Donyell was a well groomed twenty two year old store clerk at the Friendly Mini Market. He was always on time and his clean cut appearance made him a favorite among the assortment of misfits who worked at the store, both with customers and management. He had started working there at sixteen because it was easy and in his neighborhood, but after his failed attempts at higher education it seemed he was now working his way towards the position of Assistant Manager. All of that was pretty irrelevant at the moment, however, because it was ten fifty-five on a Monday night and his shift was about to end. All he was waiting for was Barry, the scruffy over night clerk who always reeked of Lucky Strikes. A middle aged woman walked up to the counter and stared up at Donyell from under her frazzled orange hair. Donyell knew this lady as “Loony Liz”, and he had seen her riding around town on her ancient bicycle with a milk crate on the front that was usually full of empty redeemable cans and bottles or one of the scraggly looking stray cats that populated the Beachfront neighborhood. Loony Liz pulled a stack of scratch tickets out from her huge black fur coat (which would have undoubtedly cost a fortune had she actually purchased it) and plopped them down on the counter. Donyell stared at the stack for a minute; they looked damp. Her crackly voice started up: “I think there are some winners in there.” Donyell picked through the tickets, some of which were as much as three years old. All in all, out of eighteen tickets, Loony Liz had five winners. They paid out a total of eleven dollars. She walked out of the store singing, hopped on her bicycle and rode over to the nearest trash can, which was in the center of the parking lot. She began to dig for aluminum and glass; Donyell figured she didn’t plan on making the eleven dollars last too long if she was already back to work.
Barry then emerged from the back room with a paranoid look on his face as usual and smelling worse than normal. He had his uniform vest slung over his shoulders and his glasses were nearly falling off his unkempt face. “Shows over boss, you can head out,” he said, trying too hard to seem “chill” and “cool”. Donyell nodded and said “Have a good one, bud. The crazies are out tonight.” He picked up his messenger bag and walked out the front door, past Loony Liz and her bicycle full of recyclables, down the dark street and towards the peer and the ancient amusement park that defined Salisbury Beach.
He slunk into the beachfront public bathroom, which was empty at this time of night most times. Occasionally a man in a business suit, inevitably on a cocaine binge, would be using the urinal, but otherwise Donyell was always left in peace. Once in the stall with the door locked, Donyell began his transformation. The mild mannered store clerk became a glamorous drag version of the Tooth Fairy within minutes. His tiara fit over his short mulatto hair, and his dark muscular legs sprang out from his tutu. He held a wand with pink translucent streamers, and prepared to walk down the strip in his high heels like he owned the whole beach.
Donyell emerged from the bathroom, lit up a Virginia Slim cigarette and began to strut down to the pier. He walked through the broken gate of the amusement park that had closer two hours before and past the two alcoholic homeless men who sat against the fence and next to the merry-go-round. He danced to the music in his head under the neon lights as he approached the group of fishermen who sat on the pier every night and waited for the best drag queen meth dealer in town. He walked through the group of Portuguese immigrants, old local sailors and former high school football stars and collected money for his grown up version of rock candy. One old salt named Doug McLaughlin would give him fresh fish every week for his girlfriend Cindy to make for dinner on Tuesdays. Donyell just told her he got them from a friend at work, which was as close to the truth as he could get with her. “Much better than last week,” grunted Doug as Donyell dolled over his fifteen dollar rock of heaven. “Atlantic Cod. No more herring for you and your girl.” Donyell smiled coyly and simply replied “Thank you, Mr. Doug. Have a good night now.”
He continued on his sales route, dispensing drugs to off duty cops and out of work bartenders, until three forty five A.M. His last call was spent with his back against The Pavilion while he whistled a cheery melody for the dark and grungy world around him. A little music made everything about his own life seem less fucked up; the women’s clothing, the crystal meth he distributed for his parents, the girlfriend with an eating disorder and the dead end job at a convenience store that he dreamed of one day blowing up with a fertilizer bomb he’d build with his younger brother in their basement.
After the last of the junkies had approached him at his regular closing spot, Donyell stomped back towards the pier bathroom on sore feet, hoping that he didn’t walk in on one of his customers overdosing or soliciting prostitution for another hit. These weren’t common occurrences, but they could never be ruled out and Donyell dreaded those moments above all others…except for the moment when he walked in the door at Friendly Mini Market everyday.
