The Fat Girl

by Marilyn Sachs

  Ellen laughed. “I guess we are getting kind of friendly. She’s a very nice girl.”

  “I told you that a long time ago,” I said, “but I also remember you saying that you hated her.”

  Ellen said lightly, “I must have been jealous of her then, but not anymore. I think she’s just great. She’s the best potter in the class, but she’s not stuck up about it. Yesterday she showed me how to apply slip to a partially dried pot . . .”

  I hardly ever saw Norma anymore. Once in a while, she’d come bounding down the hall, hair flying, arms full of pots. Sometimes I’d lose myself in the crowd. Whenever she saw me, she’d flash a big smile and look as if she’d like to stop and talk, but I always moved on. She was ancient history to me.

  Ellen’s voice turned worshipful as she continued talking about Norma, Roger, and Dolores. She sounded like me a few months back.

  “Ellen,” I asked her, “do you ever think about suicide?”

  She stopped chattering and took a deep breath. “No,” she said, “not anymore.”

  We were sitting on the couch in her living room. As usual, the rest of her family had evaporated as soon as we appeared. I wanted her to tell me she never thought about suicide anymore because of me.

  “It’s because of you,” Ellen said. She turned her face towards me. Her green eyes seemed to grow bigger and bigger as she continued losing weight. I touched her soft face and felt the happiness inside me deepen.

  She lay her head on my shoulder and began to talk. “It was miserable, Jeff. I couldn’t escape out of it. I was trapped inside all that fat, and the more my mother talked and the shrink talked and everybody else talked, the worse it got.”

  Her head felt heavy on my shoulder, but I didn’t move.

  “I talked about killing myself, and sometimes I liked to think about it when there wasn’t anything good on TV. But you know, Jeff, I never would have done it, because I always knew there was going to be another way out for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I knew something was going to happen.”

  “You mean a knight on a white charger was going to come along and rescue you?”

  “Yes—that’s what I thought for a while—like in the fairy tales. And you did come along. But it wasn’t that either.”

  Her head was too heavy and I began squirming. She lifted it and smiled at me.

  “Well, what was it then?”

  “I knew I was going to change. I knew a time would come when I would change. I always knew it deep, deep down. And I think you must have known it too. I think you must have understood that I really wanted to change. You were wonderful to me, Jeff. I’ll never forget the way you saw something in me that nobody else saw.”

  Her eyes glowed with that worshipful light. I took her hand. “I think we’re good together, Ellen. I think we’re wonderful together. That’s what I want to tell you. I want to talk about us—nobody else. I think we should live together. In the fall, I mean, when school starts. We still haven’t heard from the schools we applied to, but if we decide to go to the same school, there’s no reason why we can’t get a place together. I hope it’ll be San Diego, but if we don’t get in there, we probably will in Santa Cruz or Riverside. Lots of kids live together nowadays.”

  Ellen hesitated and looked away. “Sure, Jeff,” she said finally. “But . . .”

  “But what? Are you afraid your mother will make a fuss?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “So?”

  “Well, it’s just that I don’t know if I really want to go to college now, Jeff. I love ceramics so much. I was thinking maybe I could just stay here and keep on taking lessons from Ida O’Neill for a year or so. I mean, until I’m good.”

  “But Ellen, I’m not going to be here in the fall.”

  “Well, I haven’t said anything. I mean, I was just thinking, but . . .”

  “Well, you can just put it out of your mind. Maybe you can play around a little over the summer, but in the fall you don’t want to waste your time. You want to start college and get on with your life. You have a career to think about.”

  “What kind of a career, Jeff?”

  “How should I know?” I said impatiently. “But something you’re good at. After you start school, you’ll take different courses, and you’ll find something that you like. It’s going to be the same for me. I don’t know what I want either. But I do know I want the two of us to be together. That’s the important thing, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, Jeff,” she said. “Of course it is.”

  sixteen

  Our first real argument came when she invited me to a party at Roger Torres’ house near the end of April. She actually thought I would be pleased.

  “He invited me. He said I should bring you too. He meant it. He wants me to come. He wants us both to come.”

  “No thanks,” I said.

  Her face fell twenty miles. “But everybody says he gives the greatest parties. His parents don’t bother the kids, and he has this big room at the top of the house where you can see the bridge . . .”

  “I know all about it, Ellen. Aren’t you forgetting I used to go to quite a few parties at his house before you came along?”

  She was studying me, her face wrinkled in concentration. Thinking came slowly to her. I loved Ellen very much, but I never kidded myself about her mental equipment. Her face brightened.

  “If you’re worried about Norma . . .”

  “I’m not worried about Norma.”

  “I know that, Jeff. I just mean if you’re afraid she’ll be upset seeing you, don’t worry. She’s got a new boyfriend, and she even asked me if I was coming, and if you’d be there.”

  “Norma has a boyfriend?”

  I wasn’t jealous. In fact, I was happy she had a boyfriend. I knew I had mistreated her, that she hadn’t deserved it, and that I’d hurt her. So, if anything, the news pleased me, even though it was hard thinking of Norma with a boyfriend, like thinking of her with short red hair or wearing a miniskirt.

  “Uh huh—a boy named John Kingman.”

  “Who?”

  “John Kingman. He’s not in the ceramics class. He doesn’t have anything to do with pots. He’s in her French class.”

  “Is he a tall guy with dark hair—wears a gray sweater?”

  “No, he’s short, sort of ordinary looking—not like you. I think he’s supposed to be some kind of math whiz. But he’s real nice—everybody likes him.”

  It embarrassed me how Ellen seemed to follow in the wake of Roger, Dolores, and Norma. How she was fascinated by all their comings and goings, and how she courted their favor and was grateful for any scraps of attention they threw her.

  “Norma says he doesn’t know a pot from a chandelier, but he hangs around the class a lot, waiting for her. Yesterday, he talked to me about his dog while she was busy unloading the kiln. He has a Doberman pinscher with one blind eye . . .”

  “I’m not going to the party, Ellen.”

  “But why not, Jeff?”

  “Because I don’t have anything in common with those people anymore.”

  “But Jeff, I like them.”

  “Well, why don’t you go then? You go by yourself.”

  Ellen said quickly, “We never go to parties. I like parties.”

  “Well, why don’t you go then? Go right ahead.”

  “You never want to go anywhere with other people. You didn’t like Nancy and her boyfriend, and you won’t ever go to any of the Weight Watchers’ parties.”

  “You can go. I keep telling you—go yourself.”

  “But you don’t mean it, Jeff. You say it, but you don’t mean it. You used to go to parties. I know you did. How come you never go anymore?”

  “Because I just like to be with
you. That’s why. Because I’m happiest of all being with you. I don’t need any other people.”

  I was walking her home from school that day. She had lost nearly fifty pounds by then and the rolls of fat on her neck had just about disappeared.

  “I think you’re ashamed of me,” she said. “That’s why you don’t take me anywhere.”

  “Are you crazy!” I said to her. “I just love you so much I don’t want to share you.”

  She kept her head down, refusing to look at me. “When you were going around with Norma, you went to parties. You told me you did. And you took her over to your father’s house. You never took me to your father’s house.”

  “I took you over to meet my mother.”

  “Only once. I know she didn’t like me. Maybe that’s why you didn’t take me to your father’s. You’re ashamed of me, and you don’t want anybody to see us together.”

  “Ellen, you’ve got it all wrong. We go out for dinner lots of times, and we meet people and we go to the movies sometimes, and didn’t I take you to a couple of basketball games?”

  “But most of the time, we stay at my house and just talk. You never really take me anyplace.” Her green eyes were angry. “You’re ashamed of me,” she cried. “I’m trying, but I can’t lose weight any faster, and you’re ashamed of me.”

  I grabbed her by the arm and shook her a little.

  “Shut up, Ellen, and listen. I’m not ashamed of you. As a matter of fact, I’m satisfied with you just the way you are. I don’t even want you to lose any more weight. Why don’t you stop right now? It’s enough. You look great to me, and I guess all that dieting is making you cranky.”

  Her eyes opened wide.

  “If you want to meet my father, that’s fine with me. I warn you, you’ll be bored out of your skin, but that’s up to you. And if you want to go to parties, okay, we can work that out too. I’ve got plenty of friends who give parties, if that’s what you want. I thought you were happy being with me.”

  Now she was looking at me again with that familiar, adoring look.

  “Oh, Jeff, you know I’m happy with you.”

  “I thought you were, Ellen, but it doesn’t sound as if I was right.”

  “Oh Jeff, don’t say that.”

  “I didn’t say anything. You did.”

  “Please, Jeff, don’t be angry. I’m sorry, Jeff. I’m really sorry.”

  We didn’t go to Roger Torres’ party, but I did take her over to my father’s house. I know they were surprised by Ellen—especially Wanda. During the evening, she managed to corner me in the kitchen.

  “How come, Jeff?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean, she’s a nice girl, I guess, but Jeff, Norma was gorgeous.”

  “I think Ellen is gorgeous.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get sore. Even though she’s fat, she isn’t bad looking, and her complexion is lovely, but she’s . . . well . . .”

  “Well what?”

  “Well, Norma really has a personality. Ellen just sits there and looks at you.”

  “You know what, Wanda?”

  “What?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  In May, all Ellen could think of was the prom. She ate hardly anything, but even so, she was not going to be losing the eighty pounds she had aimed for. I wanted her to stop dieting altogether. If she had started gaining weight again, I think I would have been happy. Maybe I had begun to realize that with each pound she lost, I was losing something too.

  “I’m still going to be fat,” she moaned. “And I wanted to be slim.”

  “Forget it,” I told her. “You look great to me, I don’t want you to be any thinner. And when you’re wearing that gold caftan, you’ll look magnificent.”

  I had called Lady Bountiful in April to ask about the gold caftan for Ellen. They still had some in stock and promised to hold one for us. In the middle of May, I brought Ellen over to the store to try it on. When she emerged from the fitting room, even the saleswoman sucked in her breath.

  “You look splendid,” she said.

  Ellen gleamed like a golden goddess. The caftan flowed around her and her strong neck rose up out of its folds like a column. Her hair was too long and bushy now—she needed a new permanent—but her round, full face with its large green eyes and bright makeup was spectacular. Nobody at that prom would look like my Ellen.

  The saleswoman and I discussed accessories and jewelry while Ellen remained motionless in front of the mirror.

  “High heels, of course,” said the saleswoman. “What do you think of sandals?”

  “What color?”

  “Oh gold, of course.”

  “How about jewelry?”

  “She has large, gold hoops, but maybe she needs something a little more glamorous.”

  “Here, let me show you these large, hanging ones with tiny, flashing mirrors. I think they’d be perfect.”

  “Hmm. Here, Ellen, try these on.”

  “Jeff,” she said. “I’m not sure this dress is right.”

  “It’s magnificent,” I told her. “You look like somebody from another world. You’re one of a kind in that dress, believe me.”

  “But don’t you think I should go to a regular store and see what they have?”

  “No,” I said. “This is the dress for you.”

  She didn’t argue. She could have if she didn’t agree with me, but she didn’t. She took the dress home and even bought the earrings too. I told her she needed a new permanent and she said she would go the day before the prom.

  “And I don’t want you to see me until you come to pick me up.”

  “But I thought I’d help you put your makeup on.”

  “No, no, I can do it myself.”

  “Well, all right, but don’t forget. I want you to use the Babbling Wine lipstick and the violet eye shadow. I think you’d better use a black mascara and go heavy on the eyeliner.”

  “Sure, Jeff,” she said. “Sure.”

  My father dropped by the hardware store on Wednesday afternoon. The prom was on Saturday. He asked me if I was going to rent a tux, and what my plans were for the night.

  “We’ll go to dinner first. Mom is lending me the car and I made reservations at Ondine’s in Sausalito. Then we’ll go to the prom at the Hyatt. I’m not sure what we’ll do after.”

  “That’s nice, Jeff,” said my father. “The important thing is to have a good time.”

  “I’ll try, Dad.”

  “Ellen seems like a nice girl.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  I was waiting for him to leave. But he stood around, looking at me, thinking. “I remember when I went to my prom,” he said smiling.

  I smiled politely.

  “Back in ’58. I’ll never forget it. Things sure were different then. You didn’t go out to dinner, and most of us didn’t even have cars.”

  “Oh?”

  “But we always bought flowers for the girls. Are you buying flowers for Ellen?”

  “Sure, Dad. That’s still the same.”

  “We used to get roses or maybe an orchid—one of those small ones. The others were too expensive.”

  “Is that so, Dad?”

  My father was grinning to himself. “I didn’t have a car. And Marcia’s father—the girl I went with, her name was Marcia Berman, nice girl. She became a teacher and married a fellow named Howard Koppel. But anyway, her father was very strict. So he wouldn’t lend me his car. He wanted to drive us and pick us up, but I wasn’t going to stand for that. Neither was Marcia. She had a lot of spunk. So my friend, Bob Kendall—you remember him, Jeff—a big fellow with a real great sense of humor—well, maybe you don’t—you were just a little kid when he moved back East. Well, an
yway . . .”

  I pretended to be interested in what he had to say, and when he finished, he patted me on the shoulder and said, “I just hope you have as much fun as I did.” Then he slipped a bill into my hand. I looked down—it was a one-hundred-dollar bill.

  “What’s this for?” I said.

  “For the prom. I want you to really enjoy yourself. Both of you—I want you to really have a good time.”

  “But Dad, I saved money for the prom. Really, I have enough.”

  “It’s all right, Jeff. I just want you to have an extra special good time.”

  On Saturday, my mother was all excited too. Especially when she saw me dressed in the white tux.

  “Jeff, you look like—I don’t know, Jeff, but there aren’t many movie stars as good-looking as you.”

  “Cut it out, Mom.”

  “Here, let me fix your bow tie.” My mother was grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, Jeff, you’re just gorgeous.”

  “Stop it, Mom!”

  But we were both laughing.

  “And what about flowers, Jeff?”

  “I’m going to pick them up.”

  “What kind?”

  “A wrist corsage—little golden roses, because she’s going to be all in gold, Mom. I picked the dress out—a gold caftan, in a shiny, metallic fabric, and big, glittery earrings with little shiny mirrors.”

  “Mmm!” said my mother, smiling at me. “She’ll certainly be proud of you. But here, Jeff, I want to help make the evening a success.” She held out a hundred-dollar bill.

  “No, Mom, I don’t need it. Really, I have plenty of money.”

  I couldn’t tell her that Dad had also handed me a hundred-dollar bill. I didn’t want to spoil her good time.

  “Go on, Jeff, take it. It’ll make me feel like I have a share in tonight’s fun. Take it, Jeff, take it.”

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror as I was leaving the house. My mother was right—I looked fantastic. There weren’t going to be many guys there tonight looking like me.

  I had vacuumed the inside of the car earlier in the evening, and washed and waxed the outside. It gleamed bone clean. I picked up the flowers, honey-colored little roses laced with glittering, golden ribbon for my Ellen’s wrist. I watched the florist pack it in one of his boxes, and I carried it out carefully, laid it on the front seat of the car, and headed for Ellen’s house.