Inhuman Condition

© 2001 Katherine Irving
All rights reserved.

The elderly man stood inside the store entrance with his hand extended to Minnie Mooney in welcome.

"Well. it looks like someone is without a smile! Not too worry, young lady, I've got one to share."

"Keep your nasty hands to yourself. And while you're at it, clean your glasses. I've got corns older than you. Dirty old coot." Voice like broken glass, words razor-edged, nothing could shred more efficiently or with more pain than Minnie and her saber tongue. The old man's smile fell to pieces.

Quickly I reached out to him and cried, "I'm sorry!" Too little, too late. The apology was lost in the shuffle of Minnie's noisy heels and all I was able to do was ruffle the cuff of his pants. If he noticed me, he didn't show it. Poor old guy.

With a piggish snort Minnie rushed to the service counter, dragging me with her, the hard soles of her shoes grinding through me with each step. As always, her movements were vicious. Everything Minnie did was executed with malice. She even slept angry. Thankfully, I was not privy to her dreams. I shiver to imagine!

"Filthy old coot." She wore her vile temper like armor, words the weapon of choice. and although the store door greeter was well out of earshot, Minnie continued to thrash him. "Hands and mouth running for first place in the Pervert of the Day race. I ought to go back there and teach him some manners...."

I stared up at her. Ugly thing. Tiny eyes—bullets. Nostrils like screaming mouths. Pale skin wrinkled in ugly downward twists, pulling her taut lips into a harsh curve. Painfully thin. A walking skeleton covered in weathered leather.

Yes, I hated her. Who didn't? If only I could do something; throw myself into her path, trip her, knock her to the floor ... down to my turf. How I yearned to.

But I couldn't, could I? What can a shadow do? Slip and slide about the body, entrapped, doomed to human whims and motions, peace coming only with the setting sun. Sometimes I dreamed of separation, of freedom. If only.

Suddenly, I was ripped from the floor and shoved against the vinyl wall of the service counter. Having been a smear against the dirty white on countless occasions, I knew this place well.

"May I help you, ma'am?"

Minnie lifted her skinny arm and hoisted me from the floor. Toppling over the edge of the counter I was able to put a face to the delicious voice. Shivers went through me as I gazed upon a stunning girl; skin the color of milk chocolate, eyes like little worlds glowing in the heavens, an enchanting smile cutting a heart-shaped white. Beautiful didn't justify the sight. She was a living angel. Disregarding her plastic nametag—Wanda, I named her as such:

"Angel!" I cried.

"Give me my money back." Minnie's voice drowned me out. She giggled, as was her way, a sound like a angry animal's growl married to a baby's hungry cry, then dropped the can onto the counter. Whack! An exclamation point. "Give me my money back." Minnie snorted, stood straight, crossing her arms over a boyish bosom. Before I was pulled off the counter, I threw Angel a smile. If she saw it, I did not know, for once again I found myself staring at the shoe-smudged tile floor.

"A refund, ma'am?"

Minnie leaned in close, drawing me over the counter's edge. "Do you need a hearing aid?" I slipped around the can of nuts and stalled at an awkward angle that put me face-to-face with her. Minnie ignored me as I gnashed out, biting and spitting; she was occupied, drawing a bead on Angel with her wicked gray eyes.

"Oh! Uh, ma'am, do you have a receipt?"

"What do I need a receipt for? This can has your name on it. Can't you read?" Minnie tapped out the letters of the store's name one at a time. "Your name. Your nuts. They're stale. I want my money back."

"Without a receipt, we can't give a cash refund. However, I can replace the product."

"Don't give me a song and dance. I want my money." Minnie licked her lips. "Dumb-as-dirt little darkie."

"What?"

The shock in Angel's voice hurt me but energized Minnie, and she moved in for the kill. I was torn, sad yet grateful, because in narrowing the gap, Minnie carried me with her, so I rode past the nuts and up Angel's long body before finally settling upon her luscious face.

"Oh, so you do need a hearing aid. I repeat. Give me my money back, you dumb-as-dirt little darkie."

"Oh!" Angel covered the beauty of her mouth with both hands and in doing so ... she ... she ... she touched me. It was extraordinary! I'd never felt anything like it. I-I-I fell in love.

"You get someone up here with a brain to take care of this problem. I don't have all day to translate from English to Idiot."

Angel's eyes blurred. Gently, I brushed her wrinkled brow, her cheeks. Hot tears burned me, but I didn't care.

"No, Angel, please don't cry."

"What did you say?" Minnie asked.

Angel shook her head. "I-I-I ... nothing. I-I-I ... " She pressed a phone to her ear, edged the mouthpiece into her cheek.

"Shhh, Angel. Shhhh." What a pleasure to comfort her, to stroke and snuggle her sweet skin, to ride the curve of her lips. "Shhh." And those lips parted allowing her pink tongue to slip through, then tenderly lick, coating them with angelic dew.

"I-I-I need a manager to service." Angel's chin dimpled, trembled and once again, her tongue dabbed.

Unable to control myself, I spread over her, whispered, "Angel, I love you," and then kissed her.

"Oh!" Angel's eyes grew wide. "Oh my!" Dropping the phone, she rushed away.

"Noooooo!" I screamed before splattering onto clear laminate.

Minnie's steel eyes glowed. Painted cheeks burned crimson. Puffed proud like a bantam rooster, she stepped away from the counter and yanked me to the floor where I scuttled around her ankles, struggling to break away. I bit and poked and pushed against the cruel beast, but remained stuck.

"I hate you, Minnie Mooney!"

My cry was smothered by her alarm-clock voice.

"I demand service. I want my money back."

"I'll give you service." I grabbed her calf and pinched.

"Hey!" Minnie shuffled her feet, kicking me across the floor, under the greeting card display, back up the side of the counter and over the edge.

"Mrs. Mooney. You've made another one of my employees cry."

A familiar voice. Turning as much as I was able, I saw that someone had taken my Angel's place. The service manager, a bright woman—young with ancient eyes, wearing a nametag that read 'Ramona.' Over her blue button-down smock hung a rope of keys that she fingered with the authority of a prison keep. I liked Ramona. She was no stranger to me, as we three had all been together in that exact position before.

"I'm not here to make friends," Minnie snarled.

"That's obvious," Ramona said, her smile a stunning mix of Mona Lisa and scorpion.

"Time is money. While you're talking, you're stealing. These nuts are stale."

"Looks like you've eaten more than half. Did it take you all that time to decide you didn't like them?"

"I don't owe you an explanation." Minnie set both hands on the counter, her fingertips pattering like tribal drums. Diamonds and gold sparkled on a canvas of liver spots and bulging veins.

"I can give you another can of nuts, Mrs. Mooney."

"You must have fat in your ears. I said I want my money back.

"No refunds without—"

"I've got better things to do than argue with a fathead. Give me a new can of nuts. A fresh can."

Motionless, eyes fixed, the manager persevered with a stonewall smile.

"There better be a can of nuts coming."

A hand reached over Minnie's back and a can of store-brand mixed nuts landed on top of me. Thwack! Minnie grabbed the can and I fell off the counter—but not before I saw the manger's lips twitch in an upward curve.

"Your nuts," she said.

"What did you say?"

"Your nuts."

"You think you're funny?"

"Yes, Mrs. Mooney, I do."

"I'll show you funny. We'll see who laughs last."

Minnie spun on her heels, propelled me forward and back and headed for the door.

I grabbed the tiles, swept the floor and cried out. "Angel! Angel!"

The doors slid open and the sun shrunk me to a tiny knot. Minnie kicked me all the way to the car.

"Damn fathead. I'll show her funny. Funny she wants, funny she'll get."

"I want the number of your corporate office." Seated on the couch, phone cocked on her shoulder, mixed nuts by her side, phonebook on her lap, Minnie fondled a pencil, bruising it with a pinch as she spoke. "Uh-huh. And could you spell that for me, please?" Her voice dripped honey.

Unable to escape, I did my best to move away but was forced to remain sprawled in a puddle on her feet. The afternoon sun usually allowed an unwinding stretch, but I couldn't enjoy it. Too consumed with thoughts of Angel. What an uncomfortable situation, to be fixed to one and love another. I'd always thought that to be a human condition, desire blocked by circumstance. Yet there I was, suffering.

I looked up at Minnie. Barbaric eyes. Snarling lips. Ice heart. What was Minnie's condition? We had been together since the beginning, six decades and counting, and the change in her was incredible. Once she'd been a vibrant, giggling, free-spirited girl, quick to smile and full of piss and vinegar (her mother's favorite analogy). Yes, those were fine days, times when being a part of Minnie Mooney was a blessing. To ride along with her, hold her at night, share her joy in swings and jump ropes and tea parties ... so long ago it seemed more like fantasy than memory.

What had happened to Minnie's desires? Where once she'd dreamed of marriage, birthing children and planting flowers in a picketed garden, she now had all the vibrancy of those flaking brown husks that crumble off the salted peanuts she chews all day. I wondered if perhaps her emotions lived in me, having dropped off day after day and year after year, until all that remained was the miserable Minnie I hated.

"I want to make a formal complaint, and I'll follow it up in writing." Minnie tapped the book and grinned. "Oh yes, she was the most rude little thing. Why, I've never heard such talk coming from such a pretty little girl." Minnie's pencil scratched. Her eyes glistened. A trickle of spittle dampened her lips. "Well, thank you. You have been so kind." The phone beeped and she tossed it onto the couch. "Chalk one up for me! No. Make that two. One fathead manager and her crybaby darkie."

How easily Minnie took joy in wounding. What a soulless beast. And I felt accountable. To remain with her as a silent witness and refuse intervention put me under the light of guilt. But I was not like Minnie Mooney! To reinforce this assertion was the indisputable fact that no more than two hours previously, I had fallen in love. That evidence alone set me apart from her.

I jolted upright.

"Apart?"

Minnie dropped the phone and whipped around, pulling me with her. "What?"

The answer was clear!

"Apart!"

"Who said that?" Minnie twirled—the most graceful moves I'd seen her execute in nearly half a century. Around and around we spun.

"Yes, Minnie! I will go on without you!" Over the furniture, up the walls I danced.

"Hey! How? Who's there?" Minnie stumbled, grabbed at the air, and all the while I whirled in a circle about her.

Merriment forced my laughter. My voice had never been so strong.

"Who?" Her hands slipped through me as I rose up over her. "Who ... who's there?"

"It's me." Energized, bold in the waning sun, I came for her.

Anger filled her eyes where there should have been fear. "You!" she growled a guttural sound like a cat hacking on hair. "It's you. All this time ... these years ... I thought I was ... it's you!"

And I fell upon her, filled her until she gurgled and slumped to the floor. Exhausted, I lay beside her. Hours passed and I remained, steadily growing, slowly pulling away, watching my outline reshape. Beautiful. I didn't look like Minnie Mooney at all.

Soon, the sun pulled in its insidious glowing arms and disappeared behind the horizon. The light in the house extinguished and it was dark. Without one look back, I rose from the floor and slipped under the door to the out of doors where I enjoyed my first feel of complete freedom.

Fool to have waited so long. Fool!

And everywhere were shadow kin affixed to trees, flowers, rocks, and reeds; hiding in culverts, scurrying about the lights on the highways, none of them taking heed of my cries of freedom, none of them wanting the power, none of them to ever be more than servants of the tangible.

Ignorant. Cowards. Lost.

But not I. The desire to stroke cocoa skin, to caress sweet locks the color of night, kept me moving forward, and by dawn I was curled up on the rubber mat behind the service desk.

There, I waited. Throughout the morning, several employees claimed their spot beside me, none my Angel. Time passed, and my anxiety increased. There was no way I desired to spend a night in that place with the shadows lurking nearby. Seemed they thought me distasteful. And I thought them litter and told them so.

Afternoon came and went and the early blur of twilight approached. My impatience burgeoned, and just when I thought I couldn't bear another second, Angel came. She strode behind the desk, her smile so bright I thought I'd shatter. Ahhh. Human perfection. How I longed hug her feet, sidle her legs, stream over her body and revisit the soft of her lips. But I could not. Not yet.

Angel had a shadow of her own.

Shuddering, the little gray patch screamed, "You!" Apparently, I'd left a lasting impression. "Get away ... f-f-from her ... f-f-from me." The stubborn thing wrapped tightly around her feet.

No matter. I extended as much as I was able, and stalked.

Unaware, Angel worked, her shadow moving around her, sometimes chasing over her body, running through her hair, all the while fixed on me, sure to keep me in the periphery. Damnable splotch. The useless dust wipe offered her nothing, drooled over her like a stain, spoiled her.

But I held my ground. Waited. Cool and controlled. And was rewarded when, finally, bending to retrieve her pen from the floor, Angel brought her shadow to me. While the weak thing quivered on the floor, I attacked, stomping him, ripping him to minute bits. The last I saw of the insignificant blemish was a ragged sliver of gray struggling to crawl under a box labeled, 'Lost and Found.'

Good riddance.

I claimed my prize—my Angel. She gathered her pen, stood, brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and I fell upon her. "Angel, I love you." Kissing her over and over. "Angel. Angel. Angel."

"Are you insane? Get your hands off me!"

What was this? It appeared we were not alone. Beside us was a short boy wearing red cheeks and a look of surprise.

"W-W-What-What are you talking about? I only came to get the stapler."

Angel took a step toward him and I rode upon her shoulder like a badge of honor. Her cocoa eyes creased beautifully.

"I don't know why you did that. But don't you ever touch me like that again. I'll report you to management."

The boy's cheeks burned red. I thought I saw a curl of steam twirl from his ears.

"I swear I didn't. I wasn't even near you. I just took the stapler. That's all, I swear. Really ... " The apologies trailed away with his form until the embarrassed lad disappeared around a rack of pantyhose.

Brave girl, my Angel. I kissed her, she shivered and spun around.

"Who's there?"

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