Helping the stupid doesn't always work

GOLDIE AND ME

 

Don't let Goldie's name fool you. She's not an adorable child with golden hair whose mother combs and brushes it every day until it shines like the sun. Au contraire. Goldie has been, and is still, the best friend I've had in many years. Age has wormed its way into us. Sometimes I picture her eating everything, including worms. Now at 65, she weighs in at 195 lbs !  I dwarf beside her. We must look like aliens from outer space. It doesn't bother her but bothers me –a lot. Understand, please. I am not ashamed or embarrassed to walk beside her, to finish my low cal lunch while she finishes a greasy whopper burger, fries, a cola and a piece of fudge cake. I sit, try not to stare at her, and worry, care about her. Yeah, I nag her, can't control myself. Goldie seldom tells me to 'lighten up, never calls me 'bean pole.' We are friends. We had our childish arguments, fist fights. We kicked. We scratched yet defended each other just as lionesses take care of their cubs.

 

When I got 'the curse', something my mother had forgotten to tell me about, who did I run to but Goldie? I whined pitifully. ' Goldie, help me. I must have torn something out of my insides. Save me, take me to the hospital before I bleed to death.' Not a word did she say. Softly she took my hand and walked me to her house, just a few doors from mine.
Her mom was playing Bridge with three guests. A pretty flowered teapot with cookies on a doilied plate were handy. Goldie whispered in her mom's ear. Mrs. Goodman apologized to the ladies, took me into the bathroom and explained enough for me to calm down and face my own mother.

 

Once I really got angry at Goldie, pushed her down her own front steps. I cried more than she did when I heard her scream when her arm hit the railing, saw her new Orphan Annie wrist watch broken in
half. I gave her a quarter out of my 50 cent allowance every week until she could order a new watch. What the heck, I thought. What are friends for. After all, it was my fault she fell.

 

The fights, arguments, games slowed down, stopped when we entered junior high school. Boys were there. That was when we used to giggle a lot, pretend Joey or Bobby or whoever sat near us in class, wanted to be our friends. They didn't. They kept dropping things on the floor and picking them up until we realized they were trying to look up our dresses.

 

Yes, we are still friends. We have graying hair, married children, grandchildren and I still worry about Goldie. I give her a birthday gift of membership in 'Lose It'. Goldie goes on a strict diet, not because I pushed her but because her internist warned her again, she is going to keel over one day soon if she doesn't properly take off fifty pounds. I tell her about Dr. Oz on T.V. and how many he has helped lose weight sensibly. It seems to me, Goldie is ready to try. I write to Oz, send him her photo along with the dr's comments, and of the thousands of letters Oz must get, he invites Goldie to his show, one month away. I am amazed. Goldie tells me she is too fat to show herself on T.V. and will have to lose a few pounds before going to NY.

 

At 183 pounds Goldie appears on national television. I am right there with her. Oz assigns her a physical therapist, gives her instructions, when to return. It is unbelievable to see Goldie, after so many years, really put effort into her health. The therapist flies with us back to Philly and sees to it the exercises get done, that the food and in-take is right. Pounds slowly but surely disappear.

 

150 pounds is not the end. I call Goldie at 7 a.m. to be ready to go to the airport at 8. Goldie doesn't answer the phone. I hurry to her house, find the front door unlocked and rush in. She is sitting at her kitchen table, crying. Why didn't I make her lose weight long ago. The blame had to go someplace and I was, and am, her friend. I took it. Relief seemed to remove her wrinkles. We both laughed. Her luggage is ready. I carry it to the front step. The cabbie takes it from there.
Goldie comes out, looking happy. She sits in front with the driver, turns to thank me for all I've done for her and my eyes pop wide.

 

I recognize it–a dab of chocolate icing is still on her lips.