"Everybody's Working for the Weekend"

Last night was a magical evening at school. The topic opened up like a flower and the conversation flowed from voice to paper like a mountain stream. Everyone participated. It is on nights like these that make me proud to be a part of the dynamic. In one of my free writes I announced my summer off and some of the students are upset that I am shoving away. But I see it in their eyes, saying, "She's really doing it, practicing what she preaches." And I am. And I can't wait. Halfway through the fourth week, I am growing more and more excited over breaking free.

This past Sunday, I decided to take a walk. I started out going to the bank to transfer some money to Sarah's account and from there went to buy mailing envelopes for the cds I burned for my mom and sis for Mother's Day. Then, I decided just to start walking, wasn't sure what I was going to do. Should I eat? No! Enough already with the emotional eating! Something clicked inside and I decided to walk to Barnes and Noble and to check out the magazines for articles. Along with knowing I have some reprieve coming in the next four months, I also know I have a huge window of opportunity to begin again and I indeed plan to upgrade and spark life into my shabby state of freelance writing. It's now or never, so off I went.

There was a small streetfair going on, but I didn't walk in the middle of it, but instead kept my stride. No time for getting sidetracked with trinkets and funnel cakes. It was breezy. I was wearing my Comic Relief t-shirt, the one I paid $25 to help Hurricane Katrina victims. My arms were growing cold. I should have worn a jacket. I'll never understand the Northeastern air.

Walking about six more blocks, I saw an American Apparel store and realized I could buy a hoodie there. Damn the torpedos, I was going to buy one even though American Apparel is pricey, but it was windy and I on an adventure and in possession of the $38 for the purchase, so in I went.

I quickly located one in my size and took it to the register and waited for one of the two workers there to take my money so I could be on my way. Barnes and Noble was on the next block and I was anxious to spend an afternoon there enriching my career. After several minutes in the empty store, a guy walked up to the register. He was young and urban hip and reminded me of a latter day hippie, but when he started talking I could tell he was no where near the old 'peace, man' days. He watched me pull out my debit card still possessing the orange sticker with info that Citibank puts on their cards with instructions for activation. A few weeks ago I was notified by the bank that a new card was coming. Since then, I had discovered I could use the ATM and such with the sticker intact, but as I stood there, feeling free and happy, I decided to yank it off. Part of the white underside of the paper stayed on.

The dude watched me and reluctantly took my card. He asked me for identification. I reached into my coin purse and pulled out my ID. In the photo, my hair is lighter. He looked at the photo and then at me. I smiled nervously. Was I heavier there or now? I couldn't remember. Suddenly I felt ashamed. What was going on?

He asked me, "Have you been to this store before?" I looked at him and around the store, dumbfounded. The bastard thought I was trying to pull something. I still felt in shock and incredulous that he was making such a big deal when all I wanted was a hoodie to warm me as I continued on my way. I said, "I dont think I've ever shopped here, but I have been into your store on Smith street." (The street over.) He flinched but still wasn't convinced. He commented on how it had grown cold outside, "Yes, that's why I came in here to buy a hoodie," I replied.

"What's your zip code?" he asked trying to sound nonchalant. I told him, but even after he heard me I think, if he had had his way, he'd have revoked that too. Like a petulant child he finally completed the purchase, handing me back my debit card.

I told him not to bag my item, I'd be wearing it. He reluctantly clipped off the tags and handed it to me, avoiding me with uneasy eyes. I felt poor. I kept trying to rationalize that maybe he'd recently had been burned or he was just an unexperienced salesperson, someone not comfortable dealing with money, someone who couldn't read someone?

I walked out, ashamed and humiliated, I put the jacket on in front of the glass so he could see me. I flipped the hood down my back and walked to the bookstore. I tried to shake it off. Very soon, I did lose myself in a stack of poetry and fiction journals and assigned myself five or six essays and a short story. I purchased "A Course in Miracles" and Amy Tan's new memoir. I also sprung for a book on "Body Clutter" and knew these items were meant for my growth into my new World. But from time to time I came up for air, and when I did, I imagined - as I still do every time I walk by that American Apparel store - marching myself back in there and telling him, "This has been my neighborhood for ten years, buckeroo! And back when you were still in junior high, I remember when this store was a restaurant!" And then in my fantasy I walk out, my head held high and his mouth dropped open.But what would that have prove?The kid had decided my fate way before I'd ever opened my mouth on that brisk and windy day in May, one of the sweetest Sundays I've had in a long while. He had sized me up.

Two hours after leafing through magazines at B & N, I stopped and bought boric acid to keep the bug situation in the kitchen at bay, a burrito for dinner, and watermelon and clementines for Sarah. I walked in my new hoodie and decided that now was the time, once and for all, to shed the skin of being offended. I had no more time for it. No need for it, as pointless as wanting to lose weight and then eating a funnel cake at a streetfair.