Read Online She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother by Bryan Batt - Free Book Online
Authors: Bryan Batt
Ads: Link
same boy I had been when I entered the theatre. The musical numbers were differentfrom any musical movie I’d ever seen, spectacularly raw, frightening, comic, and definitely sexual. I felt a tingle downstairs, the beginning of an erection. Unlike my experience at church, I was never bored watching
Cabaret
. Even though I couldn’t understand all of the words, I somehow sensed the emotional life behind them and it carried me through to the next musical sequence. The only sign of trouble came toward the end, when Michael York screams, “Oh, fuck Maximilian.”
Then Liza quips back, “I do.”
Then Michael York smiles and adds, “So do I.”
Audible gasps from Mom, and even louder from Moozie. “That wasn’t in the play, in fact there was no Maximilian.” Mom looked down at me and said, “Honey, we don’t use that word. That’s a very naughty word.”
She had worked tirelessly at trying to rid me of my foul mouth. Even my father had toned down his vulgar expletives. Now Bob Fosse had put them back in her little angel’s head. But I assured her, “Like you told me, Mom, I shouldn’t use words that I don’t understand.”
“That’s my sweet little man.”
Soon the film was done. While the audience applauded, Moozie huffed and briskly exited our aisle, saying, “I don’t see why they can’t make more happy movies like they did in my day, not with all that cussing, there’s no need for that, it’s just common, I’m going to the ladies’ room, I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Under her breath, Donna whispered to Mother that in Moozie’s day, movies didn’t have sound yet.
• • •
O N MONDAY I came tearing into Dr. Sugar’s session room and, without a word, raced to the big roll of drawing paper, ripped off an unusually long piece, spread it on the floor, then lay on top of it, pleading, “Trace me, please, Dr. Sugar, trace me!”
He agreed and traced me, pausing a few times to ask me what this was about and telling me to keep still or the silhouette would not resemble my form at all. Finally, when he’d finished, I jumped up, grabbed the crayons, and proceeded to color on my body’s own outline. We talked about why I loved
Cabaret
so much, and how I couldn’t understand why my father had no desire to see it; in fact he said he thought the Broadway show was stupid. And I said how I thought football was stupid.
As we discussed my feelings, a seed of understanding was planted that would help me later on. Basically, he helped me to see that my father and I were complete opposites; it didn’t mean that he loved me any less. We were just different. Dad and Jay were football and sports; Mom and I were theatre and fashion, and that was all right. All men didn’t have to like sports. In fact, Dr. Sugar said that he really didn’t care for football whatsoever.
At the end of our session my masterpiece was complete. Upon my traced form I had drawn a purple halter top, hot pants, garter belts, fishnet stockings, a derby hat, and big spidery eyelashes just like Liza.
Rudolph
“B RYANNY B OY, you are just not concentrating, it’s flap-step, step, shuffle-step, ball change, then hop-hop-hop. Got it? O-kay, from the top … Gayle, play the record … five, six, seven, eight …”
Moozie and her sister Norma were seated in the armed Danish Modern dining chairs upholstered in turquoise bouclé, both wearing cat-eyed glasses, with their legs crossed at the ankles, and both fiercely watching my every move. They were, after all, the famous Nuss sisters, founders of the Nuss School of Dance. At the tender ages of twelve and fourteen, they had been put to work teaching dance by their mother, Grandma Katie, who I’m told made “Mama Rose” look like a wallflower. Their first revue at the French Opera House was a smashing success, and to this day I am stopped on the streets of New Orleans by elderly women who recall that Miss Nuss taught them how to dance as well as to be ladies. Norma retired after
Cabaret
. Even though I couldn’t understand all of the words, I somehow sensed the emotional life behind them and it carried me through to the next musical sequence. The only sign of trouble came toward the end, when Michael York screams, “Oh, fuck Maximilian.”
Then Liza quips back, “I do.”
Then Michael York smiles and adds, “So do I.”
Audible gasps from Mom, and even louder from Moozie. “That wasn’t in the play, in fact there was no Maximilian.” Mom looked down at me and said, “Honey, we don’t use that word. That’s a very naughty word.”
She had worked tirelessly at trying to rid me of my foul mouth. Even my father had toned down his vulgar expletives. Now Bob Fosse had put them back in her little angel’s head. But I assured her, “Like you told me, Mom, I shouldn’t use words that I don’t understand.”
“That’s my sweet little man.”
Soon the film was done. While the audience applauded, Moozie huffed and briskly exited our aisle, saying, “I don’t see why they can’t make more happy movies like they did in my day, not with all that cussing, there’s no need for that, it’s just common, I’m going to the ladies’ room, I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Under her breath, Donna whispered to Mother that in Moozie’s day, movies didn’t have sound yet.
• • •
O N MONDAY I came tearing into Dr. Sugar’s session room and, without a word, raced to the big roll of drawing paper, ripped off an unusually long piece, spread it on the floor, then lay on top of it, pleading, “Trace me, please, Dr. Sugar, trace me!”
He agreed and traced me, pausing a few times to ask me what this was about and telling me to keep still or the silhouette would not resemble my form at all. Finally, when he’d finished, I jumped up, grabbed the crayons, and proceeded to color on my body’s own outline. We talked about why I loved
Cabaret
so much, and how I couldn’t understand why my father had no desire to see it; in fact he said he thought the Broadway show was stupid. And I said how I thought football was stupid.
As we discussed my feelings, a seed of understanding was planted that would help me later on. Basically, he helped me to see that my father and I were complete opposites; it didn’t mean that he loved me any less. We were just different. Dad and Jay were football and sports; Mom and I were theatre and fashion, and that was all right. All men didn’t have to like sports. In fact, Dr. Sugar said that he really didn’t care for football whatsoever.
At the end of our session my masterpiece was complete. Upon my traced form I had drawn a purple halter top, hot pants, garter belts, fishnet stockings, a derby hat, and big spidery eyelashes just like Liza.
Rudolph
“B RYANNY B OY, you are just not concentrating, it’s flap-step, step, shuffle-step, ball change, then hop-hop-hop. Got it? O-kay, from the top … Gayle, play the record … five, six, seven, eight …”
Moozie and her sister Norma were seated in the armed Danish Modern dining chairs upholstered in turquoise bouclé, both wearing cat-eyed glasses, with their legs crossed at the ankles, and both fiercely watching my every move. They were, after all, the famous Nuss sisters, founders of the Nuss School of Dance. At the tender ages of twelve and fourteen, they had been put to work teaching dance by their mother, Grandma Katie, who I’m told made “Mama Rose” look like a wallflower. Their first revue at the French Opera House was a smashing success, and to this day I am stopped on the streets of New Orleans by elderly women who recall that Miss Nuss taught them how to dance as well as to be ladies. Norma retired after
Similar Books
