Forever the Fat Kid: How I Survived Dysfunction, Depression and Life in the Theater (12 page)

“I’m fine,” I answered.

“I know you’re FINE! I asked how you doin’.’” And finding her own remark humorous, she burst into that hearty laugh of hers that I was to grow so fond of. “What’s your name again, honey?”

“Michael.”

“Do you live around here?”

“No, I’m from New Jersey.”

“New Jersey? So how come I always see you here in New York?”

“I come to see Broadway shows.”

I couldn’t believe that (a) she remembered me; and (b) she was actually taking the time to stop and have a conversation. Delores was full of questions for me this day. “Do you want to be an actor?” “Have you ever gone to an audition?” “Does your mama know you come to New York by yourself?” “I hope you’re careful; people are crazy here, you know?” “Are you coming to see me in Inner City?” Then came the shocker, and it wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Look, honey, here’s my phone number. Call me and let me know when you’re coming to see Inner City. I’m gonna take you to lunch! And you tell your mother to call me so I know that it’s alright.”

A NEW STAGE

Months later, my high school was doing Funny Girl and I didn’t have the nerve to audition, a flashback to the shy, self-conscious fatty. When the students, many of whom were my friends, started rehearsals, I went into a funk. I was angry with myself for chickening out and not auditioning. It was then that I happened across an ad in our local newspaper announcing try-outs for a local community theater production of The Miracle Worker. I saw this as an opportunity to make up for the cold feet I got concerning the school play auditions. I went and, to my delight, I was cast in the role of Percy, the slave boy at the Keller household. I was ecstatic! It was the beginning of a very long association with Community Theater in New Jersey. Shortly after The Miracle Worker, the producing group branched out and formed a teenage theater group called The Carousel Community Players. In addition to being a charter member of the group, I was also voted the group’s vice president. We did a number of productions before disbanding a few years later, but it was our production of You Can’t Take It With You that holds the fondest memories for me.

Both of my parents came to the opening night of You Can’t Take It With You, bringing Wally along with them. He was three or four years old at the time. When I came into the lobby where everyone was waiting after the show, he spotted me from across the crowded room, smiled, and began wriggling in my mother’s arms trying to get to me. I went over and took him from her and he threw his little arms around me and gave me a huge kiss. He was still a baby and didn’t really understand what all of this fuss was about, but he knew that I had done something special and he was proud of his big brother.

Another highlight came during the middle of the run when Delores Hall, who was now appearing off-Broadway in the musical, Godspell, (Inner City closed soon after it opened) took a night off from the show to come and see me perform. Let me tell you, a Broadway performer coming to small town Rahway, New Jersey, to see a local boy perform in a community theater production was one big deal! The cast freaked out, and my street cred skyrocketed. I don’t think most of them believed that I even knew her; assuming that all the stories I had shared with them was the result of an overactive imagination. Even my mother, who had heard me talk endlessly about Delores but had never met her, was impressed. She invited Delores and her family back to our house after the show that night and made dinner for everybody. It was the beginning of what would become a long and wonderful friendship between Delores and me.

And, finally, it was during the run of You Can’t Take It With You that I got my first boyfriend. At the time I was, for all intent and purposes, a virgin. Sure, I knew a lot about sex, but as for actual experience, I was sorely lacking. Yes, I had by then experienced the extraordinarily wonderful human phenomenon known as the orgasm, but it had been strictly a solo affair, and I longed for the day when I’d actually have the pleasure of experiencing it with another human being. The wait was finally about to be over.

ONLY LOVE CAN BREAK YOUR HEART

Have you ever been in love? That’s not as easy a question to answer as you might think. As for me, yes, I have been in love. In my opinion, being in love is only achieved when certain requirements are met, a list too long and involved to go into here. However, the most important consideration, as I see it, is that the feeling must be mutual. One-sided infatuations, teenage crushes–no matter how old you may be–and intense bouts of lust don’t count. No matter how strong your feelings may be, if they’re not returned, you can’t possibly consider it being in love.

My first love was, well, my first love. Who among us wasn’t affected by their first love? The first time that you experience that wild and crazy emotion that you’ve heard so much about, read so much about, seen on TV and in the movies, is like nothing else in the world. That first time, for me, was incredible. So new, so wonderful, and so intense, I couldn’t believe that it was finally happening to me. I was seventeen years old. I had just gotten my first job, my driver’s license and then, to make things complete, along comes a boyfriend! What more could one ask for?

Also a member of The Carousel Community Players, Alan was a handsome, Italian-American boy whom every girl–and, secretly, a few of the guys–in our theater group had a crush on. He was cute, funny, personable, outgoing, charming, and talented. He always seemed to have a crowd around him; was always the center of attention. Everybody wanted a piece of Alan. When he innocently asked for my phone number one day, I couldn’t give it to him fast enough. To think that he wanted to be friends with me gave me an incredible rush. I never suspected that he had a little more in mind. Later that same night he picked up the phone and dialed my number. We ended up talking for far longer than I ever expected, or hoped, that we would. After all, in my mind we were not only complete opposites but, other than theater, had very little in common. However, it wasn’t long into the nearly two-hour conversation that I started to recognize the metaphors, innuendos, and many veiled references to the love that dare not speak its name. At first I thought that I was merely reading into what he was saying, hearing things that I wished or hoped to hear. Finally, Alan made it clear why he had wanted my phone number and confessed his attraction to me. It was a brave and daring thing to do, especially for someone only sixteen years of age, and it made my feelings for him–feelings that I had refused to own up to when I assumed he was straight–surface. Talk about an intoxicating mixture of courage and vulnerability!

That I had begun to pursue a young lady, also a part of our teenage theater group at the time, mattered not! I dove into a wild, wonderful, and secretive affair with Alan. Of course, with this being the first time for both of us, the odds were heavily in favor of an unpleasant ending to the whole situation, and that is precisely what happened. But until we reached that point, this new and exciting inter-personal relationship was one helluva ride! Being extremely popular, Alan had a lot more confidence about himself than I did. And to top it off, he was keenly aware of his good looks, as well as the power it gave him over people. He was a big flirt, but it came with the territory, I guess. Unfortunately, all of this only served to create a higher and higher level of insecurity and suspiciousness within me as our clandestine affair continued. It was only a matter of time before things crashed and burned, leaving me devastated.

After our break-up, I turned again to the young lady who had begun to receive my attentions before Alan stepped up to bat. Sherri was a pretty, sweet, and personable black girl from a neighboring town. I sensed that Sherri was interested in me from the time she first joined the group. The fact that things with Alan didn’t work out served to push me closer in her direction. Maybe this “boy-boy” thing was, as I had heard it said, merely a phase and now that I had acted upon it, it was out of my system and I could get on with a more normal life. My involvement with Sherri, as it were, was a romantic thing. Not sexual at all; the total opposite of what I had with Alan. Things really kicked into high gear when I asked her to be my date for the senior prom. She was ecstatic and, to be honest, so was I. That invitation was the official start of us being boyfriend and girlfriend. So what if my feelings for her weren’t as intense as they were with Alan? This girl was a catch and, boy, did we make a good-looking couple! We started spending a lot of time together, became more involved in each other’s families; things began moving along nicely.

THE CLASS OF ‘74

By the time I reached the end of my high school years, I’d already been through so many significant life experiences that all of the rite of passage stuff associated with graduating from high school was small change to me. I watched as many of my peers delighted in acting adult and showing how grown up they were–often at the expense of others–while, in my opinion, they knew very little of life. My relationship with Jamesie took a noticeable turn for the better too. I was becoming a man, as defined by terms that he understood and approved of, bringing him much pride. I was graduating from high school, I had a girlfriend, and because I found myself excelling in math, I was considering a career in engineering. He saw to it that I always had money in my pocket, a car at my disposal, and the freedom to do whatever I wanted, especially if it included Sherri. All of the past years of tension between us dwindled as he went out of his way to make sure that my transition into manhood was a smooth one.

Soon I was spending almost every waking moment with Sherri. However, although my feelings for her ran deep, and continued to grow, they were no match for what I felt for Alan. He was on my mind constantly. I wondered if the intense feelings that I’d had for him would ever play out with Sherri, or anyone else, for that matter. Soon enough, I began to realize that controlling and directing my emotions to where I (or others) thought they should be was a futile battle. And where did this lead? Well, let’s just say that the relationship with Sherri sputtered out and died. Simply put, my heart wasn’t there, and I ended up hurting her. Shortly after the prom, we went our separate ways. Sherri began dating a fellow classmate of mine, and I went back to Alan hoping to pick up where we had left off. Any doubts that I may have had about my sexuality were now pretty much laid to rest. It was clear which side my bread was buttered on. The reality of who I was slapped me in the face and I decided it best to be true to that part of me. Luckily, I hadn’t wasted too much time trying to play a role that didn’t fit. On the plus side, the time spent attempting to be something I wasn’t was good theatrical training. Ever wonder why so many actors are gay? Easy–they’re usually the ones who have spent a lifetime of pretending to be someone other than who they really are. What better preparation is there for life on the stage?

Life circumstances are affected by timing as much as any other factor. When Alan and I got back together, it was the summer after his graduation from high school, as he was preparing to leave for college. The writing was on the wall. As I watched him excitedly prepare to leave home and start his life as an independent adult, I tried to stay positive and upbeat while inwardly dreading his imminent departure. With his hormones raging, and free to discover and experience gay life circa 1975, I was sure to be left in the dust. Could I reasonably expect him to avoid the temptations that were heading his way? Martyr that I am, at the end of that summer I even drove him to Rhode Island where he was to begin college, and his life away from the watchful eye of his parents. By the time I returned to Rhode Island in November to drive him back home for Thanksgiving break, our relationship was history.

When things ended with Alan, I thought that life, as I knew it, was over. After a year of being apart, and with no contact whatsoever, I resigned myself to him never being a part of my life again. I would hear bits of information about him from mutual friends; where he was, whom he was with, what was happening in his life, but we had no direct communication or contact. It wasn’t until seven years later that our lives intersected again. It was 1982 when Alan decided to seek me out and find out what I had been up to over the intervening years. I’m glad that he did because, although we didn’t return to the relationship that we’d had years earlier, we formed a solid friendship that we have to this day. It’s comforting to have someone in your adult life that you shared such an intense emotional tie with while growing up. It doesn’t happen often.

A DEFINING MOMENT

For most people, there is usually a specific moment or event in their lives that clearly marks their passage into adulthood. For me that moment came in early 1975 when I was eighteen years old. I was sitting on the floor in the den of our home watching television. Ruthie sat in a chair behind me reading the newspaper. During a commercial break I saw her, from the corner of my eye, slowly close, fold, and set aside the newspaper that she had been reading, then turn and look in my direction.

“Michael, can I ask you a question?”

There was something “foreboding” in the tone of her voice. She was trying to be matter-of-fact; I think she may have even been smiling, but I knew that she was about to ask me something of major importance. I also sensed that whatever this question was, it would not be an easy one to answer.