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Sweet Sixteen – Final

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[Part One]  [Part Two]  [Part Three]

It all happens so fast I can barely keep my thoughts together.  First, a woman a good ten years older than me – her face looks haggard, her clothes are rumpled as if she’s been in them for several days and has slept in them, her hair is a wreck – comes out with the girl I’d seen earlier and assumed was with the woman I left inside with my daughter.

“Come on, Beth, we need to get home before Daddy gets back,” the woman urges the young girl trapped in the teen’s awkward body.

On their heels, the girl that checked me out dodges past the woman and “child” with another girl the same age, another employee.  I only catch a snatch of their conversation when my head begins spinning like a top.

“I know, wild, huh?”

“So this woman just slaps down a hundred and asks to have Yolanda put a tag on it for the difference?”

“Yep and asks her not to mention it to anyone.”

The clerks don’t see me and I’m left sitting here in shock.

Nothing makes sense anymore.  Why would that woman do this?  Why would she pay a hundred dollars on a jacket she’s not even sure I would buy and for a complete stranger?  What was her motivation if that poor disabled girl I assumed was hers, clearly isn’t?

Unsteadily I push myself off the bench.  It’s time to find out what’s gong on.  How could I be so naive to leave my daughter with a complete stranger?  The door opens again and out spills my daughter.  She clutches a small bag, her face wide and bright. I ignore her for a moment, straining to find the woman.  I need answers.  I need a better description to alert the police.

“Mom?  Mom?”  Courtney shakes my arm.  I blink at her.  “Did you hear me?”

“What, Courtney?”

“Look at this necklace and earring set.  Isn’t it perfect?” She holds up the plastic case.

“You need to take it back,” I say, barely looking as my hand clutches around her forearm. 

“Why?”  She struggles free.  “I bought this myself!”  Her voice goes up an octave.

“With money she gave you,” I accuse.  I’m half out of my mind with rage.

“No, Mom, from the money I’ve been saving.”

Her statement takes me by surprise.  The rage leaves my head and I’m left staring at her. 

“It’s so sad,” she says as she links her arm with mine and gently steers me to the parking lot.

“What is, Courtney?”

“That woman.  She had a daughter who would be sixteen today.  But her daughter died before she was even born.”

My foot falters but Courtney steadies me as we continue on to the car.

“She said that she has more kids, but they’re boys.  And although most of the time she’s happy and content, there are days like today when she misses her daughter the most.”

Tears roll down my face and it’s not until one falls off my chin that I even realize I’m crying.  “So that’s why,” I say.

“Why what?”

“She bought that jacket for you.”

“She did?”  Courtney’s own step wobbles.

I nod, forcing a smile as I look to my baby girl through my tears.  I brush my fingers over her face. I look back hoping to see the woman.  She never does appear.

“Bittersweet,” I say and unlock the door.

“No, Mom,” my daughter says in a soft, gentle, older and wiser voice.  “I think we just gave her a bigger gift than she gave us.”

As I stand looking at my daughter, she smiles.  “Happy sweet sixteen, baby girl.”

The End

By Kathie Leung
(c) 2008 – 2009
All Rights Reserved

In Loving Memory of
Sarah Elizabeth  
              December 10, 1992
Sweet Sixteen   

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Sweet Sixteen – Part Three

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[Part One]  [Part Two]

“Well, here you are,” she hands the jacket to me.  There’s a tag tacked onto the label just inside the collar.  My fingers position it right and I look.  Sure enough it is labeled $9.98.

“Well I’ll be…” I say in surprise.  She smiles.  “Thank you.”

“You bet.”

“Now if I could just convince her she has shoes at home that will go with this outfit,” I say as I look reproachfully at Courtney.  “We might be able to get out of here without dipping into the emergency savings.”

The woman looks to Courtney then waves me down to the end of the shoe aisle.  I shrug – what do I have to lose? – and follow her.

“Here’s an idea,” she says in a low voice.  My back is to Courtney and she glances over my shoulder at my daughter, probably to make certain Courtney can’t hear her.  “I know that girls her age – she’s what, sixteen?” I nod, she continues. “Don’t listen to their parents so well but will heed the advice, the very same that their parents are giving – when given by someone else.”

I see where this is going and am now convinced God did answer my prayers and has sent some help.

“Why don’t you go and pay for the dress and jacket, then wait outside for us?  I’ll talk to her, get her to understand and bring her out once she does.”  The woman’s green eyes catch under the lights and twinkle.

“That’s a good idea,” I say as I shift the clothes to my other arm and already am making my purse available for a quick check out.  I turn and look at Courtney who now has three boxes by her feet and is putting on a rather ridiculous pair.  I roll my eyes and let out a slight puff of exasperation.  “Yes, that would be fine.”

“Good.  I’ll try not to be too long,” she says.  I hesitate.  Should I say something to Courtney or just go?  As if the woman can read my mind, she waves me away.  I mouth ‘thank you’ and she grins and then I go.

At the register, a girl not much older than Courtney rings up my purchase.  As she does, she stares at the display on the machine.  “Something’s not right,” she says although her lips barely move.

“What’s wrong?”  My fingers nervously work over the clasp of my wallet. I knew it wasn’t possible that jacket’s been marked down to under ten dollars.  Why would they leave the security tag on if that was the case?   Even if they marked it down to, say, half off, I couldn’t imagine them going lower than that – that would mean the jacket was only twenty and who’s ever heard of putting a tag on an item less than a hundred?

My heart pounds, my ears ring and I can feel myself breaking into a cold sweat.  I feel like a criminal on the brink of being busted. 

The girl at the register waves over another woman much older but still much younger than me.  “Is this right?”  She points at the register.  The woman looks past her at the jacket and dress then up at me and never does look at the register.  Odd.

“Yes, I tagged that myself just a little bit ago,” the other woman says.

“Oh!”  The girl responds as if that statement triggers the glitch in her short term memory banks and releases the images of the recent activity.  “Was that the wom…”

“Just finish up the transaction, Julienne,” the other says tersely then changes into a lighter, almost apologetic tone as she goes on.  “We have customers waiting.”

“Oh, right,” the girl says and fires into a rapid chain of movements.

“Don’t forget the security tag,” I remind them.  The older one steps in and helps by removing the tag.

“Sixty-seven dollars and twenty-four cents, please,” the girl says.  I swipe my card through the machine and in less than three minutes am walking out the door in a daze.  Every part of my being knows something isn’t right.  While I doubt my daughter is in any danger, she can hold her own thanks to the self defense classes, I can’t help wondering what the deal is with this woman. 

It’s all I can do to keep from returning to the bad habit I just recently broke, chewing my nails, as I sit on the bench outside the front door waiting for them to return.  Every time the doors open and someone walks out, my body jumps just a bit.  

To be continued …

By Kathie Leung
(c) 2008-2009
All Rights Reserved

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Sweet Sixteen – Part Two

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[Part One]

It’s a perfect match and, as odd as it seems to even think this way, it does fit the mother approved criteria.  Oh sure, there’s a possibility she’ll wiggle out of the jacket at the dance, but my guess is that she wouldn’t even dream of it.  It’s just too beautiful to leave over the back of a chair.  I don’t even want to think about the schoolgirl popularity factor.

“Can we get it?” she asks excitedly, just two shakes away from popping out of her skin.  Both Courtney and the woman look to me expectantly.

“I… I’m not sure,” I say.  My lips are numb.  God I hope I’m not stroking out.

Courtney’s face collapses.

“Tell you what,” the woman says abruptly.  “I’ll go get a clerk to look up the jacket and get it tagged for you.”

Courtney looks to her as if she were her only ally in the world and would protect her from the wicked witch of a mother she has.  I’m vexed.  If this woman is my daughter’s ally, would that mean she’s no longer mine?  A bitter taste tugs at the insides of my cheeks.

“Why?” Courtney looks at the woman.

“Because there isn’t a price tag and your mother is concerned about whether she can afford it,” she softly explains.

My shoulders twitch.  Even my body doesn’t know how to respond!  Should I tense up because she’s clearly mothering my daughter or should I relax, be thankful that someone with her endless patience has been sent to me?

I drag my fingers across the crown of my head, my nails parting my own two-day dirty hair that hangs limply and probably looks like crap because I haven’t colored it for some time.  I look like she should look despite the smart tailored suit I have on, my knock-off designer outfit I picked up off the clearance rack six, maybe seven years ago.  I know I look, altogether, a bit worn down.

“Mom?” Courtney asks, looking at me like I’m some weirdo starring as the main attraction at the freak show.

“I’m thinking,” I say a bit sharply.

“Go ahead and get dressed,” the woman nudges Courtney.  It’s all I can do to keep from lunging at her to protect my baby girl from her. 

The door closes and I hear Courtney working out of the ensemble.  The woman glides past me and after she moves past my periphery, I turn and follow.

“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly.  “I didn’t mean to overstep your boundaries.  It’s just that…”

Oh dear Lord, what have I become?  How could I be so mean to this woman?  “No, you’ve done nothing wrong.  It’s me who should be apologizing.  Here I was about to reach the end of my rope and you come along as if sent in answer to my prayers.  And then what do I do?  Please accept my most humble apology for my inexcusable behavior.”

“You don’t need to apologize.  I understand completely.”  She smiles so graciously.  Her eyes move down the row of dressing stalls.  “I hope it all works out.  I’m sorry to have interfered.”

She starts to move away.  A vision of the “slow” girl comes into my head.  What I am doing is just mean.  I reach out after her.  “Please don’t go.”

She stops and turns back but stays just beyond my reach.  For a moment she looks at me, then back towards where Courtney is.  I follow her gaze as my daughter, cheeks flushed, carefully carries the outfit over her arm.

“Here you go.” Courtney hands her the jacket.  She looks to me and I nod, then accepts it.

“We’ll be over looking at shoes,” I say as I give her another nod. 

“I’ll be there just as soon as I can,” she says.

“Who is that woman?” Courtney asks once we are out of earshot.  “Does she work here?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I say as we cut through the sportswear department. 

“Well, do you know her?”

“No.”

“Strange,” Courtney says, identifying my most basic take on the whole situation. 

Thankfully she ditches the interrogation as she starts picking up shoes.  There’s a wide selection to chose from and my little shoe princess is itching to try them all on.  As she begins, I mentally run through her shoe rack at home, certain she has a pair already that will go with the dress.  The only problem I seem to be having is coming up with the most appropriate suggestion so that I can persuade her not to buy anything new. 

She’s tried on at least five pairs and has two she’s considering when the woman returns. 

To be continued…

By Kathie Leung
(c) 2008-2009
All Rights Reserved.

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Sweet Sixteen – Part One

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Seriously, has it only been an hour?  I consult my watch, tapping the face to make sure it’s still working.  “Courtney, I’m sorry, but absolutely not,” I say, pointing my finger past her to the entrance under the sign that says ‘dressing rooms.’

“But Mom,” she pleads, tilting her head and giving me doe eyes.  I can hear my teeth grating.  I don’t say a thing.  This is the hill I am prepared to die on.  My baby girl is not going to the Holiday Ball looking like a twenty-something-year-old in heat.

Instantly her body distorts.  She turns away and stomps off, the fabric swaying seductively behind her.  Jesus, she’s not even trying to look sexy and yet…

“Holiday Ball?” A woman nearby asks.  I glance her way but keep my focus on the opening my baby girl has disappeared back into.  I know my daughter well enough that I wouldn’t put it past her to sneak out and put the dress on hold then come back during lunch and buy it with the money she’s been saving from her babysitting jobs.  I nod.

“She’s stunning.”

“Thank you.”  I give her a bit more of my attention.  “You have one going, too?”

“Um,” her lip quivers, her green eyes glisten.  “Not exactly.”

Oh, the poor thing.  I’ll bet that girl I saw earlier, the one who looked a bit – slow – is hers.  Jesus, Mary, you and your big fat mouth.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was wrong with the dress?” Her voice is a bit steadier, stronger.  She looks tired though.  It must be exhausting to have a child like that.  But she seems to have gone through the trouble of making herself presentable.  Her shoulder length reddish-blond hair sweeps over her shoulders, catching the light so I’m pretty sure she’s getting at least a shower a day in.  She doesn’t wear much makeup but it’s not been hastily applied either.  Her skin tone is a bit sallow, but whose isn’t in these God awful fluorescent lights?

“It’s too revealing,” I say and look away before she thinks I’m a little off for staring like that. 

“There’s a cute beaded Bolero half-jacket that would go with that dress,” she says.  “Not that I’m…”

“There is?”  I get that she’s not trying to butt in.  Maybe she needs to live vicariously if even for a bit.  So what?  Frankly I could use a little help.  Hell, Courtney’s normal, or so the doctors say, and she wears me out.  I can’t imagine how it must be for this poor woman.

She nods and smiles.  “Shall I go get it?”

Without even thinking, I nod.

“Okay.  You go tell her to put the dress back on and I’ll bring it in.”  She spins away and disappears, leaving me gaping like an idiot.  It takes a moment before my body responds and I walk into the back room. 

“Courtney?” I call out.

“What?”  Her voice is angst ridden. I suck in my breath.

“Put the dress back on, please.”  I practically cringe as the words tumble out of my mouth.  What have I gotten myself into?

Door number five opens and Courtney’s auburn hair falls out before I see her peaches-and-cream complected oval face pop out.  Her hazel eyes shine.  “Serious?”

My throat catches and I nod dumbly.

The stall door clicks shut.  “Okay!” she practically squeals.

“Here you are.”  The woman appears at my elbow.  The plastic arm of the hanger brushes my arm.  I look down and take in the lovely jacket.  I touch it hesitantly.  It is beautiful.

She passes it to me and my fingers automatically search for the tag – we are on a very tight budget – I can’t seem to find one, but it has to be expensive.  There’s a security tag on the back.

“I don’t know,” I say as I push it back to the woman.  “How much is it?”

“Nine ninety-eight,” she says, not even bothering to take it back. 

“Hundred?” I gasp.  The hanger pokes into her as I unsteadily jab it at her.  She takes a step back and laughs.

“No.  Ten dollars and change once tax is added.”

“That can’t be possible.” My mouth tugs downward.  “There’s a …”

“Okay, Mom,” Courtney says as she opens the door.  We both turn our attention to her.  She practically glows.

“Here.”  The woman lifts the jacket off the hanger and holds it out.  “Try this on.”

Courtney’s breath catches.  “Wow, that’s amazing!  It’s so beautiful.” Her hand runs gently over the beaded fabric. 

Again, I’m left nodding dumbly, absolutely speechless as I watch Courtney turn around and the woman helps her into the jacket.

To be continued…

by Kathie Leung
(c) 2008 – 2009
All Rights Reserved

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L. A. Ink

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For her thirteenth birthday, Liza Alberini received an array of Cover Girl, Maybelline and Revlon cosmetics from her mother.  Her delight was immense. Poor Liza was such a fair girl with golden hair, a splash of angel’s kisses across her pert nose and covered from head to toe in the finest, faintest blonde hair anyone had ever seen.  This included her lashes and eyebrows and was the cause for her nickname, Ghost.  Without the color of lashes framing her deep green eyes, she did appear like a specter and that only became more profound when the sun burnt her pale skin making her blonde brows seem almost luminous.  Her peers were anything but forgiving as they taunted her endlessly.

So that bucket of makeup was her salvation. 

Being the responsible parent, her mother promptly ushered her into the bathroom for Liza’s first makeup lesson.  Explaining how to properly add color to her eyelids, only use a faint amount of pencil across her brows and equal dabs of the mascara wand on her lashes, the magical transformation made her heart skip.  After spending several narcissistic hours gazing at her reflection, she dashed down the street to visit her friend, Tiffany, who was the youngest of three girls, all equally and strikingly beautiful with or without makeup.  It was Jennifer, the middle girl and possibly the most gorgeous of the three, who’d answered the door.  Liza asked for Tiffany and as she waited, carefully assessed whether Jennifer noticed the changes.  She was still undecided when Tiffany pulled upon the heavy oak door and blinked out into the sunlight at her. 

“Hey, Tiff, can you come over for a bit?” Liza batted her lashes, hoping that her friend would notice.

“No, sorry.  We’re supposed to be going to my grandmother’s in a bit.”

“Oh,” Liza cocked her head to the side to avoid her normal response which would have been to gaze down at her toes.  “Notice anything different?”

Tiffany studied her face for a brief spell and then inspected the ends of her hair that hung just to her shoulders and continued to move down as if she was taking inventory.  “Sorry, nope.”

“Nothing?” Liza blinked her eyes furiously. 

“Don’t you normally wear glasses?”

“No.” Liza pouted.  “But I am wearing makeup, can’t you tell?”

“Sorry, I didn’t notice.”  Even the apology didn’t sound very apologetic which crushed poor Liza.  Jennifer called to Tiffany from behind the girl and soon the massive door was swung back into place, the lock thrown from behind and echoed in the small alcove where Liza licked her wounds. 

From that moment on, Liza spent a painstaking amount of time, much to the grief of her siblings who had to wait their turn to use the only bathroom upstairs, drawing the mascara wand over her lashes repeatedly.  Her father dubbed her “racoon eyes” and cautioned her to “lay off” all the makeup or he’d ban it before the month was over.  Fear riddled her.  For once, the boys were actually taking note of her and she supposed that was all because of her perfectly made-up eyes.  It never occurred to her that maybe that was just when boys normally did start taking notice in girls and acting upon it by engaging in conversation with girls.  She simply could not give up her makeup, so she began carrying a tube of mascara in her purse so that after she left the house for school, she could add the extra poundage of Maybelline’s Great Lash and not run the risk of her father taking it away.  Likewise, she had tissues and a small flask of makeup remover tucked in her purse so that as she climbed the hill home from school and walked past the last house on her route where a potential suitor lived, she removed it. 

Her plan worked splendidly and she made it through the school year without her father taking making good on his promise.  The problem was, she’d become so used to seeing herself made up, she didn’t stop to think that she should back off on using the mascara once she was no longer off at school.  And she’d converted to a waterproof type since she was swimming daily.  This was something her father hadn’t missed, mostly because it was more difficult to remove the stubborn color from her lashes. 

The day finally came when they were packing up to head off to the lake for a week-long vacation.  As she tossed her duffle into the back of the station wagon, her father’s hand deftly reached out and snagged it, mid-air.  With a look of horror, she watched as he unzipped it and riffled through her belongs.  A blush worked its way up from under the streaks of rogue on her cheeks when a hint of her panties spilled out from the heavy canvas.  Between his thick, ruddy fingers he held up a tube of her mascara.  “This is not coming with us,” he said sternly as he slid it into his pocket. 

She opened her mouth to protest but knew that would only mean trouble and not just for her.  Her brain went into overtime as it rushed to figure out an alternative.  She didn’t have any other mascara, she could only afford so much with her babysitting jobs and waterproof mascara was quite a bit more than the regular stuff.  She abandoned her scheming when her mother called from the kitchen for help with packing the coolers.

“Hand me that Sharpie so I can label this baggy,” her mother said.  “I don’t want your brother getting into this thinking it’s tapioca.”

“Ew, that’s gross,” Liza groaned as she passed the black marker to her mother who was tossing out the jar of mayonnaise she’d just scraped the remains from into the baggy she was holding.  And that’s when it hit her.  Permanent. Black. Ink.

Hey, if they can do tattoos with ink and if permanent markers don’t wash off with soap and water, they wore off after several days, why not use a magic marker? 

It’s been well over two decades since Liza snuck the Sharpie on the camping trip.  She’s since moved on to funneling her creativity in other ways, primarily in staying one step ahead of her own kids.  As it turned out, the permanent ink wasn’t such when applied to eyelashes.  But, she rationalized, there weren’t any cute enough guys there to make it that big of a deal after all. 

She still doesn’t know that her husband first laid eyes on her that summer, out at the lake, where he admired her from afar as he fished and watched the dazzling golden-eyed girl swim circles around her brothers and sisters.

Kathie Leung
(c) 2008
All Rights Reserved

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