch together and I had my arm stretched along the top of it. Every so often while we talked, her body would brush up against my arm.

“You know something?” she said.

“What?”

“I lost two pounds since we had pizza on Tuesday.”

“Well, that’s great.”

“You know how you said I had to lose weight? You know how you said things would be better for me if I did? Well, I think you’re right, Jeff. I’m going to try.”

So that was why she hadn’t eaten any cake that night. Even though she could have knocked the whole cake off, as Ricky said. She was trying to lose weight to please me. I looked into the adoring face of the fat girl sitting next to me and I thought,
She’s going to be all right.
Because of me. She’s going to be all right.
I began patting her shoulder.

“What are you going to do after you graduate, Ellen?” I asked her.

She seemed startled. “I don’t know. I never . . . never thought that far ahead.”

She didn’t say why, but I knew. Because she had been planning to kill herself. But not anymore. Because of me.

“Are you going to college?” I asked her briskly.

“I don’t know.”

“How are your marks?”

“Okay, I guess. About a B.”

“Well, did you apply to any schools?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“It’s not too late. You can still apply to State, and I understand some of the University of California campuses will accept late applications.”

Her eyes were on my face. She was listening to what I said, accepting my advice. She was going to live.

“I think you should apply, Ellen.”

“Well,” she said slowly, “maybe I will. But where?”

“Start with State. Then phone Berkeley and ask about late applications. If you don’t get in there, maybe Santa Cruz would take you, or Irvine . . .”

She nodded as I went on talking. Her eyes moved all over my face, but I pretended not to notice.

I arrived at Norma’s house about ten thirty. The family were all deep into their packing for the trip to Tahoe. One of Joey’s skis was missing, and Mr. Jenkins was shouting, “How can you lose one ski? Answer me that.” Mrs. Jenkins was piling jars of fruit compote into cardboard boxes and listening to a recording of
Aida.

“How come you never can spaghetti sauce or chili?” Lucia demanded. “I’m tired of eating fruit compote all the time. Most of my friends never eat fruit compote. They eat spaghetti or chili.”

Nobody noticed me particularly, as usual. Even Norma was busy up in her room, rolling some of her pots up in rags.

“What are you doing that for?” I asked her.

“A geologist at Berkeley said there might be an earthquake during the next few weeks. I thought I’d better protect some of my pots.”

It was funny, but now that Norma wasn’t interested in Ellen, I wanted to talk about her. I was high on Ellen.

“I had a very nice time at Ellen’s house,” I told her.

“Oh, that’s right. You went to Ellen’s. Here, Jeff, would you just hold this vase up straight for a second?”

“She lost two pounds this week.”

“That’s nice. Jeff, could you reach up and take down that blue and white bowl from the shelf. I think I’d better wrap that one up too.”

“I think she’s in love with me, Norma.”

“Poor thing!” Norma pushed all of her wrapped pots under her bed. “If anything falls, they’ll be protected here,” she said.

“I don’t think it’s such a terrible thing,” I said. “She’s not talking about killing herself anymore, and I got her to take lessons with Ida O’Neill. And another thing, she’s going to register for college. Because I said she should. She’ll do anything I tell her.”

“Poor thing!” Norma said again. She was still sitting on the floor, looking up at me. Her hair lay rumpled but shiny gold on her head. How beautiful her face was, with its bright blue eyes and sharp clear features. What a contrast to Ellen’s.

“Why do you keep saying, ‘Poor thing’?” I asked.

“Because if she’s in love with you, it’s sad.”

“Well, I can still be her friend, can’t I? I can still help her feel good about herself, and maybe I can get her out of her shell.”

Norma shrugged her shoulders. “I just want to wrap up that big pitcher downstairs in the dining room and the long-necked vase in my parents’ room, Jeff, and then I’ll be finished. Oh, wait! Maybe I’d better do the three green plates, too, and that big blue and white platter . . .”

Norma liked me a lot, I guess, but her pots always came first.