I want. I’m not poor.”
Her comment is delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t make me blink. Not having money isn’t something that I’m ashamed of. It doesn’t define me. However, the fact that she obviously believes that this creates a division between her and others bothers me for several reasons.
We get off at Pike’s Place Square and follow a train of people to her desired destination, my thoughts stuck on wondering how she has become so jaded.
We wander through several stores in the mall, Mercedes pulling farther and farther away from me with each new store that she rummages through.
I’m staring at a large photograph on the wall of kids wearing nicer and more adult-looking clothes than I own, and notice Mercedes shrink behind a clothing rack. I peer around the store, looking to see what could lead to a reaction like this, and notice a couple of girls around Mercedes’ age coming toward us.
I look back to Mercedes and find her eyes fixed on me with a scowl that has me taking two steps back and raising my hands in surrender. I’ve never been the quote unquote cool kid, but I was never seen as a social leper before either. Babysitting is not only honing my cleaning skills, but it’s also thickening my skin and teaching me how to brush off being looked at as a loser from a ten-year-old.
“Is there something I can help you find?” an employee asks from my other side. She’s around my age, and like so many here in Portland, her outfit screams fashion.
“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’m just waiting on…” I whirl around, searching the entire store, coming across the girls who entered, but not finding Mercedes. “Oh, God.”
I dash out of the store and whip around, looking in each direction for her dark hair. “Mercedes!” I yell, catching sight of her on the escalators across from me. She doesn’t look up, keeping her attention focused on squeezing past a man in front of her.
“What the hell?” My nearly silent question is meant for both of us as I race toward the escalator and mutter apologies as I step around people, working to not trip and watch where she’s heading.
“Mercedes!” I yell again as she sprints toward the exit doors of the mall. She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even slow down.
The air is cool and wet as it’s carried against my skin by a strong gust of wind that has my eyes instinctively closing. I shield my face with a hand and look each direction before I spot her.
“Mercedes!” My steps increase of their own accord because I’m too frustrated to think clearly. “Mercedes!” I yell again, louder this time.
She stops and her head turns ever so slightly, making her dark hair shift.
Then she runs full out.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I’m not chasing you!” I’m not sure if she can even hear my words over the wind, rain, and traffic. She certainly doesn’t slow down to indicate she does. A heavy sigh empties my lungs before I grit my teeth together, considering a thousand ways to repay Kenzie for this job opportunity. Then, I run after Mercedes’ small silhouette.
My long strides cover more distance, but she’s fast and too young to be suffering a side ache after running down the escalator, outside, and a brief sprint. The idea of yelling her name again to see if she’ll stop crosses my mind, but I can’t waste my breath on calling out to her and keep running, so I gulp more cold air and feel a burning sensation along my shins.
Mercedes runs along the sidewalk, oblivious to the leaves swirling and rain pelting us from what seems like every angle. The rainfall here in Portland is like nothing else. The drops are the size of quarters and are so dense it takes mere seconds for your clothes to become sodden. Even my Toms have been penetrated.
The cars beside us begin moving with a wave of exhaust as they pass through the green light, and Mercedes follows with their movement, crossing the intersection without
Her comment is delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t make me blink. Not having money isn’t something that I’m ashamed of. It doesn’t define me. However, the fact that she obviously believes that this creates a division between her and others bothers me for several reasons.
We get off at Pike’s Place Square and follow a train of people to her desired destination, my thoughts stuck on wondering how she has become so jaded.
We wander through several stores in the mall, Mercedes pulling farther and farther away from me with each new store that she rummages through.
I’m staring at a large photograph on the wall of kids wearing nicer and more adult-looking clothes than I own, and notice Mercedes shrink behind a clothing rack. I peer around the store, looking to see what could lead to a reaction like this, and notice a couple of girls around Mercedes’ age coming toward us.
I look back to Mercedes and find her eyes fixed on me with a scowl that has me taking two steps back and raising my hands in surrender. I’ve never been the quote unquote cool kid, but I was never seen as a social leper before either. Babysitting is not only honing my cleaning skills, but it’s also thickening my skin and teaching me how to brush off being looked at as a loser from a ten-year-old.
“Is there something I can help you find?” an employee asks from my other side. She’s around my age, and like so many here in Portland, her outfit screams fashion.
“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’m just waiting on…” I whirl around, searching the entire store, coming across the girls who entered, but not finding Mercedes. “Oh, God.”
I dash out of the store and whip around, looking in each direction for her dark hair. “Mercedes!” I yell, catching sight of her on the escalators across from me. She doesn’t look up, keeping her attention focused on squeezing past a man in front of her.
“What the hell?” My nearly silent question is meant for both of us as I race toward the escalator and mutter apologies as I step around people, working to not trip and watch where she’s heading.
“Mercedes!” I yell again as she sprints toward the exit doors of the mall. She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even slow down.
The air is cool and wet as it’s carried against my skin by a strong gust of wind that has my eyes instinctively closing. I shield my face with a hand and look each direction before I spot her.
“Mercedes!” My steps increase of their own accord because I’m too frustrated to think clearly. “Mercedes!” I yell again, louder this time.
She stops and her head turns ever so slightly, making her dark hair shift.
Then she runs full out.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I’m not chasing you!” I’m not sure if she can even hear my words over the wind, rain, and traffic. She certainly doesn’t slow down to indicate she does. A heavy sigh empties my lungs before I grit my teeth together, considering a thousand ways to repay Kenzie for this job opportunity. Then, I run after Mercedes’ small silhouette.
My long strides cover more distance, but she’s fast and too young to be suffering a side ache after running down the escalator, outside, and a brief sprint. The idea of yelling her name again to see if she’ll stop crosses my mind, but I can’t waste my breath on calling out to her and keep running, so I gulp more cold air and feel a burning sensation along my shins.
Mercedes runs along the sidewalk, oblivious to the leaves swirling and rain pelting us from what seems like every angle. The rainfall here in Portland is like nothing else. The drops are the size of quarters and are so dense it takes mere seconds for your clothes to become sodden. Even my Toms have been penetrated.
The cars beside us begin moving with a wave of exhaust as they pass through the green light, and Mercedes follows with their movement, crossing the intersection without
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