"Hi, I'm Sparkles." 

She was not your typical circus clown. She spoke like a kindergarten teacher and her costume wasn't very flashy. Her naturally pale face was free of the expected oily paint. A small red paper heart was stuck to the end of her nose.

I smiled politely, even though I had never liked clowns very much.

I knew I was special if special meant different, but in my case, different wasn't good. I turned back to the rack of clothes behind me and continued my search.

 

Thankfully, she moved on to her next custmer. I could hear her having pretty much the same conversation with an elderly man in the next aisle. Maybe everyone in the store was special according to Sparkles.

 

When I first arrived, I saw that the store was having a one-year anniversary event. Sparkles was the main attraction. A platter full of crumbs on a table up front led me to believe that there had also been refreshments. Pretty weird, but I was there for just one purpose: to find a suitable shirt to go job-hunting in.

 

I pulled out a blue polo and inspected it. No stains, no rips, and it was my size... the three musts for shopping at a thrift store. The tag said two dollars, which was about all my budget could handle. I could have asked my mom or dad for the money, and they gladly would have given it. My mom would have liked to take me shopping. But I wanted to handle this on my own.

In the dressing room, I saw the reflection of my sticker. It had a stupid little green frog on it and it said, 'I am special.'

I quickly pulled off my t-shirt and tried on the polo. I liked the color, and thought of how my mom would approve. She said royal blue looked good on me. I had to admit, it looked nice against my dark brown skin.

I had khakis at home to go with it, and dress shoes. My hair was cut neat and low so I would look the part of a professional. But would I sound the part?

My dad told me that everyone has their own burdens, and mine is stuttering. At times it feels too heavy to carry, but mostly these days it is like my shadow... always there, but not always seen.

When I was younger it was so bad that I tried not to speak at all. Medication had helped some, but it made me feel like I was on another planet. I did speech therapy after that, and little by little it worked.

I didn't think she saw me staring and now I wasn't sure what to say. Glancing around, I saw that Getzel's was all but deserted.

"Cool," I managed.

I got the call from Pam Getzel herself the very next day. She wanted to know if I could come in for an interview that afternoon. It was a Saturday and my mom offered to drive me. "Good luck, baby," she said.

Through the open garage door I saw two older men outside smoking.

"Y-yes ma'am."