I often thought of the mall that I worked in as an old oil painting hung up in a basement rec room. Nobody ever really paid it much attention, but it would sit there unchanging, collecting dust - and if it was gone, folks would probably feel like something was missing.
I worked in a large chain department store that time forgot, in a low key job in women's wear that allowed me to muddle around in life post college. I had no plans really, other than to not go back home, one town over, to live with my parents and younger brother.
The thing was - I liked my oil painting life at that point. I enjoyed my little routines, living alone was okay too. I liked putting on a blouse and skirt, sensible heels and my name tag, clicking along the ancient orange tiles at the mall, riding the escalator with coffee in hand. It probably sounds stupid, but I felt like I had graduated to being an adult - no longer milling about in the food court doing dumb shit with dumb people. I dressed respectfully, dealt with people decades older than me, and had responsibilities. Not bad for your average 21 year old I thought.
I think it helped that I had found college exhausting - not so much the work, but rather the lifestyle. Maybe it would have been different if I hadn't stayed so close to home - but the idea that higher education would get people out of that high school status game turned out to be a sham. The need to party and fuck and gossip, whether you like it or not, you can get swallowed up in it all, as I did - but unless you found your soulmate, everyone was pretty much fleeing campus empty-handed after graduation, anxious to actually start their real life.
I was happy here though. In my oil painting. Going home to make dinner and watch Frasier re-runs with my cat Poe. Free to do whatever I pleased.
One particular day though, I found myself having an unusual moment.
I had just helped a woman purchase some socks for her husband, and was going about wrapping everything up, when I glanced up across the aisle. It was relatively late, so the store was dead - but I hadn't noticed this girl - this woman, who had walked over to the cash and seemed to be waiting for my customer.
She was of middling height, with black hair, pale skin and thick framed glasses, wearing a denim jacket and a purple t-shirt. Her shoulders were wide and round, and despite her frame, she seemed... delicate. I momentarily caught myself staring at this young woman, I suppose most likely my own age, and felt a blush rise on my cheeks when she offered a polite smile.
I smiled back, and handed her friend, or her mother a bag with the socks, and thanked her for coming. As they walked away, I realized that I hadn't taken my eyes off of the girl, taking note of the fullness of her bum in the yoga pants she wore. Did I know her? I thought to myself, watching them reach the exit. Does she know me?
As they opened the door to leave, she turned and looked back at me. My heart skipped.
* * * * * *
Oh my god. She was back.
I had bent down behind my cash to get a new receipt tape, and had just straightened up when i found myself face to face with the girl from last week. I had been jolted, but my face reddened for its own reasons.
"C-Can, I uh, can I help you?" I sputtered out my standard greeting, struggling to reset myself. She had put her hands on the sales counter, and I spied her small fingers and chipped pink nail polish. Maybe she was a year or two younger than me? She couldn't still be in high school I thought.
"Hi, yeah - I was looking for a pullover, and was uh, wondering where I might find those,"
I weirdly felt a bit of sadness as she spoke - knowing that pullovers were out of my section. Things were quiet as usual though, so I thought maybe I could take her over.
"Oh, sure - well, they're in activewear. Why don't I show you where that is," I locked my cash register, and slipped out from behind the counter. Walking together, I spotted the two of us in a mirror and noted the contrast. While only an inch or two taller, my awkward skinniness made it seem like I loomed over her. She wore a brown jacket today, with a plain white oxford shirt underneath, and skinny jeans. On the other hand, I was dressed in a knee-length tweed skirt, peach coloured blouse and my long brown hair tied in a pony tail. Neither of us spoke as we walked, and if she was anything like me, she was probably at a loss trying to figure out what to say.
We had just stepped into activewear when I saw Ginny, folding pants. Dammit, I thought. Ginny was a 55 year old grandma who took her job as senior sales associate seriously - she would like you alright, but the minute you stepped into the section she was working in it became a turf war. She looked up at me expectantly.
"Oh hi Ginny, this young lady here was looking for a pullover, so I thought I would bring her over to you," I fake smiled through my words. I looked over at the girl and winced, trying to apologize with my eyes as I began to back off.
"Oh well Linda, thank you so much for that!" Ginny started corralling her new customer, gently nudging her towards a rack of sweaters.
"Yes, thank you... Linda." The girl had turned and looked at me as she said my name, before being whisked off into activewear. I began to walk back to my cash, thinking to myself. She'll be back.
A few days later, I was proven right.
* * * * * *
Mr. Donnelly was a kind old man who came in every holiday to buy his wife something. He was small and grey, very dotty but charming nonetheless. His wife was always in and out of the hospital, and so often his purchases would bounce back and forth from stylish blouses to bathrobes and slippers. By this point, I was already familiar with her sizing, despite never having met the woman. I was helping him pick out a flannel nightgown when I spied a dark haired, pale skinned customer, lingering amongst the shelves and racks.
"Now, I'm not sure the Missus would go for a pattern so outrageous..." Mr Donnelly carried on with his musings, which on any other occasion I would have listened to intently. At the moment though, my mystery girl had drawn all focus. Glancing over at the racks I inadvertently made eye contact with her, earning a nod and a pleasant little smile.
"You know dear, if you need to deal with your friend over there, I'm perfectly alright poking about here on my own," He pushed through the clothes, examining his options while muttering to himself. I took the chance.
Straightening myself out, and clearing my throat, I crossed the aisle and greeted her. She held a bag in one hand, and an iced coffee in the other.
"Hi again, was there anything I might help you with today? You got your pullover okay the last time?" I clasped my hands together and smiled warmly, trying to figure out how to segue-way from the role of salesperson to - well, just a person.
