Read Online The Fat Girl by Marilyn Sachs - Free Book Online

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