Fiction
Minnie at the Mirror
by Jennifer Schomburg Kanke
Akron, Ohio, 1943
“Who is it tonight?” Margaret asked as Minnie futzed with her waves in the vanity mirror. When they’d found the piece in the dump a girl on their shift had told them it’d come clean with some vinegar. It hadn’t. Margaret knew it wouldn’t, but she couldn’t convince Minnie that this mirror wasn’t just dirty, it was busted. Cheap layers separating away from each other making every image hazy. Yet Minnie had convinced herself the vinegar had worked. The wood was just beautiful and there were lovely little boxes built in for her jewelry, her face paints, and her scents. It was perfect, except for the mirror bit. They made good money at the factory, but most of Minnie’s went to clothes and makeup, all the things she needed to whoop it up with the boys on leave. All the Victory Red lipsticks and dresses. All the Radiant Reds and fancy hats. Margaret’s all went back to Scioto County to her mother. There was seldom anything left for furnishings. When they’d agreed to the space the landlady had assured them the rooms came with everything they’d need. Beds, dressers, a comfortable sofa for visiting with their young men. But there’d been no mirrors anywhere, not even in the lavatory.
“I think Dom, but could be Vinnie.” Margaret watched Minnie run the lipstick across her top lip and then press and smack, trying to make the thin layer of color go as far as she could.
“What, don’t you know?” Margaret tried to make her voice light and joshing. It wasn’t her natural way. She was sure Minnie could tell.
“No,” she placed the lipstick to the top of the vanity, “you got a problem with that?”
No matter how hard Margaret tried, she couldn’t figure Minnie out, so therefore could never figure out if she was safe or not. Oh, she knew the name of her hometown, or at least the county down in West Virginia, but that only told you so much. They’d lived together six months, worked together at Goodyear nearly two years, Margaret still had no sense of who Minnie was. She hoped someday to be as good at this game herself.
It was only in these small cracks she started to get a sense. There was some Minnie she’d see that gave her hope. If Minnie could hide so well, perhaps someday, with practice, so could she.
“Just funning,” Margaret said.
Minnie relaxed, “Well, ya’ know Margaret, the world is our oyster.” She shrugged and shook her hair just a little, trying to get her curls to do right. “I look a right fright, an absolute right fright.” Margaret began to relax a little too, the old Minnie, which she suspected was actually a fairly new Minnie, was back. Minnie sounded like Cary Grant might be on his way over to pick her up and all her phrases were straight out of the pictures. Margaret knew the danger had passed.

Jennifer Schomburg Kanke, originally from Ohio, currently lives in Florida. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in New Ohio Review, Massachusetts Review, Shenandoah and Salamander. She is the winner of the Sheila-Na-Gig Editions Editor’s Choice Award for Fiction. Her zine about her experiences undergoing chemotherapy for ovarian cancer, Fine, Considering, is available from Rinky Dink Press (2019). She serves as a reader for The Dodge and as a Meter Mentor in Annie Finch’s Poetry Witch Community. Her website is www.jenniferschomburgkanke.com