Free Forever the Fat Kid: How I Survived Dysfunction, Depression and Life in the Theater by Michael Boyd Page A

dogs and French fries–another high point of the day for me. Shirley and Alonzo, friends of Annette’s from Philadelphia who also happened to be in Jersey that day, met up with us in Rahway. They were picking Annette up and driving her back home, saving her the hassle of having to take the train.
    Annette was in one of her typical moods, silly and playful. She noticed a hat that she hadn’t seen before and picked it up. “Ruth, is this your hat?” she asked my mother. Knowing where this particular conversation was headed, my mother answered, “Yes it’s mine,” and added, “I just bought it and I’m not giving it to you.” Annette, like all of my mother’s children, knew of the soft spot she had for her kids. We usually had no problem getting our way with her.
    “But it looks so good on me!” she proclaimed, putting on the hat. Still not willing to part with her new purchase, my mother countered with, “Girl, you must be crazy if you think I’m giving you my new hat. I just bought that hat.” To which Annette shot back, “You know you’re not gonna wear it; please let me have it?” But my mother was adamant, “No, you are not gettin’ that hat.” So, even though the hat did look better on Annette, and my mother probably wasn’t going to be wearing it all that much, Annette didn’t get the hat. “Okay,” Annette conceded, “well, at least take my picture in it.” At which point my mother got out the Polaroid camera and took a picture of Annette wearing the hat.
    “I feel like a model. Take another picture. I want one with my model face on. You know, serious with no smile. You know, I should have been a model. As skinny as I am, I could be the black ‘Twiggy,’ don’t you think?” So my mother took another picture, and another, and another. This went on until the roll of film was used up and they were forced to stop. It was nice to have laughter and good spirits filling our house again. Annette was her old self, my mother was happy because Annette was her old self, and I was happy because I had the day off from school, not to mention the chili dogs and French fries for dinner. It had been a good day all around. At about 7:00 p.m. Alonzo, Shirley and Annette headed out and began the drive back to Philadelphia. Apparently, as we later found out, Annette’s mood shifted after leaving our house that night. We were told that she was unusually quiet on the trip back to Philadelphia, sitting sideways in the back seat and staring out the rear window for most of the ride. I’ve often wondered what she was thinking as she watched the road disappearing behind her that night. This was, after all, the very same highway that she had almost lost her life on months earlier.
    As Annette headed back home to Philadelphia, my mother and I ended up as we often did in front of the television set. While switching channels we came across the 1958 movie A Night to Remember about the sinking of the Titanic. A Night to Remember is a fascinating movie; many people think it superior to the 1997 film version of the same event by James Cameron. Personally, I was mesmerized by it. It was the first time that I remember a movie causing such an emotional reaction in me. It was fascinating to see the different ways that people react when faced with death, whether it be their own or somebody else’s. What becomes important to them, how their priorities can change in an instant; the different levels of acceptance or non-acceptance they exhibit. For some reason, there were two scenes, in particular, that made a strong impression on me. Both scenes revolved around children.
    In the first scene, a man watches his wife and children being lowered to safety in a lifeboat as he stays on board the ship. One of his daughters cries out, “Goodbye, Daddy” and I remember becoming acutely aware of how the simple word “goodbye,” which we use on a daily basis without much thought, can suddenly take on such depth and meaning. In the