The Inner Circle

87

Twenty-six years ago

Journey, Ohio

"That’ll be seventeen dollars and fifty-four-”

“No… hold on… I got coupons,” the heavy customer with the thick neck interrupted, fishing out wads of crumpled coupons and handing them to the supermarket cashier.

The cashier shook her head. “Son, you should’ve-” But as the cashier finally looked up and made eye contact, she realized the customer with the ripped black concert tee and the matching punk black Converse wasn’t a he. It was a she. “I… hurrr… lemme just… ring these up,” the cashier stuttered, quickly looking away.

By now, after sixteen years of living with Turner syndrome, Minnie Wallace knew how people saw her. She was used to awkward stares. Just like she was used to the fact that as she stepped past the cashier and into the bagging area, every single bagboy in the store had somehow subtly made his way to one of the other cashier lanes.

No way around it-people always disappoint, Minnie thought as she sorted cans of cheap tuna fish away from the cheap generic aspirin, and bagged the rest of her groceries herself.

“New grand total… fifteen dollars and four cents,” the cashier announced, stealing another quick glance at Minnie’s broad chest and low, mannish hairline. Minnie caught that too, even as she brushed her black bowl-cut hair down against her forehead in the hopes of covering her face.

With a final hug around the two brown bags of groceries, Minnie gripped them tightly to her chest, added a sharp lift, and headed for the automatic doors.

Outside, the drab Ohio sky was still laced with a few slivers of pink as the sun gave way to dark.

“Y’need some help?” a voice called out.

“Huh?” Minnie asked, turning off balance and nearly dropping both bags.

“Here, lemme… Here,” a boy with far too much gel in his spiky brown hair said, taking control of both bags before they tumbled.

“Man, these are heavy,” he teased with a warm smile as he walked next to her. “You’re strong.”

Minnie stared, finally getting her first good look at his face. She knew him from school. He was a few years older from being left back. Twelfth grade. His name was Griffin.

“Whattya want?” she asked, already suspicious.

“Nothing. I was-You just looked like you needed-”

“If you want my brother to buy you beer, go ask him yourself,” she said, knowing full well what Orson had been doing since he’d been back on spring break.

“No… that’s not-Can you just listen?” he pleaded, readjusting the bags and revealing the tattoo on his forearm. A black eight-ball. “I just was hoping-I don’t know… maybe…” Griffin stopped at the corner, working hard on the words. “Maybe we could… maybe go out sometime?”

“You’re serious?”

“Sure… yeah. It’s just… I’ve seen you around school-always wearing that concert shirt-the Smiths,” he said as Minnie’s big cheeks burned red. “The Smiths are cool.”

“Yeah, they’re… they’re kinda cool,” she replied, unable to do anything but look straight down, study her black Converse, and try extra hard to slide open her leather jacket so he could see her current English Beat concert tee, which was stretched tight by her round belly.

“Yeah, English Beat’s cool too,” Griffin added, nodding his approval as he readjusted the brown paper bags and stole another glance at her.

As they crossed the street, Griffin pointed to a parked black Dodge Aspen that had been repainted with a cheap paint job. “If you want, I can drive you home,” he offered.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said, again peering over at her, this time for longer. “I’d like to. I’d really like to.”

It wasn’t the offer that caught Minnie off guard. Or even his smile. It was the way he looked at her. Right at her. For sixteen years, unless someone was staring, no one looked at her.

But Griffin did. He looked. And smiled.

He was still smiling, even as Minnie shyly looked away.

Feeling like a cork about to leave a bottle, Minnie couldn’t look away for long. Standing up straight-completely unafraid-she looked back at him. “Okay,” she said, standing by the passenger side of the car and waiting for him to open the door.

Still holding both bags, he leaned in and reached past her, his forearm about to brush against her own. He was so close, she could smell the Wonder Bread in the grocery bag-and the black cherry soda on his breath.

She looked right at him, waiting for him to say something.

The only sound was a muffled rat-a-tat-tat…

… of laughter.

It was coming from her left. She followed the sound over her shoulder, just around the corner, where two guys-one black with a high-top fade, one white wearing an Oakland Raiders jersey-were snickering to themselves.

“No, ya Guido-the deal was you gotta do the kiss!” the white one shouted.

“You lose, brother! Game over!” the black one added.

“That’s not what we said!” Griffin laughed back.

Minnie stood there, still struggling to process.

“C’mon, you should be thanking me,” Griffin said, turning back to Minnie. “I gave you a full two minutes of what it’s like to be normal.”

Minnie wanted to scream. She wanted to hit him. But her body locked up and her legs began to tremble. Still, there was no way she’d cry for him. No way. She tried steeling herself, but all she saw was how hard all three of them were laughing. From her nose, twin waterfalls of snot slowly ran down.

“Bye, freak,” Griffin said, dropping both bags of groceries. The eggs shattered in one bag. From the other, a single can of tuna fish cartwheeled down the sidewalk.

“You even realize how much you look like a boy? Whatchu got down there, boy parts or girl parts?” Griffin asked, flicking his fingers against her crotch. The trembling in her legs only got worse. “It’s boy parts, innit?”

Minnie shook her head, fighting the tears. “I’m a girl,” she whispered.

“And you’re telling me all those girl parts work? No chance,” Griffin challenged, getting right in her face. “No chance those parts work.”

Minnie watched the can of tuna fish roll into the street and tip on its side, making a small repeating circle like a spun nickel approaching its stop.

“I’m right, ain’t I?” Griffin added as the can of tuna continued to spin in front of the car. Minnie shut her eyes, her legs trembling worse than ever. “You got nothing working down there, do ya?” he shouted. “Take the hint, animal. God did it for a reason-He don’t want no more mongrels like you!”

Minnie’s legs finally stopped trembling. She could feel the result running down her legs.

“Did you just wet your-!?” Griffin took a step back, making a face. That smell…“Is that-? Ohh, nasty!”

“She just took a dump in her pants?” the white kid asked.

“She crapped her pants!” Griffin laughed.

Scrambling backward, Minnie tripped over the rest of her groceries, landing on her rear with an awful squish that set Griffin and his friends howling.

In the street, the can of tuna sat there.

Climbing to her feet, Minnie looked up at Griffin and his eight-ball tattoo as the world melted in a flush of tears.

“Check it out-a face made for an abortion-and the stench of one too!” one of them said, laughing.

“Where you going, Elephant Man!? You forgot your groceries!” Griffin called out as she fought to her feet and started running up the block. “Whatcha gonna do-go tell your mom!?”

She didn’t respond, but as she ran as hard as she could and tried to avoid thinking of what was running down her legs, Minnie Wallace knew the answer. She knew exactly what she was going to do.

She was going to get her brother.