by Ira Bloom
They watched Norm hobble down the stairs, his descent hampered by his unwieldy, unbendable left leg. At the bottom, Wilson was waiting with Nick, a boy Esme recognized from grade school. Nick was short but heavyset, with the weightlifter’s hulking tightness to his upper body. Norm high-fived Wilson, and the three headed off toward the gym.
“Come on,” Esme said. “Don’t let them know we’re following.” The boys arrived at the gym, but instead of going in, they kept walking. “Are they going in the back way, do you think?”
“No,” Katy said. “The weight room’s on the other side. They’re going out by the Dumpsters.”
“Hurry up!” Esme said.
The sisters rounded the far corner of the gym just in time to see Norman limp past the corner to the back. Esme and Katy quickened their pace, turning the final corner at a near run, Veronica trailing behind in her heels. Behind the building a small crowd waited, perhaps thirty. In the middle of the group were Danny Long, Jackson Gartner, and Logan Rehnquist.
The space behind the gym was perfectly suited to clandestine activities, such as a romantic tryst or a beat-down. Stoners frequented the spot during school hours. There was a service road to accommodate the trash trucks. There was an eight-foot-high chain-link fence, overgrown with weeds and potato vines, which entirely obscured the clearing between the two huge Dumpsters and the gymnasium’s industrial air-conditioning unit.
“Hey, Norman,” Logan called in a vocalized sneer.
“Gentlemen,” Norm acknowledged.
Esme walked around in front of Norman and stood with her back to him, facing the crowd, her eyes blazing in fury. “What the hell is this?” she sputtered. “Wilson, you know my father is your mother’s attorney, right? How is she going to feel when he calls her up tonight and tells her what you did here?”
“Logan just wanted to talk to him,” Wilson mumbled, eyes downcast, the excuse as porous as a sieve, the lie dripping through to puddle on the ground at his feet.
Katy stood beside her sister and faced the crowd as well. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Come on, Norman, we’re getting out of here.”
“Good thing you have your girlfriend and her crazy sister to fight your battles for you, freak,” Danny taunted.
“Does Sandy know what you’re doing here, Logan?” Esme asked.
“You bitches better stay out of stuff that don’t concern you.”
The word was enough to bring Veronica around to the forefront, to stand in solidarity with Esme and Katy. “What did you just call my sisters?” she yelled, throwing her head back in an impressive manner. Another perk of striking beauty is stage presence.
Norman didn’t like how things were spiraling out of control. He felt his self-restraint slipping, his ire rising in his craw like bilious mercury in a thermometer. “Esme,” he said, in a very quiet voice. “Let me deal with this.”
Esme unclenched her fist and breathed. Boys. He’d said he would react to protect her, and here she was, forcing his hand.
“What do you want?” Norman asked the three main instigators. “I’m not going to fight. I’m a pacifist, so I’m morally opposed to any kind of violence.”
“That’s too bad,” Logan replied. He spun around and landed a leaping roundhouse kick squarely on Norman’s shoulder.
If Norman felt anything from the kick, he didn’t give Logan the satisfaction. It didn’t budge him an inch. “Do you mind if I ask you why you just did that?” he asked.
“We don’t like you,” Logan explained, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, planning his next strike.
“Is it because I’m Jewish?”
“You’re some kind of monster or freak or something, I don’t know what, but something ain’t right about you,” Logan accused.
“We don’t want you in our school,” Danny added. He put his head down and rushed Norman, as if he were trying to break through an offensive line, and shoved him with both hands for all he was worth. Danny’s momentum was enough to rock Norman back a few inches. He had to take a step back to keep his balance.
Jackson attacked next, punching Norman in the gut, pushing off with his legs and firing from the shoulders like a boxer working a heavy bag, emphasizing every word of his grievance with a punch: “We. Don’t. Want. To. Look. At. Your. Ugly. Face. In. Our. School.”
“If we all talked this through like civilized people I’m sure we could reach a consensus that would be acceptable to all parties.” Norman’s tone of voice was perfectly reasonable, as if Jackson had not just punched him with all his might twelve times.
This infuriated the three even more. They redoubled their efforts and attacked again rapidly, in pairs or in turns, Logan kicking, Jackson punching, and Danny charging in between rounds, trying to topple the giant. Norman was forced to take a few steps back, but otherwise appeared to be impervious to injury—until Logan landed a low kick to the brace on Norman’s knee. The giant winced noticeably. The reaction was not lost on Logan, who sensed a vulnerability. He shuffled to the right. Norman shifted his leg to the rear, to protect it.
“That’s enough, Logan,” Esme shouted, moving into the conflict.
“You better control your girlfriend,” Logan warned, circling, “or she’s gonna get hurt.”
Esme saw it then, that thing in Norman’s eyes, the glint under the shadow of his brow, the flash of anger under the Herculean self-restraint. Norman had had enough. With surprising speed, the giant’s hand shot out and grabbed Logan by the head.
Logan’s head looked like a large grapefruit in the hand of a shopper in the produce aisle. Logan struggled to get away, punching out ineffectively at Norman’s forearm, to no avail. And then, Logan was lifted off the ground, his toes sweeping desperately to find purchase, his body thrashing like a fish hauled out of the water on a line. Norman lifted Logan a foot off the ground. “Okay, Logan,” the giant advised. “You’re starting to piss me off.”
For a fleeting moment, something in the reptilian part of her brain made Esme’s heart flutter. It was so odd; Norm was decisively unattractive, but the raw, masculine power was a turn-on.
“Let go of me, you ugly freak!” Logan shouted, struggling. He grabbed Norman’s wrist with both hands to steady himself, then tried to kick him, to no effect. Danny and Jackson stood back, startled by Norman’s sheer strength. Logan weighed over two hundred pounds.
“Logan,” Norman said sharply. “You need to calm down. We have to talk this through.”
“What?” Logan shouted back, an edge of panic in his voice. He was nearly sobbing.
“Okay,” Norm said. “First of all, I want you to stop saying that Esme is my girlfriend. It’s very insulting to her. She’s a beautiful girl, and she could have a normal-looking boyfriend if she wanted one. She would never date a huge ugly freak like me.”
“Okay!” Logan yelled, sobbing. “I’m sorry, okay? Put me down!”
“That’s excellent, Logan. We’re making progress. Now there’s just one more thing, and I said this already, but I don’t think you were listening.”
“Just put me down!” Logan sobbed.
“In a second. What I want to say is, I’m a pacifist, and it’s against my principles to fight. But if I have to defend myself, I will. You should stop thrashing around like that, Logan, and settle down. Your neck is only strong enough to support your head, not your entire body. Now me”—here he removed his scarf with the other hand, revealing the bolts in his neck for the first time—“I have surgical-grade titanium rebar in my neck, that’s why I have these bolts here. But all you have are regular cervical vertebrae, which are pretty fragile. Are you following me?”
Logan was blubbering by now, so it was a little difficult to hear his response, but Norman was soon satisfied enough to continue. “Okay, that’s good, Logan. I’m really embarrassed to be in this situation right now. But if I snapped you like a whip, you would definitely be a quadriplegic for the rest of your life. I’d rather not injure you, on account of being a paci
fist and all, so if I had to do something like that, I would feel just terrible for compromising my principles. You, on the other hand, would have to get one of those motorized wheelchairs that you steer with your tongue. So, like … there would be consequences for you, too. It would totally be a lose-lose situation. Anyway, we don’t have to be friends or anything, but in the future, if you have any problems with me, I’d really prefer that you didn’t resort to violence. I’m going to put you down now, okay?”
Logan was, by this time, incapable of communicating. When Norman set him down, he collapsed to the ground, then scampered away like a crab on his back.
“He’s a monster!” Jackson screamed. “That wasn’t human, people!” He looked from face to face in the crowd, searching for consensus. But nobody appeared to be the least bit interested in furthering an assault on Norman Stein. Danny was edging back, ready to make a run for it. “We should … ” Jackson pled to the crowd, trying in vain to raise a mob. “Somebody has to do something about him!”
“Naw, man,” Wilson said. “He beat Logan. He could take all three of you. At least. You started it; he finished it. It’s over.”
“He attacked Logan!” Jackson yelled. “He could have killed him!”
“Could have,” said Wilson’s friend Nick. “But he didn’t.”
“Self-defense,” Wilson chimed in. With a chorus of murmurs, the crowd agreed.
“I recorded the whole thing,” Veronica added, displaying her iPhone. “Self-defense.”
“Dude,” said Wilson. “You should totally post that to YouTube.”
A small pack of cheerleaders suddenly burst onto the scene from around the corner of the gym, led by a curvaceous strawberry blond. Sandy Hardesty crouched down by Logan, where he lay in the dirt. “I heard about the fight; I had practice,” she told her boyfriend. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he replied, a bit dazed. “That guy’s a monster.”
“No, you’re the monster,” Sandy accused, slapping Logan hard across the cheek. “We’re done.”
The dinner party was all Katy’s idea, so Veronica suggested it, and Esme quickly agreed, so they only had to convince Katy to go along with it, which was rather easy, as it had been Katy’s idea. Katy had a gift for getting people to do what she wanted them to do and making them take responsibility for the fallout, in case everything didn’t work out as planned. Norman arrived at 6:58 and waited on the doorstep for two minutes before ringing the bell. This produced a cacophony of barking from Katy’s dogs.
“It’s Norm—Dad, can you get that?” Esme said. All three sisters were busy putting the finishing touches on their dishes. Veronica had made a mixed greens salad; Katy had made boiled tofu with veggies. Esme had gone all out with lasagna and a full loaf of garlic bread. The smell was all over the house.
After pulling the lasagna out of the oven, Esme went looking for Norman. She found him with her dad in the living room, deep in a discussion about human rights and the ACLU, for which Barry did pro bono work occasionally. “Dad, I left you some garlic bread and lasagna, and Ronnie made you a salad. Hi, Norm, we’re eating in the basement.”
“I thought we were all eating in the dining room,” Barry teased. “You never said anything about having boys in your room.”
“He’s just a friend,” Esme said flatly. “Come on, Norman, you can help us carry stuff down.”
For a makeshift dining table, Esme had found an old door and two sawhorses in the barn, which she’d set up in her room. There was a yellow floral tablecloth and an arrangement of speckled toad lilies for a centerpiece. There was not much conversation during dinner, besides a few complimentary observations about the food. Norman, always self-conscious about his size, was loath to gorge himself in front of three beautiful girls, though he was quite impressed by Esme’s culinary skills. After dinner, Katy ran the dishes up to the kitchen and came back with a homemade pie, which she served out. Esme’s work again. Hand-pitted cherry and blueberry combination. Homemade crust. Best pie ever, Norm thought.
By 9:00, the table was cleared and a pot of tea was steeping. Lights were dimmed, music turned off, and candles in assorted holders were distributed about the room, a few on the table. Katy rose and rang a large Tibetan singing bowl that was on a shelf of the bookcase. She returned to the table as the first, second, and third harmonics resonated through the room.
“The circle has come to order,” Esme intoned.
“Merry meet,” chanted Veronica and Katy, as one.
Norman grinned. “Seriously?” he asked.
“Do you mock us?” Veronica challenged.
“No, of course not,” he said. “I’m just … well, this is a surprising turn of events.”
“We’re Wiccans,” Esme said. “We’re inviting you into our inner circle.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” he replied. “But I’m an atheist, you know. I uh … don’t really believe in that stuff. I like science.”
“A scientist should have an open mind,” Esme said.
“No, of course,” Norman said. “Totally. No judgment here. Proceed.”
A cat jumped up on the table and circled, sniffing. He lay down on his side in the middle, and proceeded to groom himself.
“Is that a feral cat?” Katy asked. “He looks familiar.”
“His name is Kasha.” Esme half hoped he’d start talking, just to freak everyone out.
“Beautiful markings,” Veronica said, reaching forward to scratch the cat behind his ears. Kasha rolled on his back, purring, and wormed his way toward her.
“He looks like a little striped lynx, with those ears,” Norman observed. The cat took a position under the toad lilies like a sphinx, watching Norman. “So, uh … sorry, what was this circle thing again?”
“We invoke the circle so that we can speak freely,” Esme said, “and ask and answer questions without anyone judging us or telling anyone outside the circle our secrets. We’re inviting you, Norman, because we think you’re really interesting and we want to know more about you. It’s a huge thing, we’ve never invited any outsiders before.”
Norman was pretty sure he knew what they wanted to know about him. “Or, you could just ask me. Do I get to ask you girls questions, too?”
“Of course,” Katy replied. “We’re all friends here, in the circle.”
Norm opened his huge hands. “Ask away.”
Veronica pounced. “I have a question for you, Norm,” she said. “Okay. Like, what’s with your face? I mean, all the scars and all? And the thing on your leg? I heard you had operations, but why? Were you in an accident?”
Three sets of eyes were focused on the giant. Four, counting the cat’s. Norm was a little miffed that they felt the ruse was necessary. Still, he was sitting at a table with three beautiful girls. That was progress for his social life, anyway. “Did anyone else have a related question?” He glanced back and forth from Katy to Esme, eyebrows raised.
“Uh, yeah,” Katy said. “Your height, I guess. I know you’re a giant and all, but I don’t understand why. The science and all.”
“Okay, the scars, the height. Got it. Esme?”
Esme poured Norm some tea. She raised the pot and met eyes around the table. Katy proffered a cup. “You mentioned titanium rebar once … And how come you’re so strong? That’s not normal, regardless of how big you are.”
“Actually, it’s a really interesting story. I guess the place to start is with the acromegaly,” he said. “You probably know it better as gigantism. I have a pituitary adenoma, which is a kind of tumor that causes the overproduction of growth hormone. I’ve always been large. I was over six feet tall in fifth grade, and by eighth grade I was seven feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds.”
“How tall are you now?” Katy asked.
“Seven feet, eight and a half inches,” he said. “I’m the ninth-tallest man in the world. Anyway, when I was thirteen, I started to get sick. Really sick. Every kind of cancer you can imagine: leukemia, bone cancer, l
ungs, you name it. Entirely malignant. All the growth hormone in my system was feeding the cancers, and they were growing so rapidly there wasn’t anything the doctors could do about it. I had years of chemotherapy and dozens of operations to remove tumors and three bone marrow transplants, but whenever they cleared the cancer out, it just came back somewhere else. The oncologist at the cancer center gave me a week to live once, but I recovered. Then I got the lung cancer.”
“I’m so sorry, Norman,” Esme said, putting her hand on his hand across the table. “It must have been horrible for you.”
“Yeah, it was pretty bad. I was in a lot of pain for a long time. But my father never gave up on me. He was there for me the whole time, trying to figure out how to save my life.”
“How about your mom?” Veronica asked.
“Oh, she died when I was little. Leukemia. It runs in the family.”
“I’m so sorry,” Katy said.
There was an awkward silence. A moment of respect, for Norm’s mom. Esme finally spoke, when she felt it was right: “But you survived after all, Norman. That’s the important thing.”
“Well, this is the sort of creepy part,” Norman said. “I didn’t, actually. I mean, I went into a coma, and I flatlined. I was uh … sort of, technically … uh … dead. For about five years.”
Norman had never discussed his story with anyone before, mostly because he had no friends to discuss it with. It was not a secret in the medical community. His father was presently publishing his findings on the advancements he’d made in the fields of cryogenics and neurosurgery to keep his son alive. Dr. Frederick Stein’s name, though tainted to a degree by the circumstances of his son’s illness and a few somewhat sketchy liberties he’d taken along the way, was being considered for a Nobel Prize nomination. Still, it was with some trepidation that Norman confessed that he had a history of illness and death. Considering his freakish appearance, he was hesitant to admit that he’d done a stint on the slab. But the expressions on the faces of the girls made it all worthwhile.
