Rosie by Anne Lamott Page A

sucking in her breath as she pulled and tugged the formidable elastic encasement over each successive dune of fat on her thighs, hips, butt, and belly, until the girdle finally swallowed the highest roll at her waist and gave up with a whoomph of resignation, like a sea bass taking its last breath on a boat after one hell of a fight.
    â€œCan I help you find something?” The smell of the girdle, the smell of her mother’s lap when Elizabeth pressed her face against it.
    â€œMama. Can she help you?”
    â€œNo. No, thank you.”
    â€œEarth calling Elizabeth, come in, please.”
    Elizabeth smiled. Sharon was embarrassed, shy, her pencil jammed up behind her top lip.
    â€œI know what you wanted, Mama.”
    â€œWhat.”
    â€œA swim suit.”
    â€œI don’t want to buy it today.”
    â€œHow come? They’re right over there.”
    â€œI don’t know, Rosie, I’m feeling fat these days; I need to exercise for a while before I wear a suit.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œMy legs—my thighs, anyway—look like shit.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t want to buy a suit today, is all,”
    The Look came across Rosie’s face, blue eyes flashing fire, hands on hips, revving her head in stiff circles of scornful, indignant sarcasm. Oh, no, thought Elizabeth, why is she doing this to me now, here?
    â€œListen, listen,” she said.
    â€œDon’t you listen me,” said her daughter. People were turning to stare at this little girl, as tall as the rack of clothes she stood by, people were giving Elizabeth what she always thought of as the “Don’t you feed her?” look.
    â€œRosie, I’m warning you....”
    Rosie was sneering at her. Sharon had gone into the trance where she looked like Gilda Radner doing a young Christina Crawford, wide eyes not focused, tremors of burnt-out anxiety....
    Oh, dear God, now Rosie has raised her eyebrows as far as they will go, while keeping her lids shut and her mouth puckered as if, a split second away from whistling, she has bitten down on a lemon; she learned the look from Mrs. Haas. What on earth is going on?
    â€œI’m going to kill you, Rosie,” Elizabeth whispered.
    Rosie felt the many eyes upon her. She wanted her mother to buy a suit, badly. She wanted her to buy something, she wanted Elizabeth to shell out some money. She shook her pencil at her angry mother and said, loud and clear, “Wull, why don’t you ask the pencil man how his legs look?”
    Elizabeth could not believe this was going on. Hot blood rushed to her face and she saw red.
    â€œLet’s go,” she said.
    â€œOh, no. Unh-unh. Why can’t you just be happy that you don’t have BLOODY STUMPS FOR LEGS?”
    â€œWhat the hell has gotten into you? Come on, Sharon.”
    Sharon was frozen. Elizabeth took her hand and beganto steer her toward the Stockton Street exit.
    â€œYou coming, Rosie?”
    Rosie shook her head. Elizabeth led Sharon away. Sharon looked back, wide-eyed, over her shoulder at her transformed friend, who had now begun to tap her foot with impatience, holding her ground....
    Five minutes later Rosie dashed past unfamiliar coats and legs, in a curving path between clothes racks and shoppers and cashier’s booths, surrounded by a sea of strangers and alien smells: synthetics, perfumes, waists she didn’t recognize, “Herman” characters everywhere she looked. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her mind raced faster than her legs; she’d never see her mother again, would be adopted by sinister freaks....
    And then, after what felt like forever in a bad dream, she saw her mother and Sharon standing with their backs against the wall by the exit, smiling at her. Sharon waved. Elizabeth shook her head.
    â€œWhat the hell was that all about?”
    â€œI just wanted you to buy a suit.”
    â€œWhy? Why did it matter so much?”
    Rosie