Jessy Assy

I’ve never seen her hair. 

She always had it wrapped up

in some sort of bandana 

leaving tufts of it unassembled,

dangling out in perfect braids.

I could tell she was African American 

from her alluring chocolate skin.

Her shopping habits?

Once a week, at the very least,

she used to fancy coming over

though she was more of a

window-shopper

to me than a regular customer

just taking a gander at all

of the pretty shoes and ballerinas

fully aware she would never be able

to afford anything her heart aches for.

Perhaps one day she needn’t borrow

money from her sister 

or be patient till the end of the month

anxiously waiting for that slim paycheck --

long overdue.

Perhaps indeed, one day she could

walk into a shop with her head held high

and rather impulsively,

just buy the first pair that

put a twinkle in her eye.

A woman of character was she

for I had never seen her

without her trademark smile,

her poise composure, 

loud-colored long dresses,

and of course her huge purse;

the one she had always hoped

to one day fill up completely

with bags and bags of shopped items.

Cursed was I to have been in charge

of the store that day

as she came prancing merrily along

tired, overworked, sweaty, and absolutely

penniless.

Her sheer demeanor successfully

teased me into feeling obligated

to indulge her every whim

to the greatest of my capabilities.

And though I sensed I would regret it,

I couldn't help but show her

the shiny red shoes

as I told her what I knew

she wanted to hear:

“They’re extremely comfortable, ma’am,

we knitted in an extra pad for sole cushion”

“and, they look absolutely gorgeous on you.”

She may have sensed the

salesperson gibberish talk

and yet she still couldn't

but sheepishly continue

the conversation with me:

“You really think they look good on me, my sister?”

“Then, my sister, how about you tell me

how much they’re worth?”

And to that, with an iron fist,

I replied: 

“A hundred dollars ma’am,

and they’re the last pair too.”

A despondent protest ensued:

“Ouch! It’s too much for these tired old hands,

and that tired old wallet, my sister”

“Could you stash it away for me somewhere?"

"You know? For safekeeping?"

 "I’ll pass by in a week when I’ve saved up for it.” 

“But please, my sister, don’t sell it till then,

I promise I’ll pass by next Monday.

You have my word.”

Like any other experienced salesperson,

I sensed a sham, a fraud.

So I nodded my head in acquiescence

and figured I’d turn a deaf ear.

The very next day,

I sold the shiny red shoes the first chance I got.

Only when it was finally next week

and she came trotting along vivacious as ever, 

I swallowed hard as she

eloquently blurted out:

“Well my sister, where did you hide

my shiny red shoes?"

"I have your hundred dollars ready.”

Whispering, I confessed:

“I’m so sorry ma’am,

this other lady just purchased…”

And that's when her smile

slowly began to fade

even before I could finish my sentence 

as she forcefully uttered out 

“Maybe you thought I would not come back.”

“It’s okay my sister, I understand.”

So she grabbed her large purse

and with the same femininity

and dignity that

drew me to her in the first place

walked out 

leaving me alone

with my livid thoughts

as we both realized

at that definitive moment

that after that day,

my sister would not visit me

anymore.