||Wildwood Vol. 3||

||Wildwood Vol. 3||

Jessica:
If I freeze the teabag now - it'll be ready by nine - which gives me two hours to make the swelling go down before work. If all else fails, a little concealer will cover it up. It's not that bad, my last fight with Brent left a huge bruise from my elbow to my shoulder - stayed for a week. Good thing, I am the queen of home remedies - I've got a concoction for any illness or injury. Last year, when Nate's baby had colic, my herb mixture had her sleeping every night. I'm known as the herbal MacGuiver around my way - I can fix anyone. So, why can't I fix my life? I wake up, cook Brent his breakfast, do my online courses - pay bills, then head off to work. Every day is the same. One burn mark on his toast - and the whole plate is flying at my head.

When did it become like this?

He wasn't always so angry. When I met Brent, he was the epitome of a gentleman. Dinner cooked at my place, flowers every weekend - things were perfect for about a year. Then, we went and got married. My mom told me he was a keeper - and I felt the same way. We made it official at the courthouse, and the honeymoon ended before the papers were even stamped.

We got home, and he started complaining about the apartment. Week by week, he got more and more miserable. When he lost his job - it sent him over the top. One night, I came home exhausted, just needing to vent about work. Brent got angry - said he was tired of me bragging about being employed. I tried to apologize, but he was already worked up. I stood up to talk to him, and he struck me in my face - the first time a man ever hit me. Surprised, I greeted his slap with a punch to the nose - but was quickly overpowered. The fight lasted a whole thirty-minutes, but felt like only a second had passed. I lay in the couch that night and cried, but wouldn't close my eyes out of sheer fear of what could happen next.

The morning after as I went to get ready for work, I caught my eye in the bathroom mirror. The purple, greenish bruise went from my eye to my cheek. I froze a spoon while I got dressed, and pressed it to my face. When the purple faded, I took a warm green tea bag and soothed some of the green irritation down. I figured the swelling would be gone when I reached work - but the blatant stares from my co-workers and customers proved me wrong. 'The car door slammed on me-' lame, but it was all I could come up with. I know my co-workers see right through my excuses, but I refuse to admit my truth. I'm ashamed that I've let it get this far - and acknowledging it is just going to make it harder to bear.

I take customers quickly - putting my head up to greet them and periodically to chat. It's hard to be like this and work, but as a manager - calling out sick is not an option. Aside from the occasional stare, I've grown used to covering up my bruises. Being uncomfortable here at work is better than being hurt at home, so I dig myself into the job - seeking perfection in everything. When my shift ends, I drive home slowly - afraid of what new trouble waits for me at home.

Maya:

Today's one of those shifts when I get all the weirdos in my line. Usually it's funny, but some of them really try to push my buttons. I'd like to think I'm very good at keeping my cool with customers, though - so I look at every one as an adventure. It's fun to see what each one will be like. Sometimes it's hard to communicate with them, but no matter what - I always give them eye contact. I believe everyone deserves that respect. I make sure I look them in the eye, and wish them a good day. No one can ever say I've been rude to them, because I refuse to be the stereotypical store clerk. I've been to those stores where the clerks disregard the customers, throw their items around - then ask for their money. As a customer, you end up leaving feeling robbed sometimes - like you're spending your money against your will. I try and make everyone's shopping experience a pleasant one, and I'll ignore all the rudeness and disrespect I receve in return. To a certain extent, anyway.

I wore my afro out today, because I was in an earthy mood. I had on a Bob Marley top with a "rasta" colored skirt, you know - a cute afrocentric outfit. Quite a few customers complimented me on my wooden jewelry and woven earrings - so I feel pretty good about my fashion choice. It's hard to find nice clothes that are practical for work and school. Anyway, an older white woman steps up, and I greet her with my hello and a smile, she barely acknowledges my presence, and continues her phone conversation. I put my head down slightly to scan a difficult item, and a wisp of hair falls over my eye. Almost immediately, the lady shoots her head up and looks at me, as I subconsciously tuck the hair behind my ear. As I continue scanning, she snaps at me, "Shouldn't you be wearing a hairnet or something?" I didn't understand, so I asked her to repeat herself. "Shouldn't you have on a hat? I don't want your dirty hair falling into my food and things." Considering that I washed my hair this morning, I was slightly put off, but still confused. "Look, I don't want you picking out your 'fro' over my food. Here's my card, I can make you an appointment for a straightening on Wednesday. I'll even give you a discount - perms are kind of pricey for your people's kind of hair." At this point, I am reeling - first she was rude to me, now she's insulting me?

I start wrapping up my hair with a scrunchie. I'll show her something about my people. "Listen lady, let me tell you something. My father -" I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder and hear Jessica whisper in my ear, "Don't let her do it to you, honey. You've got thirty minutes left in your shift. Let her and her misery go." I take her business card and gently tear it in half. I staple it to her receipt, hand her the bag and tell her - "I won't be needing your services, ma'am, thank you. You have a great day." It hurts, but I throw a smile at her. Embarrassed, she snatches the bag, takes her receipt and with a red face, walks away quickly. Jessica leans in and says, "Next time you get ignorance like that - ask yourself - what would Bob Marley do?" I told her he'd light a big blunt, and puff the smoke in her face. We both laughed until the next customer appeared.

My customer that comes next keeps staring at me throughout the transaction. Slightly uncomfortable, I move my head behind the screen ever so gently. I try to hide, but he moves his head to follow me. I smile at him, he quickly glances down. I look at the screen - he starts to look at me. Is this some sort of game? "Sir," I say - he jumps back, startled. "Here's your receipt, have a good day." I give him a quick wink, and his shaky hand takes the slip of paper and hurries out the door. I smile to myself and take my drawer out the register. I've got to count my money before I run out of here for school, and boy, it's been a long day. As I walk to the office, I check my reflection in the window - hair still looks decent. Out the corner of my eye, I see a figure standing outside. I look over just in time to catch the shaky customer man scurrying away into his car. Wow - another interesting day at Wildwood.

George:
I could send my personal assistant into the store to run my errands, but I go in for one reason only no. wadays - Maya. When I first began shopping here, it was simple in and out, light purchases between the weekends - until she started working here. She is so - beautiful, I can just feel her aura. Her energy radiates and shines on everything around her - even in this mundane store. Her smile is just perfect; pink lips encircling her white teeth, with dimples by her glistening brown eyes. I am enamored, fascinated with her - infatuated even. She has no idea, but I see the way she smiles at me - it's special, different from the others.

I get shy when I'm around her, yet I can't take my eyes off her face. She plays a little looking game with me; a sort of hide-and-seek. Oh, I hope I win. She smiles - yes! What do I do next? I didn't expect such a reaction. Oh dear, she's going to think I'm some sort of moron. I've got to go before I make things worse. I take my receipt, thank her, and with my tail between my legs - I rush out of the door.

But I've got to see her face one more time. I watch her as she preens modestly through the window's reflection. Her soft, curly hair shakes gently, lightly as she moves. How long have I been standing here? She spots me - I flee to my car, ashamed of the fact that I must run from the one I admire. The day will come when I find the courage to speak to her. It must be soon, for I am already longing to hear her gentle voice again.