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Freaks

Barbara D’Souza

    Madeleine’s best friend Sam is getting married tomorrow, and she is the maid of honor. They are both 28, and she is still single. She would be depressed about this, except that she is so happy. They are at the rehearsal dinner now, and she is sitting next to the best-looking man she has ever seen (other than Sam himself, of course). She wants to ask him The Question, but she hasn’t yet. She doesn’t have the nerve; she doesn’t want to seem interested.
    “So how do you know Sam?” the man asks. “I’m Marshall, by the way.”
    “Oh, hi, Marshall. I’m Maddy. I knew him from college. We met at a circus.” Why did she add that? Her face gets red.
    “I knew him from high school, so I guess I win,” Marshall says.
    “I didn’t know there was a contest.” She smiles and plays with her straw. Then she stops herself, remembering her mother’s exasperation at such antics when she was a child.
     “There’s always a contest,” Marshall says. “The only people who don’t know about it are the losers.”
    “That’s an interesting theory,” Madeleine says. She looks at Marshall carefully, admiring his blonde hair, and reminds herself that she has just lost 60 pounds. She is eligible now – not fat, just chubby. He actually could like her. He really could!
    Sam comes to their table and talks to them for a little while. He looks at Marshall, then winks at Madeleine. Finally, she knows the answer to her unasked question. Marshall is definitely not gay; he is the present that Sam has alluded to for weeks.

************************************************************************

    She did meet Sam at the circus – she wasn’t making that up. It was her 20^th birthday, and she had just finished setting a Low Fat Cookbook – her mother’s gift – on fire. She even bought marshmallows and toasted them in the flame while she enjoyed the irony.
    The ethics class had been sent to this event to write a paper that was to be entitled, “The Circus – Cruel or Kind?” The answer, of course, was obvious – the animal rights activists just wanted to ruin everyone’s good time. The circus was kind to animals. All you had to do was watch them in action to know they were enjoying themselves.
    She looked around at all the people buying various paraphernalia and wondered where the circus made its money. Were their profits from ticket sales alone or did they have to sell a certain amount of stuff just to break even? She was betting on the latter, just like movie theaters.
    Just as the proceedings were about to begin, Sam walked up to her. She had seen him in class but had never spoken to him. “Is anyone sitting next to you?” he asked.
     She shook her head, and he sat down. She became conscious of her heart beating faster and wondered if she were imagining him. Most good-looking guys tended to stay away from her as the Fat Girl. What was he doing here, sitting beside her? He even looked at her, smiled, and spoke.
    “So, what’s your position?” he asked.
    “Kind.”
    “No way! They’re definitely cruel. Horribly cruel. Once you read my paper, you’ll agree.”
    “But aren’t we supposed to keep an open mind?”
    “You didn’t. You made up your mind before we’ve even seen it. Why shouldn’t I?”
    “Good point,” she said, looking around for Sam’s girlfriend to arrive. No one did.
    They settled back and she watched the circus. She admired the trapeze artists and closed her eyes for a moment, wondering what it would be like to be thin enough to be flung through the air, then miraculously, easily, caught.
    She thought she would enjoy the animals, but she didn’t. Instead, she felt sorry for the lions as the tamer cracked his whip. The big cats did what they were told to do, but she knew they didn’t really want to. And a lion should never be made to do something it really didn’t like.
    Sam seemed pretty grim, and she thought that he was probably thinking similar things. When the lions’ portion concluded, however, she started questioning her assumptions. Maybe the animals weren’t actually that unhappy. What was the alternative to the circus, after all? Getting eaten in the jungle or dying in a wild fight? These things had to be considered, too.
    After the circus was over, they went to a coffee bar and debated. “You know, elephants mate for life,” Sam said. She noticed that his hair was blonder than blonde, a white straw color. She imagined him as a three-year-old towhead, cute enough for a television commercial. Had he ever been on TV?
    “I didn’t know that,” she said. Actually, she did know this at some point, but she wanted him to feel useful.
    “Yeah. And when one of them dies, the other mourns.”
    “That sounds heartbreaking,” she said.
    “Yeah. I think so.”
    “People who say that animals don’t have emotions are crazy. Or are just deluding themselves,” he said.
    “Do you want to work with animals?”
    “No,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. “Did you take ethics because you wanted to or because you had to fill an elective?”
    “Elective.”
     “I figured. You’re a business major, aren’t you?”
    “Accounting. How’d you guess?”
    “I can spot one a mile off.”
    “So I guess you’re in LS&Play,” she said, referring to the derogatory nickname for the University of Michigan’s liberal arts college.
    “Guilty as charged.”
    “But don’t you get bored with all the theories and fluff? Don’t you want to learn how the world really works?”
    “Don’t you want to learn how to think? That’s what I’m learning.”
    “I guess that’s important,” she said. “I do like to think.”
    “Yeah.” He paused for a moment. “So have you changed your mind about the paper?”
    “I have. Cruel. Definitely cruel.”
    “Perhaps we have more to talk about than I thought,” Sam said.
    “Maybe so,” she said. She wanted to ask him if he had a girlfriend but was too embarrassed. She had weighed herself that morning, and the results weren’t good.
     She is standing in front of the church on Sam’s wedding day and feels awkward, wondering if anyone is thinking about her fat form. She looks at Marshall, who is looking at her, and blushes. Is he a chubby chaser? Or did Sam somehow make her sound so wonderful that he is willing to overlook her fatal flaw?
    She admires Marshall’s good looks again and hopes that they will at least go out on one date. Then she chases the thought away. She watches the ceremony intently, surveying the bride and groom – or were they simply two grooms? Another conundrum was this – if they were bride and groom, which one was which? She was pretty sure that Sam, the soft-hearted liberal, would be the bride and his business-oriented mate would be the groom, but she couldn’t be sure. Then she supposes that it’s vaguely homophobic to think about this too much.
    The pastor speaks. “Do you, Sam, take this man, Roger, to be your husband for richer or for poorerÉ”
    “Do you, Roger, take this man Sam to be your husbandÉ”
    “I do.”
    ”Then I now pronounce you husband and husband.”
    Her question is answered, and she is happy with this conclusion – it seems like two grooms is the more realistic way of looking at it. She is overwhelmed with happiness for a moment but then feels hot. She takes a step back to keep from fainting and then becomes conscious of Marshall behind her. His arms are outstretched, ready to catch her. She is so grateful that she feels faint again. Roger and Sam kiss, which makes her cry. These are happy tears, and she hopes Sam understands this. She notices that no one else is shedding a tear.

************************************************************************

    She was having a bad day when Sam invited her to his apartment to study. At first she thought nothing of this, until he asked her to bring some alcohol (if she could get her hands on any). She thought this request had to have romantic implications, so she spent most of the day deciding on what outfit to wear. Finally she decided on her favorite black blouse – slimming – and her new black pants.
    She arrived a little early and knocked on the door. When he opened the door, he was wearing jeans. With a hole in them. She was suddenly embarrassed about the too-romantic rose wine she had bought (with a fake license) and her too-formal attire. Had she misunderstood? Her mind flashed back to the moment that had set this horrible day in motion in the first place. For some strange reason, she decided to weigh herself that morning, and the results were not good.
    “You look upset,” said Sam. He opened the door and let her inside. “Did something happen?”
    “No. Nothing.”
    “Nothing?”
    “No.”
    “There must be something wrong. You seem really upset.”
    “It’s justÉ”
    “It’s just what?”
    “It’s just that I gained 10 pounds!” Tears poured down her face and she wiped them away, embarrassed.
    Sam smiled. “You gained 10 pounds? That’s nothing. I gained 15!”
    “Really?”
    “No. Well, I don’t know. I didn’t weigh myself.”
    “That’s your luxury as a thin person.”
    “It’s your luxury, too. You don’t have to weigh yourself. Weight is just a measure of the earth’s gravitational pull on your body. You should remember that.”
    “Easy for you to say,” she sniffed.
    Sam was silent for a moment. “You know what we should do?”
    “What?”
    He went away for a moment and came back with a shovel and hammer. “I say we take it all out on a scale.”
    “Are you kidding?”
    “Not at all. Come.” He motioned to her and she followed him to the bathroom.
    They found the scale. “Scales are horribly judgmental creatures. I think we should cut it down to size.” He started hammering.
    She had to laugh. “I don’t think that will work.”
    “No? Well, why don’t I try this?” He grabbed the shovel and bashed the scale with it. Still, it wouldn’t give way.
    “That’s not going to work, either.”
    “No? Well, why not this?” He grabbed a screwdriver and took the scale apart, piece by piece. “You know what I think we need to do with this?”
    “Put it back together? You really shouldn’t ruin your scale for my sake.”
    “I think that these pieces are quite aerodynamic.”
    She followed him to his window. “There’s no one out there. Watch this!” He dropped each part out the window. “Bombs away!”
    She had to laugh again. “Okay, okay, I think I get the point.”
    They went back to the kitchen and she was again embarrassed by her wine. He didn’t seem to notice its inappropriate nature, though, and instead simply opened it. Together, they drank. She noticed how cluttered his apartment was – an old pizza box on the floor, pop cans scattered around – and had an urge to clean everything. “I see you’re looking at my bad housekeeping,” Sam said.
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
    “It’s okay. It’s worth being stared at. It’s pretty bad.”
    “Not really.”
    “You don’t need to be polite. I guess I should have cleaned before you came over. I just hate cleaning. It’s a rather atavistic attitude, I guess. I see it as women’s work, so I hate it. But I should get past that.”
    “I don’t see it either way. I just like the immediate gratification.”
    “Maybe I could hire you?”
    “I’d do it for free,” she said. “I love to clean.” Why did she say this? Now she sounded subservient.
    “No, that’s okay. It’s really nice of you to offer, though.”
    “I try.” She leaned back, amazed that she was on an actual date. Her accounting class had examined contra-accounts earlier that day, and she thought this was very appropriate. Contra-accounts acted in exactly the opposite way they were expected to, just like this moment. She was a contra-account right now, both nervous and excited. The only question was whether her weight was an asset or a liability.
    She wanted to change the topic, so she shifted to something familiar. “What did you get on your paper?”
    “I didn’t look yet. I don’t believe in grades. They’re such a reprehensible idea. It’s all very English, really. Colonial.”
    “Yeah,” she said. She had looked at her grade right away and was happy with her B. She got A’s in most things, but she wasn’t much of a writer.
    “I can see you don’t agree.”
    “No, not really, I guess. You need grades to see how you’re doing, how you stack up.”
    “And you’re really worried about how you stack up.”
    “I guess.” She blushed, thinking of all the permutations of “stacked.”
    “We probably don’t agree on most things. I’m a Democrat. How ‘bout you?’
    “Republican.” She became very conscious of the fact that she was sitting next to someone who voted for Gore. “Idealism is a sickness.”
    “So is irrational realism.”
    “Isn’t that an oxymoron?” She twisted in her seat.
    “Sometimes oxymorons are true.” He paused. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
    “I thought I already was grown up.”
     “You’re not grown up until you’re 30. What do you want to be?”
    “A CPA. I want to make companies honest.”
    “That’s noble.”
    “What do you want to be?”
    “A teacher. I want to work in inner-city school districts.”
    “That’s nobler.”
    She got out her homework, and then fought another urge to clean and move the furniture. Everything was so illogically ordered in this place, she thought. They studied for a little while, but it all seemed silly. Did ethics really need to be taught? And if you had to learn about them that way – if you had to learn ethics at all – didn’t that suggest you were not moral to begin with?
    She wondered if he would kiss her, but she didn’t ask. Finally they stood up and he saw her to the door. Then he leaned closer and she could almost feel the stubble of his uncleanly shaven face. “One more question,” he said. “Do you think the whole class can tell I’m gay?”
    She felt as if she had stepped on a fast-moving elevator. Suddenly, it all made sense. “No, I’m sure they can’t tell at all.”
    “Good. I try not to flame.”
    “Are you hot a lot of the time?” She asked before she realized what he meant.
    “Do you think I’m hot?”
    She blushed. “I can’t answer that question.”
    He looked away. “You didn’t think this was a date, did you? I tried to be clear.”
     “You were clear.”
    He sighed. “No, I wasn’t. Not really. This always happens. You’re not in love with me, are you?”
    “No.”
    “Promise you won’t fall in love with me, because if you do, we can’t be friends. And I’d really like to be friends. You make me honest.”
    “I’d like to be friends, too.”
    He kissed her on the cheek and she went home, taking great care not to wash the place his lips had touched.
    They are at the reception, and she decides to talk to Sam’s husband Roger for a moment. He looks like a football player and is a foot taller than Sam. His face reddens easily (like hers), so she can always tell what he is thinking.
    “How are you?” she asks him.
    “Good. How are you finding the stock market?”
    “I’m trying not to think about it,” she said. “It’s a jobless recovery, after all.” Roger is a financial advisor and easily speaks her language.
    “I had a couple clients jump off the roof last week.”
    “Really?”
    Roger smiled. “No, not really. But figuratively, they did. Figuratively can be almost as bad.”
     “You have a point.”
    She hugs Roger and sits down with Marshall, who stands up, lifting his champagne glass. “Here’s to the best friend anyone could ever have,” he says. She feels momentarily jealous, wondering if Sam prefers Marshall to her. But then she realizes how juvenile her thoughts are and suffocates them like a stubborn fire.
    She stands up. “Let’s hear it again for the best friend anyone could ever have!” Then she drinks, hoping her profession will excuse her lack of originality.
    The toasts are over soon, and Marshall turns to her. “Do you have the feeling we’ve been set up?”
    “Yeah,” she says. “Do you mind?”
    “Mind? No, I’m glad. You’re even more beautiful than Sam mentioned. Roger spoke highly of you, too.” He pauses. “You know, those models, that look. It’s not for me. I like a woman with meat on her bones!”
    “Thanks,” she says, wondering whether to be glad for his honesty. Instead, she feels flattered and insulted at the same time.
    It is time for the first dance, so they join Sam and Roger on the dance floor. Sam’s parents are there, too, which fills her with joy. “I guess miracles do happen,” she says as she tries to avoid stepping on Marshall’s toes.
    “Of course they do.”
    Could she be with someone who regards miracles as prosaic occurrences? Then she brushes this thought away. “I hadn’t realized I said that out loud.” It was scary, really, when you were thinking something private that marched unobtrusively through the door of one’s mouth.
    “Well, I know what you mean. The whole day is a miracle. You smell wonderful, by the way. Are you wearing perfume?”
     “No, just soap.”
    “It must be special soap.”
    “It is.”
    “Really?”
    “No, not really. I use Dial.”
    “I see. I, myself, raise my hand if I’m sure.”
    She’s confused. “What do you mean?”
    “Oh, never mind. Old commercial.”
    She enjoys watching Sam and Roger together and is glad for Marshall. He wards off jealousy. He makes the future seem like a possibility.
    By the week before Halloween, Madeleine and Sam were inseparable, platonic friends. At first they avoided politics to protect their relationship, but after awhile, they didn’t even worry about this last propriety. Instead, Madeleine began to enjoy all of their discussions, even though he was so wrong about everything.
    One day she arrived unannounced at Sam’s apartment and saw that he was upset about something. She asked several times what was wrong, but he refused to say. Finally, however, he turned to her. “My parents don’t know I’m gay. Do you think I should tell them?”
    “They say honesty is the best policy. Even Gore believes that, I think. When he’s not saying he invented the internet.”
    He gave her a reluctant smile. “They do say that about honesty, but is it really the case? If you know someone’s going to die tomorrow, should you tell them for the sake of truth?”
    “Wouldn’t the only way you would know that be if you were going to kill the person?”
    “Good point.”
    “Anyway, I don’t know. It sounds like an ethics paper.”
    “True. I think my whole parental situation is meat for a paper, too.”
    “Yeah. Well, how does your mother feel about gay people?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “How can you not know? She must have said something at some point.”
    “Yeah.” He sighed and they stopped talking about it.
    On Halloween, they dressed up like circus freaks – he was a sword swallower and she was a bearded lady – for one of his other friends, who was dressed up like a ringleader. Sam seemed upset, but he wouldn’t say why. Suddenly, however, she knew.
     “You talked to your parents, didn’t you?” she asked. He looked away.
    It was oddly freeing to be a circus freak. She was actually supposed to seem unusual, which made her feel more ordinary than she usually did. People complimented their costumes and said they had never seen such a well-coordinated costume. She wished she had thought of it herself.
    The party was thrown by a gay friend of Sam’s, so she naturally wondered if each person she met was gay, too. She knew this was homophobic, but she was only moderately successful when she tried to stop herself. Then she wondered if people assumed she, too, were gay. This particularly worried her, because, truly, what proof did she have that she was straight? She was a virgin, after all. She was pure as the driven snow.
    “Do you believe in gay marriage?” a giant lobster asked her.
    “UmmmmÉ.” She said, stalling. Until very recently, her answer would have been no. But now she couldn’t convince herself to say this.
    “Close-minded capitalist!” the lobster said and stalked away.
    She went to a corner and sat by herself for a while, waiting for Sam to be ready to leave. She didn’t want to ruin his costume by deleting half of it. Finally, he was ready to go and walked her back to her apartment.
    “Can I come up?” he asked.
    “I have to work in the morning. I don’t know.”
    “I have an experiment that I want to try,” he said.
    “An experiment?” she asked and followed him upstairs.
    As soon as they were in the apartment, he kissed her, replete with tongue. Their clothes were off shortly and her deflowerment didn’t hurt as much as it was supposed to. He turned off the lights, and in the dark, she couldn’t tell that he was gay.
    A huge crowd carrying anti-gay signs has gathered outside the church. At first she can’t hear what they are saying, but she would have to be an idiot not to guess correctly. She steps towards the door, and when the crowd sees her, they judge her, tell her she’ll burn in hell. She flips them the bird.
    She hopes that Sam isn’t too upset and that he was expecting something like this. He should have been, after all. They’re not in a truly progressive place – it’s not like gay marriage is even legal in Pennsylvania. So what’s the point of this marriage, she briefly wonders, if there’s no health insurance involved? Isn’t that sort of thing what marriage is really about? Then she reminds herself that Sam is a romantic.
    Sam comes up behind her and looks at the protestors. Then he, too, flips them the bird. “Go pick on someone your own size!” he says.
    “Homo!”
    “Queer!”
    Sam’s family calls the police and they come, but they can’t do much. After all, there is the First Amendment to consider, they say. It is easy to read
    their attitude from their lackadaisical postures. So finally the wedding party decides to ignore the protests and continue the reception anyway. Sam just makes the band play louder.
    The morning after they slept together, Sam turned to her. They were both still naked, on her pristine floor. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m still gay.”
    “I’m not sorry,” she said. “I’m not a virgin anymore. That’s all that matters.”
    “This was your first time? I’m sorry. You should have made your first time special.”
    “Was your first time special?”
    He looked away. “This was my first time, too.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “With a woman? Or with anyone?”
    “Anyone,” he said. “But don’t tell anybody.”
    “I’ve got no one to tell.”
    “I feel like I used you.”
    “Who’s to say I didn’t use you?” Madeleine asked.
    “Just promise you won’t fall in love with me.”
    “Don’t worry, I won’t.
     “Do you promise?”
    “I promise.”
    Sam put on a tee-shirt that said “Don’t Assume I’m Straight” and they went outside, Sam carrying the remnants of his costume. His shirt made her tremble with fear, and she wished he would don his Halloween attire instead. She felt like people were staring at them, and they were. They were in Ann Arbor, but even the liberal city had its elements.
    A huge truck pulled over to them and a pony-tailed man with a jean jacket and lots of tattoos stuck his head out. “Freak!” he yelled.
    She seeks out Sam’s mother at the reception. The diminutive woman with long, unclasped gray hair is sitting off to the side, watching everyone with an apprehensive glance. They can still hear the protests outside.
    “Hi,” Madeleine says, propping a smile on her face. “You must be so excited. This is some wedding.”
    “I can truly say I never thought it would be like this.”
    Madeleine can’t tell if the woman is happy or not, so she plows ahead. “I’m just glad he’s found someone.”
    “Yes. Everyone deserves a one and only.” The woman smiles and looks her up and down. “By the way, I see you’re expecting. When are you due?”
     “Six months,” Madeleine says, too embarrassed to tell her she isn’t with child. Tears come to her eyes and she leaves Sam’s mother, blindly trying to find the bathroom. When she finds it, she stares into the bathroom mirror and ponders her appearance. What does she look like, exactly, to the outside world? She’s not THAT fat, not really, not like she was. But maybe that’s part of the problem. Now that she’s thinner, she looks more like a pregnant thin person than a clearly fat person.
    It is hard to return to her table, but she finally manages. Marshall turns to her. “We both live in Philadelphia, you know.”
    “No, I didn’t know that,” Madeleine says. She feels excited in spite of herself.
    “We do. That makes it possible to see you again. Which I would like to do.”
    She smiles and feels thin again. “I’d like that, too.”
    It is time to throw the bouquet, so she takes her place behind Sam, who has the bouquet in his hand. He throws and the bouquet seems on a trajectory for her. She catches it without wrestling anyone for it and then hopes it’s a sign. This is before she reminds herself of the utilitarian nature of marriage.
    Sam hugs her, clearly excited. “See! It’ll happen for you, too!” he says. He bends down and kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you for coming. I’m glad you like Roger. You know, he’s just like you.”

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