Belt A Fat Comedian Pee Wee Normus, a very big man, was not comfortable flying coach. Once each millennium was enough to re-stoke his memory banks with joke material about the hazards of flying. Now, with two full time script writers, there was no reason for him to suffer for his comedic art. Thirty-five years of mingling with common folk had been a necessity, but now he deserved first class in all accommodations. Pee Wee strained again to close his safety belt, inhaling deep and stretching upward, while pulling with hands beefy but still strong from twice daily cow-milking chores as a young man on the family farm. That farm, small and debt ridden did not have modern equipment. Milking cows made for great hand strength but the safety belt still remained and inch too short. "Are you all right, Mister," inquired the solicitous and skinny Grandmother in the window seat. "Should I beep the stewardess? We're going to take off any minute." "Naw, Lady. My face is always red, and my eyes bulge because my brain's too big," Pee Wee blurted, angry that he, a very successful comedian with a vast repertoire of put-downs could not manage a better mind-your-own-business retort. Cutting down innocent or unwary victims was his specialty. The busy-body shrunk back in her seat and Maynard Normus felt just a bit guilty, although her concern was an un-invited intrusion into his privacy. Pee Wee's analyst had said he had an inordinate dislike of criticism and even greater fear of ridicule or embarrassment. Not in those words, of course, but in idiomatic and pretentious terms common with his two-hundred dollar an hour billings. In fact, the analyst had said all heavy-set comedians focused on themselves as target of ridicule. implying that Maynard's shtick of skillfully picking on other victims was somehow perverted. It paid off in Cadillacs and Florida Beach condos, and left Pee Wee without guilt, even if his sarcastic humor traveled only one-way. On stage, Pee Wee would only use a hand held microphone, zealously gripped, irrationally afraid someone he targeted would somehow respond to his hilarious and often cruel indictment of their shortcomings. No one ever dared try to wrest away the microphone dwarfed in his meaty paw. Pee Wee noticed the older Stewardess with the stern authoritarian look, acquired by twenty years of stewardship quieting panics and suppressing any form of insubordination, was now imperiously nearing, checking each passenger for unfastened belt or reclined seat. Desperate, Pee Wee decided to escape notice burying the unfastened ends in his huge hands, camouflaging his unfastened status. Hands clasped, eyes closed, he resembled a well dressed four hundred pound Buddha lost in self-contemplation and the vigilant Stewardess passed by. Fearful that his seat companion was aware of his subterfuge, and could complain, Pee Wee turned a friendlier face her way and whispered, "Guys my size don't bounce around much, like a little-bitty Sweety like you, Mam. I usually buy three tickets, but this time, only two," indicating the empty middle seat. She remained silenced but managed a brief, weak smile. Still tired from his lengthy tirade with the Ticket Agent, who didn't extend Maynard the usual complimentary upgrade and his necessary run to catch the flight made Pee Wee very tired. He closed his eyes to nap. In an instant, he fell into an uncomfortable and sweaty reverie before the ascending plane had retracted its flaps. As flight 737 vectored toward the Hubert Humphrey airport in Minneapolis, nine-hundred miles west of La Guardia, Pee Wee revisited another haunting episode from his youth. Once again he stood, still in his jockstrap, hoping somehow to escape the ignominy of a nude shower with his freshman gym classmates. "Shag" Bartness, once Iowa Teacher College's Athlete of the Year, but only a hirsute and paunchy physical education instructor deprived of the somewhat prestigious title of assistant football coach, leered at his blushing pupil. Not knowing why, Pee Wee hated how thoroughly Shag inspected each boy and provoked demeaning persiflage on the anatomies of his charges. Proud of his over-sized phallus, Shag paraded nude in front of his seventh and eighth grade students somewhat longer than the normal standards of propriety, but not enough to justify indictment or censure from his suspicious but careful Principal. It was not Shag who first named Maynard, "Pee Wee", but he sure made it official with his searing falsetto rendition of that scarring sobriquet. Pee Wee probed his daydream's memory bank for the identity of the first, better endowed classmate, who called him "Pee Wee", hopeful to effectuate retribution now that he had money and its resultant power. It may have been Scott Bergen, his old rival for Becky, who chose not to label him Slim or Jester, either of which were more appropriate pseudonyms. It was Scott who informed the beautiful Becky Ludwig that Maynard was suffering late puberty, and in front of a dozen giggling classmates, who would teased, branding him forever Pee Wee. Too bad, Scott didn't come back from Viet Nam. Pee Wee could've roasted him this weekend when he, who was, the most successful graduate of Lincoln High School's class of 1965, addressed his classmates at their thirty-fifth reunion party. What delightful ridicule he'd make of Scott's un-stellar accomplishments that led him to seek a career in the army. A lowly buck sergeant, in the ground- pounding infantry, no less. Pee Wee had always been extra-sensitive. His ability to sense what other people wanted to avoid or hide had granted him empathy for others, and he employed that warmness to win popularity in High School, but his tolerance of others peculiarities never seemed reciprocated. Teasing bothered him until he realized, he could disarm any antagonist, by topping their best putdowns with more clever self-directed barbs of his own. When he became seriously overweight, he had many opportunities. His skill at quick witticisms became known to others. Pee Wee attracted crowds and was reborn, a comedian. Now successful, he no longer laughed at himself. His earlier sensitivity now was an antenna which still picked up people's secret signals of what lay hidden and was unthinkable to face or discuss. When Pee Wee spotted a target for his humor, he was merciless, but funny to those who weren't targeted. "Will you have the chicken or the roast beef snack," inquired the prettier of the two coach-class stewardesses, not sure whether to wake the dozing comedian whom she suspected was somebody. Mention of food, immediately wakened Pee Wee."I'll have both, ma'am, and if they're any good, you can bring me seconds. When I'm still hungry, I'm dangerous for any pretty gal getting within biting distance. Seriously, I haven't eaten for three days and I'm about to float away. Bring me the sandwich for that skinny guy in the front row, he must be allergic to food." Not wanting to answer and provoke more wise-cracks, the prudent stewardess who also stretched her uniform but only slightly because of rigid dieting, produced two more sandwiches, then judiciously fled. Although Pee Wee no longer needed to have all present focus their attention on him, it was unavoidable when he ate. Pee Wee always dined in private because he could not trust his table manners. Rare dinner companions were shocked on first exposure to the spectacle of Pee Wee Normus wolfing down food. When Pee Wee was unhappy, he used food as a palliative compensation but with no more enthusiasm than when he celebrated his good times also with great quantities of food and drink. Amanda, his intimidated seat companion watched him eat in horror, and lost her appetite. She offered him her sandwich and cupcake, knowing he could not refuse. Now aware of her seat companion's disability, Amanda was no longer intimidated. She tried again her usual familiarity with strangers, "I had a good breakfast with my husband. He woke up early to take me to the airport, although he's retired and pretty crippled with arthritis. A real sweetheart still, after forty five years of marriage." Mouth full with a sandwich in both hands, Pee Wee refrained from zinging her. Pee Wee had been happily married, three times. First to Becky, almost thirty-five years ago. He had persisted and won the battle for Becky, and married right after graduation. At first, they considered themselves rich. Pee Wee writing copy for KNAK radio, with nights off to do his stand up humor gigs while Becky cashiered at Red Owl. Their first month of marriage was one prolonged honeymoon, in spite of her advancing pregnancy. "That's real nice lady, and I envy the man enjoying your company for forty-five years. I'm just divorced again, so I can't make forty-five years of marriage. Reckon I better shoot for marrying forty-five times." Pee Wee liked that line, and the half shocked, half amused look on Amanda's face. "Are you somebody famous or funny. I mean, is that your job?" she said, obviously incredulous. His face was familiar, and two hundred pounds lighter, Pee Wee had been matinee idol handsome. "Should I be asking for your autograph?" "Well I try to be funny but I ran into one sweet little old lady who didn't even know my name. I gave her my autograph in disappearing ink." Pee Wee relaxed his grip on his seatbelt, to give Amanda an autographed picture from his coat pocket, then realized he was exposing his unhooked seatbelt. Aghast, Amanda virtually shouted, "Your belt isn't fastened." "Just shut up lady, I'll fasten up when the captain announces our landing approach," he said so angry that his face burned with embarrassment. In reflexed defense, Pee Wee retreated into the past. He imagined again Becky's pubescent beauty. He had fallen in love with her, almost forty years ago. She was so beautiful and very popular with all the town kids. What chance did he, a gangly and shabbily dressed farm kid, who smelled of the cows he tended each morning, until his father drank away the farm and moved his family to town. He still remembered their first encounter. Pee Wee was at the town beach, the summer, before his Sophomore Year. She was so mature and he still fit his nickname. His new swimming suit of black knit wool so delineated his manhood disparagingly that he had rolled up one of his socks, and inserted it in the crotch. Looking down, examining himself without benefit of mirror, he was impressed. It was so simple to disguise one's limitations. He was flabbergasted that the very popular Becky had allowed him to walk her home. Later, swinging together on her front porch swing, Becky had asked why one of the socks he was wearing was wet. How fiery red he had blushed, implicating himself of some hidden sin that he only imagined she divined. Seeing Pee Wee Normus, brash class cutup and clown impervious to insult or ridicule, turn into a blushing and stammering fool had endeared him to Becky because that proved was tender and humble. Ah yes, sweet Becky, who stuck with him through those difficult teen years but then grew bitter and vengeful with the birth of their sudden baby, a surprising consequence of his insistence on reward for taking her to the Senior Prom. She never forgave him nor let him forget his guilt, even when he did the right thing by proposing. He never forgave her, when their two year old son, and only child died, even though he knew Becky's genetics and maternal care were not the cause. Pee Wee faulted his young wife for her supposed resentment toward the baby, harboring evil wishes that came true. Darrell Dean Normus, Pee Wee's only child would now be thirty-four. Four other wives since Becky had not provided heirs to compete for the money that went to support ex-wives. Pee Wee looked forward to the class reunion and wished that it would allow him to see Becky, again. Many times he dreamed he was back with his first family, but Becky had also died of slow suicide from gin and other assorted memory altering chemicals. Jeanine, his second wife had been a classmate too, and might be at the reunion. Becky had called her ex-friend, Jeanine, seeking the reason why Pee Wee had left her and then reciprocated, giving Jeanine more of Pee Wee's personal baggage than any of his many therapists collected. Using Pee Wee's humorous confession of his rolled sock solution for his inadequacy, Jeanine had formed an embarrassing interpretation of the wet sock vignette in her public denigrations of Pee Wee, topping him at his own game. Her versions concerned her preference for the a wet sock instead of the real article. Those amusing assaults on her husband's ego shortened Pee Wee's second marriage to weeks. She would surely be at the reunion exhibiting her third husband, who was even younger than the last. Pee Wee awakened from his discomfiting dream to find the nastier stewardess shaking his shoulder, loudly remonstrating. "We have began our approach to Minneapolis. You must fasten your seatbelt or I will notify the Captain. We don't want to lose our landing slot. Hurry." Pee Wee sucked in deep, face purpling as he held his breath and tugged with all of his strength on his disconnected seatbelts as if they might benevolently stretch. His vision of the confronting stewardess dimmed as he pulled harder on the nearly connected belts. With a last desperate tug, sudden intense pain in his massive left arm did convulsively force the clasping of the breath stifling safety belts. Explosively, Pee Wee's lungs emptied of their retained air, but none returned. His strained heart muscles begged for oxygen, without success, then sullenly quit. The World would not laugh at Pee Wee again, and no-one would be humiliated at his class reunion.
Copyright © 2002 Gerald Bosacker |