The Inner Circle 

Arielle Prose

To air out the house and let in as much light as possible, Clarissa’s kitchen window is wide open and her shade pulled all the way up. God, why do they have to see me painting this damn chimney! The chimney that runs right through the middle of her Cape Cod-style house, from the ancient, stone-built basement, up through the small living room and kitchen, through the two bedrooms, and on up through the attic, where the standing room is no more than about nine to ten square feet. Talk about tiny houses—more like a bungalow, if you ask me. She and her husband bought it from her brother a year ago when he bought and moved to the much larger house next door. That’s another reason to be jealous of them, you fool. She pauses before lifting the paint roller from the pan perched on the ladder’s tray. Okay. Stop chiding yourself. You really have nothing to complain about. At least her house is a single-family, unattached house with space all around it, and comes with a huge garden. Situated on a Queens, New York corner lot, it is twenty-five feet by a hundred feet and her garden is about three times the size of her house. Her brother’s house, on the other hand, is a big two-family house on a  fifty-foot by one-hundred-foot lot that is right up against the neighbors’ adjacent building on the other side. Facing her brother’s backyard, or patio, is a wall of four garages. A crab apple tree and some patchy lawn constitute her brother’s side yard and garden. Between his house and side yard, which butts up against Clarissa’s house, is her brother’s driveway. The only use of the side yard, as far as Clarissa can tell, is for the kids to climb the tree and throw apples at passers-by, and for her sister-in-law to pick dandelions for a salad. Ha! Hardly anything compared to the bounty I get from my garden.

Through the kitchen window she can see her brother's family and in-laws sitting on lounge chairs around the patio. They must think I work to death. It’s as if they have nothing better to do than to watch me work. And of course they’d be horrified if they knew I was four months pregnant and climbing a ladder. She gathers up some more mauve-colored paint onto her brush and carefully edges the top of the chimney wall. There! Thank God that’s finished. Now I can get out of here and out of their view! She climbs down the ladder and surveys her work, mumbling, “Mmm, hairline cracks. Oh well, nothing is perfect.” Stepping back, she appraises the darker color of her chimney against the lighter mauve shade in her living room and decides she likes the effect.

“Mom! Louie said he’s getting a remote-control car!” It’s her five-year-old son, Joey, back from playing with his cousin next door. “Nice job on the chimney,” he says as he passes her and opens the freezer, then turns his curly tousled head to ask, “Can I have some ice cream?”

“Joey, you know you’re going to have ice cream at Louie’s birthday party. How come you’re not over there? Did you get into a fight with him?”

“No! But they're taking forever for the party to start. No other kids are there yet. Anyway, Aunt Filomena said to tell you to come over around six thirty. You’re going, right, Mom? I’m not going if you’re not.” He finds the ice cream and puts it on the counter, then opens the cupboard. Clarissa watches him as she rinses the paint brush in the sink. He can reach the bowls now! It seems like just last week he had to use the step stool to reach them.

“I don’t know, Joey. It depends on what time Daddy gets home. We’ll see.” She looks at her son dreamily eating his ice cream and feels a pang of guilt. She thinks she should be more sociable for his sake.

“How come you don't want to go if I don’t?” she asks him.

“Cuz…” Joey answers evasively. “It’s better if you and Daddy are there.”

She recalls last year's Christmas holiday at her brother’s, the first big family get-together after moving into her new house, how twenty-six people sat at a long table with all the kids down at one end — except for Joey who was seated with his parents. None of the other kids had said “Come on Joey, sit with us.” She can understand Joey's reluctance. Of course, her brother and his in-laws have always treated her and her family cordially enough, there is no question about that. But she could always sense a reserve, an estrangement, so to speak, simply because she had married outside her own Italian culture — outside her own race, in fact. Someone who is considered anathema to most of her family and milieu. She had married a Black man.

“All right, honey. I’ll be along as soon as Daddy comes home and has his dinner. Are you okay? You seem to be lost in space.”

Joey blinks his eyes and shifts in his seat. “Oh, I was just thinking of all the presents Louie got for his birthday. But he can’t even open them until everybody’s there. He said he was getting a remote-control car that cost two hundred dollars!”

“My goodness! At seven years old? That’s ridiculous! He’ll just break it right away. You have to know how to handle those things.”

“Yeah, I know,” Joey says, then suddenly straightens up in his seat. “Can I get one when I’m ten years old? Huh, Mom?”

Clarissa laughs, “Honey, if you can wait that long, you’ll surely deserve one — maybe even sooner. I’m gonna go work in the garden now. You want to come and help me pick tomatoes?”    

They step outside onto their patio, and Margie, their cat, scoots out too. Clarissa looks up and notices the sun, now behind the house. She glances at the small window on the second floor at the stairwell landing, where she never fails to pause and gaze at her garden and the surrounding neighborhood, watching the light of the day unfold from the east, from pale early light, to golden afternoon, to shadowy dusk or gleaming twilight, and at night to a changing moon. That spot is where her thoughts are best reflected, she thinks. Like an inner sanctum.

“Wow! Look at how big this tomato is, Mom!”

“Hold it right there!” Clarissa cries, running into the house and coming back quickly with her camera. She snaps a picture of Joey, head bent to one side, squinting at the sun, one hand holding a huge tomato, the other hand on his hip.

Joey complains, “Aw, Mom, you always do that. Stop being so corny.” But Clarissa knows that he says it more to tease her than from feeling embarrassed. She knows that he’s fascinated by the garden just as much as she is, both anticipating the discovery of something new each time they step into it. Of course, after pulling weeds and seeing that tending it is hard work, he sometimes scorns it. But Clarissa feels that the scorn is pretended — that deep down, he has inherited from her the same love of the earth that she in turn has inherited from her mother. She thinks herself lucky that she has this patch of earth to till. It’s worth the time and labor for the small miracles it produces. She repeats to herself a snatch of a poem she wrote: It never fails to please me / As I check out every spot / The newly formed hibiscus / The poppies, the forget-me-nots. / From early spring to way past frost / The flowers bloom and spend / Birds, bees and butterflies woo / It’s always on the mend.

Even the derision of her neighbors doesn't touch her when it comes to her working in the garden. And besides, who are they kidding? They always quickly accept anything I’ve given them from it. They might even be envious. She surveys her garden proudly. There is the rose arbor, her pièce de résistance, there a grape arbor covering the patio, there the tall hedges that run along the property, forming a huge arch over the gate so that Matt, her husband, has to climb a ladder to clip them. And unlike any other garden in the neighborhood — at least that she is aware of — it is unique in that it has a gooseberry bush, a cherry tree, and a quince tree — besides the usual fig tree. However, while all this makes a picturesque and cozy haven, the garden is too much work. In fact, she’s sure it’s more work than her housework, and it is often a bone of contention between her and her husband because of all the time they put into it. Yet, it’s also true that they both enjoy sitting under the grape arbor, relaxing in each other’s company. Somehow any leftover arguments from the day dissipate under its canopy. She’ll say things like, “Next year we’ll have enough money to build the extension.”

“You mean I’ll have enough money to take a trip down to Rio. By myself. Tee, hee, hee,” he’ll fake laugh.

“Oh really! And just what do you think you’ll do there without me?” she’ll ask in a menacing tone.

And they’ll go on like that, mocking each other and dreaming their dreams.

At eight o’clock, while Matt and Joey are still at the party, Clarissa goes back to her house to use the bathroom, saying she’ll be right back. From the bathroom window she sees the one floodlight from her brother’s back door and the lantern lights hung around the back yard. The balloons have long ago been popped, and pieces of streamers are limply stirring in the warm summer air. The table with birthday cake spoils is pushed to a corner. Most of the adults are inside the house now, while the kids in the yard have put on some hip-hop music and are starting to break-dance. It’s the latest fad and all the kids eagerly take turns showing off. They drop onto the concrete floor, breaking their fall to different moves, twists, and complicated turns of arms and legs, flip-flopping every which way. The older kids laugh at the younger ones going willy-nilly, encouraging them to go even further. One after another they jump into the crowd’s circle and dance to laughs, shouts, and cheers. Louie has just finished taking his turn. Clarissa looks to see where Joey is. Then she sees him off to one side and feels a knife stab deep into her heart. She has no way of knowing how long he’s been standing there with no one paying him any attention. She guesses at least since she’s been watching them, a good five minutes. Her throat constricts and a wave rises inside her, threatening to flood over. She wishes he would just jump in the circle and show off with the rest of them. Oh God! Why is he just watching, just standing there by himself?

She has always known this would happen, this feeling of being ostracized. Ever since she and Matt, very much in love with each other, began holding hands, or kissing in public. She remembers one scene in particular on a bus. An Italian-looking elderly man sitting across from them sneered at her when she looked his way. Matt himself had told her of some of the discrimination he faced growing up — even when he was in the army. When their relationship turned serious and they announced their intention to marry, both sets of parents were initially resistant to the idea, especially Clarissa’s mother, but eventually her family and extended family all accepted the fact of their love for each other, except for one cousin who refused to attend their wedding. Clarissa knows that she’s become something of a pariah to some in her family and her brother’s own extended family. And now her son is experiencing this feeling of being an outcast, she is sure of it. The only consolation, she thinks, is that he’ll soon have a brother or a sister to shore him up. Thank God!

Later, after reading The Cat in the Hat together, Clarissa asks Joey, “How did you like Louie’s party, honey? Did you have a good time?”

“Mm hmm,” Joey replies.

“I saw you from the bathroom window when the kids were break-dancing. How come you didn’t jump in? You’re not shy to show off your moves at home,” she adds.

“Aw, I just wanted to watch the bigger kids,” Joey says, smiling. “Mario was the best.”

“Well, okay. Just as long as you’re not afraid of them,” Clarissa responds, as she nuzzles her nose against his. “Now let’s say our prayers.”

At the end of the litany of each family member’s name, Joey adds, “And God bless the baby that’s growing in Mommy’s tummy.”

Clarissa, a little surprised and heartened by his thoughtfulness, says a soulful “Amen.” She gets up from the bed and tucks him in, kissing him on the lips. “G’night, sweetie.”

An hour later, Clarissa, lying in bed and still smarting from the sting of her heartache, turns on her side to face Matt, and brings up her concerns by describing the scene to him. “He looked so… I don’t know — forlorn… I think he feels left out whenever he’s with my side of the family, like an outsider looking in. He seems much more playful whenever he’s with his cousins from your side of the family.”

Matt responds, “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter, does it? Besides, it’ll toughen him up for the battles he’s gonna fight later on.” He looks at her doubtful face and says, “Don’t worry. Joey’s strong enough to handle it. It’s more likely you feel the rejection more than he does.”

Clarissa lets out a sigh. “Possibly. He certainly brushed it off when I asked him about it. You know, when we were praying, he asked God to bless the baby. He’s so sweet. But that family… They act all friendly toward us and keep telling me all the time how much they like you and all that, but I think they feel superior to us. Remember that time they invited us to dinner at that restaurant and their whole family showed up an hour late. All that time we were waiting for them and not even the courtesy of a call to tell us they’d be late.”

Matt says, “Yeah, what can I say? They’ve got no class. Except for your brother, that whole family is very insular. You know, when it comes down to it, Joey will learn that their opinion of him ain’t worth—”

“Ain’t worth a rat's patootie,” Clarissa finishes for him and smiles, feeling sure that what he was about to say would have been much cruder.

“Exactly.” Matt gathers Clarissa in his arms. “But we’re happy, aren’t we? That’s all Joey needs to know. That’s what’ll give him confidence.”

Clarissa ponders this. “I know. It’s just that I don’t want him to feel that he has to prove himself to them all the time, or that he feels jealous because of all their possessions.”

Matt gently swipes Clarissa’s hair out of her brow, and says, “They have nothing to brag about when Joey compares our values to theirs.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right—”

“Suppose? You know I'm right.” Leaning in close to her face, he continues, “We just have to set an example by showing him what’s really important.”

“And that is?” Clarissa smiles and falls into his kiss.