The Retail Outlet

She came into work crying.  None of the customers noticed.  I don’t think she even noticed.  I could see the beginnings of one small tear form along her lower lid as she started folding the new line of clothing.

I wanted to hug her.  That’s not quite accepted in Seattle, I’ve come to find out.  Fuck it, I thought.  She’s from Atlanta.  I’m sure they hug down there.

She couldn’t look me in the eye.  So I came up from behind and wrapped my arms around her.  Being at least six inches taller, I felt a dominant ease to the situation.  I could feel her tenseness.  She turned around and thanked me, with an audibly forced tone.  Then she began to tear as her eyes caught mine.

That was the wrong thing to do, I thought.  She ran into the back and didn’t come out for awhile.  And the store continued on.  A woman came up to me directly after the incident and asked what color jacket I liked better on her.  It was obvious the aquamarine was most beautiful, but I knew she would only buy black.  Did it really matter what my answer was?

My coworker came back out onto the floor and preceded on with the day.  Stuff to do, things to clean, clothes to fold.  I thought about asking her if she wanted to talk, but we weren’t that close.  I wanted to let her know that I would listen to her story, let her cry on my shoulder.  But no one wants to do that with a stranger.  Or do they?

Later in the day I told her about my homeopathy appointment.  “So they asked if you smelled bad and if you hated your mother?  And this is supposed to help you?” she gleaned with open eyes.  She was always very curious about my “hippie” ways as she called them.

“Well, I don’t hate my mother”  she continued on without waiting for my response “but sometimes, lately, a lot, I feel like crying.”

Being someone who was trained early on to think crying was a form of defeat, I understood her frustration and embarrassment.  Or perhaps, I only understood mine and could only see myself in her reflection.  “Crying is just another outlet”  I told her, like exercise, laughing, or screaming, painting wildly, cooking madly, and dancing until you can’t feel your legs anymore.

“We should definitely go dancing sometime.”  It was mutual.

We followed each other around for the rest of the day, despite store policy.  Her wide grin and Georgian accent only made situations more tolerable.  I’m not sure ignoring the white elephant was therapeutic, but it was what she wanted.  Or was it?

We have a date to eat cheap tacos next week.  It was my suggestion.  Of course, only after she told me how much she loves them, the place she likes to eat them, and the day and time they are the cheapest.