Forever the Fat Kid: How I Survived Dysfunction, Depression and Life in the Theater Read Online Free Page A

door was the Tweety Bird voice of Mrs. Martin. “It’s me, Eloise. Can I borrow your phone?”
    When my mother opened the door, there stood Mrs. Martin in a flower-print sundress, floppy straw hat, well-worn sandals and holding a large, white patent leather pocketbook. The pocketbook was the first thing that I noticed. Probably because the blood was more prominent on the white patent leather than it was on Mrs. Martin’s face or clothes. She saw the concern on our faces and said, “Don’t ya’ll worry; it ain’t my blood this time, it’s his blood. I just beat the crap out of that ole man! He’s laying in there on the floor now, moanin’ and bleedin’ like a hog. First I’m gon’ call the ambulance to come for him, and then I’m gon’ call a cab to come for ME! This is it; I’ve had all that I can take. It’s over, baby!” I still remember the look of pride on Mrs. Martin’s blood-spattered face that day.
    My mother brought Mrs. Martin a towel and, as she made her phone calls, Mrs. Martin casually cleaned herself up. As I watched her wipe the blood from her face, her arms, her legs, and then from her sandals and, finally, the white patent leather pocketbook, I knew that I was witnessing something that we don’t get to see very often. I was seeing a person make a major transformation right before my eyes. I was witnessing Mrs. Martin come to understand that she did, indeed, have worth as a person. I had never before seen her look so confident, so proud. It was touching in a weird sort of way. When the ambulance arrived, Mr. Martin refused to go with them to the hospital. Maybe he was too embarrassed. She wasn’t kidding, Mrs. Martin did do a job on him! Likewise, when the cab arrived, Mrs. Martin gave the driver a couple of dollars and sent him on his way. She didn’t walk out on her husband that day, or any day afterwards. After the cab and the ambulance had left, I heard her say to her blood-soaked husband, “Come on and let me get you cleaned up.” And they went back into the house together and closed the door behind them. I don’t remember any more fights after that day either. This was the first time, but definitely not the last, that I would witness two people stay together and work things out despite having gone through situations that would have killed most other relationships.
    EXPANDING MY HORIZONS
    The year after Annette gave birth to Tina, she had a second child, a son that she named Martin. Two years after that, in 1962, she gave birth to the last of her three children, a beautiful little girl that she named Marlyn. I guess traveling to New Jersey was more difficult with three kids, so we started making more trips to Philadelphia. Often my parents would send me to Philadelphia alone to visit with Annette and her family. My mother would drive me to Penn Station in Newark, buy my train ticket, and put me on the train. Annette would be waiting to meet me when I arrived at Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station. It was a different time. The world wasn’t as full of predators as it is now; at least we weren’t as aware of them. Looking back, I consider myself fortunate that nothing bad ever happened to me on those many solo trips. Usually, I would strike up a conversation with an adult who would take me under their care and look after me for the duration of the train ride, which was a little over an hour. These trips were usually on the weekends, and I always spent a couple of weeks in Philly during my summer vacation too. It’s no wonder that I was more of an older brother than an uncle to Annette’s kids. We literally grew up together.
    Being a bit older, and now having added “responsible” to my list of self-definitions, Annette would often let me baby-sit her kids for short periods of time. I was particularly fond of Marlyn, her baby girl. I would take her for long walks, just the two of us. I thought that she was the prettiest baby in the world. Apparently, so did a lot of other people