“Ohhh, I like it,” she moved in closer and then stopped right as I hooked the band from behind.
“You’d think I’d have this all figured out,” she turned to study the fit. “I’ve only been dating for fifteen years now.”
“Timing.” I looked up to meet her stare, thankful that Gladys’s wisdom found its way back into the fitting room just when someone else needed it.
“Yeah, maybe.” She thought about my response. “It takes a lot out of you for sure. Just trying to get it right.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, there’s the fear of failure, the fear of being vulnerable, the fear of being hurt. So many fears that come with—” She paused, “loving.”
I swallowed hard and listened as her words rolled effortlessly into recognizable narratives. Fear had too many covers to count, too many codes to crack, for everyone.
“I never wanted any of it to stop me from actually experiencing something though, something good, someone worth investing in, because if I’ve learned anything, losing is inevitable. It’s all part of the game.”
My head spun in circles as I swallowed hard again, trying to fight off every one of my shortcomings. Who was this woman and how much did I owe her? The inner concessions molding our private universe made me excited and scared all at the same time.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even ask your name.”
“That’s okay,” she replied. “I know you have a lot going on. It’s Janelle.”
“Hi, Janelle.”
We laughed, realizing our introduction surpassed the norms and went straight into business, which I liked because small talk was really hard.
“I sure hope it’s my time.” she said, checking the price on the tag. “Because this is the most I’ve ever spent on a bra in my life!”
“So you like it?”
“I’d like bigger boobs more,” her nagging wish reappeared. “But, yeah, I like it.”
I waited as she looked over her body in the mirror, thinking about all the things that push us to escape the world—and everyone in it.
“Thanks for this.” She looked right at me.
“Yeah,” I replied with a grin, acknowledging our brief time together. “A lot to think about. Sounds like you just gotta be—”
“You,” she smiled, snapping her fingers in a custom-made flair.
Against a succession of bass and the cool vibe of nightfall, I burned hard rubber down the 101 to Chase’s house. Beyoncé poured out of my lungs and into thin air, heralding my own potent sovereignty and a few trimmings below the belt. I felt like Baby’s sister, Lisa, in the movie Dirty Dancing when she arrived at the cabin of comforts, unbeknownst to Robbie Gould, raring to free her faithful offerings. And though we had different intentions, and she unfortunately walked into an unforeseen rodeo, I understood her resolution. I, too, was firing on all cylinders, hearty and bold, bouncing snowcapped mountains off lace and a large, pasty backside off binding thread. Thanks to my conversation with Janelle, I held onto a small spark of excitement. She set me up for an experience and didn’t even know it, pulling me out of my comfort zone and into the great, scary unknown.
“I hope you brought your appetite.” Chase smiled as I stood in the doorway. His voice never failed to pump my vitals, setting flames to my waxy complexion in seconds.
His apartment was what I expected: a bona fide bachelor pad furnished with a minimalist’s touch. There was an armchair, an old leather couch, a well-broken-in recliner, and clusters of drunk people robbing every inch of space.
“Good eye,” I said, leaning in to examine his photography above the couch, remembering that I heard about his hobby at the Saddle Ranch. He had a way of making people and places look like you could reach out and feel every part of their being, broken and unbroken.
“If I remember correctly, you’re a meat-and-potatoes kind of lady.” He winked, pulling out a tray of food from the refrigerator.
“Don’t say that too loud,” I replied, picking up a framed picture of three generations of women smiling against a mountainous backdrop. “I don’t want my tires slashed for eating cattle around here.”
He laughed, catching on to my subtle overtone in a landscape full of trending health fads.
Stepping closer, Chase watched me analyze the picture. I could feel his eyes resting on my face before slowly traveling down my arms and breasts and then my legs. Be you, I thought. Just fucking be you.
“My grandmother, mother, and sister,” he explained, running his finger along their faces. I stood for a second, quietly remembering what it felt like to have a family of women in my life before they all started dropping like flies. The timing was uncanny as the progression of exits unfolded, presenting too many mysterious circumstances to casually dismiss. As soon as my mother’s existence began to crumble, her mother’s did, too, and yet I steadfastly refused to make any presumptuous claims about who controlled what from behind the stars.
But I waited. I waited for two days at the foot of my grandmother’s bed as she lay comatose and depleted. Part of me was anxious to see what dying was all about, at least what it looked like for her. And just when I thought she was coming back for round two, not yet done with life on earth, I caught her shit-eating grin followed by a final gasp, relieved she had preceded my mother, paving one hell of a path.
Moving poolside, Chase found us a corner spot.
“Thanks for having me,” I said, lowering my feet into the water.
“My pleasure,” he replied, filling the gap between us. “It’s nice to be out of that place.”
“Yeah, it is.” I automatically checked out. Chase’s sentiment about being free had contrasting layers as Nina’s isolation bared itself. I hoped, really hoped, that she had found some kind of comfort alongside the wounds. I wanted her job to be exactly what she needed it to be. And I wanted her first-day-back attire to give her ammo to keep going. I hoped Nicole was dancing her ass off right at that very moment, proud and momentarily free from life’s restraints. I wanted her to know my working “declaration of independence” was set in motion, already beginning to liberate my good intentions as well as my anatomical jewel. For once, I wanted to keep the incessant analyzing to a minimum and have fun for the sake of living in the moment, letting Janelle’s affirmations slowly become my own.
“You good?” Chase asked, his side grin still in place. “No closing down on me.” Whistles hit the air as he popped more bubbly.
“I’m wide open” were the only words I got out before someone cannonballed into the pool, delivering perfect form and the sweet spell of emotion.
lightning bolt
Still smelling like chlorine and a blend of masculine spices, I was impressed with my ability to get to work on time after another late night. The pep in my step was steady as I exited the elevator and made my way into the pending mayhem, blessed by the greatness of Sunday’s hours, which gave unholy employees like myself more time to sleep off any poor decisions from the night before. And luckily I didn’t have any, except maybe the bag of Goldfish Crackers I ate in front of my kitchen sink after I cabbed it back to my apartment at four o’clock in the morning.
“Welcome,” Michelle said, barely smiling as she stood studying sales numbers. “There are a couple women in the fitting room who might need some help. They told me they’re okay on their own, but you might check on them just to make sure.”
“No problem.” I grabbed a measuring tape from off the counter and headed for the dressing rooms, wondering how many piles of bras I would get stuck rehanging while Michelle stood nursing her mania.
“Can I help back here?” I asked, slowly moving my way down the hallway toward an increasingly loud conversation.
“Mom, stop it!” I heard from inside a room. “Look at me!”
The door flew open, and a woman stood with her hands deep into the cups of an elderly woman’s bra.
“Hi,” she said, doing her best to sound w
elcoming. “I’m trying to get my mom into a good-fitting bra, and she’s not having it. I think today just isn’t our day.”
“Oh, okay,” I replied, waiting as the elderly woman narrowed her gaze in bewilderment. The whites of her eyes looked tangled into jagged lines of red, and her lips, noticeably chapped, bled from the corners of her mouth.
“I don’t need a damn bra, Anne! Katherine has plenty!” the woman snapped, pushing away her daughter’s hand.
“Katherine is a woman at the nursing home whose clothes she’s been stealing.”
“I see.” I nodded slowly, uncertain how to respond. “I’d love to help you ...” I stopped, waiting for someone to fill in the blank.
“Mabel,” her daughter chimed in, carefully watching her mother’s response.
“Hi, Mabel.” I smiled, softly touching her forearm. “You don’t want your own brassiere?”
She laughed like it was the most comical thing she’d heard in years.
“I’d dump the underwire and try something that will be both comfortable and supportive, which I have.”
“Her breasts are so saggy, though. Doesn’t she need an underwire for support?”
I looked at Anne and then at her mother’s boobs, free as free could get.
“You sit a lot, Mabel?” I asked loudly as I caught her trying to read her daughter’s lips.
“Sometimes,” she responded, placing her hands on her hips. “I’ll go to the bank and maybe the commissary.”
“She has Alzheimer’s disease and lives in a well-secured wing,” Anne added, trying to be discreet with her disclosure. “She spends a lot of time sitting, which is why I’d like to get her something with some lift.”
I could sense frustration in Anne’s voice. She wanted her mom to have what she needed. But Mabel didn’t give a shit if her tits sat under her chin or over her shoulders; she was missing bingo and Katherine’s nap time. I wanted Anne to leave feeling reassured though, and useful, knowing her mom was content. I could see that they had been at it for a while.
“Let me grab something.” I opened the door.
“You don’t want to measure her?” Anne asked, touching her mother’s arm.
“Not yet.”
I knew exactly what bra was going to work for Mabel and hoped we had enough in stock for a decent rotation. As usual, the stockroom was a maze—cups spilling over, tightly packed and sized appropriately onto high and low bars.
“Do we have G cups in this?” Tabitha, the new hire, asked, holding up a sports bra.
“We should,” I responded slowly, trying to gather a few different sizes for Mabel to try in our top-selling, non-underwire bra. I could tell Tabitha was beginning to have trouble suppressing her restlessness as her voice shook with unsteady regard.
“Is Michelle or Rachel helping you?” I asked, looking up to see her standing with a variety of bras in her hand, her eyes dark and weary.
“Sort of,” she responded, flipping over size tags. “Michelle had to take a phone call in her office, and Rachel is in a prostheses fitting.”
“Alright,” I said, snagging one more bra for Mabel. “I’ll be in shortly.”
Upon my return, Mabel had already taken to the chair in the corner, comfortably sitting with her arms crossed as her nipples peaked out from under her forearms.
“Let’s give this a try.” I slowly slid the straps up her arms, noticing thin layers of bruised skin as I pulled her to her feet. I gently fastened the band before giving her breasts one last tuck, hoping we hit the jackpot with a little lift.
Mabel stared at me, and then at Anne.
“What do you think, Mom?” Anne asked at full volume, running her hands along Mabel’s rib cage.
“I think it’s nice,” she replied, still staring at Anne while lightly rubbing her breasts in a circular motion. I noticed that the whites of her eyes were more glazed over than before.
“I rarely take her out of the nursing home because it’s just too hard now,” Anne said, looking at her mom. “And I haven’t seen her for a little while. I wasn’t prepared for this.”
I waited for Anne to finish, wondering if I should let them be or attempt to keep helping.
“Here,” I said, grabbing her shirt. “Let’s put this on for the full look.”
Mabel struggled to get her arms through the holes.
“Right here, Mom,” Anne quickly expanded the armhole, trying to move the process along.
“Ta-da.” I smiled with my hands out. “I’d say they’re dining-hall ready.”
Anne laughed, slightly putting me at ease. I could hear Tabitha’s bra pitch down the way, hanging by a thread.
“Are you comfortable, Mom?” Anne asked loudly.
Mabel just stared at her, unable to utter a sound, her eyes hollow.
“Mom?”
I watched as Mabel looked down at the ground and then at her breasts, not once turning to face the mirror. It was like it didn’t even exist, at least for her. I saw the glass as cruelly taking up space, leaving a long reflection of sweeping memories and only transitory rays of guiding light. Trying to understand Mabel sparked a wistful desire to turn back time. I suddenly saw my grandfather sitting, wearing Velcro sneakers on the wrong feet—alone and disoriented and floating into darkness. And maybe nothing felt as varnished or forgotten for them, just for us, the outsiders, whose wanting and needing and bargaining ended up actually shielding the brilliant moments of clarity.
“Mom?” echoed into the space between us again.
Mabel continued to stare at Anne. Waiting. Her lips pinched tight along her teeth. Small traces of blood began to rise, building darker remnants around the edging of her mouth.
“She doesn’t know me anymore,” Anne whispered, painstakingly. “She doesn’t even know my name.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just stood between them, staring at Anne and then at Mabel and then back at Anne.
“I’m sure she appreciates you taking the time to get her some bras,” I finally said, wondering how much Mabel understood, if anything. Her long gazes, however, led me to believe she was full of great secrets and quiet teachings.
Anne remained silent as she moved in closer to adjust Mabel’s bra straps. I watched as her breasts jiggled up before resting in the cups, her shoulders slouched over and frail.
“It’s hard to watch them age ...” Anne’s voice trailed off.
I looked over at Mabel, who stood staring at her hands, weathered into a deep blue. I thought of my own mother and how I was granted a moment to see and feel, a different proportion of longing. I still had my mother’s youth preserved in tethered pockets, her green eyes infinite. And what I had come to understand was a harsh raid of seemingly reliable time; I never made much room to think about what it would’ve been like to watch her hair color change from black to silver, or her skin wrinkle into soft layers. I was frozen in time, stopping at her smooth fair skin. It was all I knew. And though slightly grateful and feeling saved, I still wondered what was worse, as I stared at Anne, if at all measurable.
“Are you comfortable, Mom?” Anne’s voice shook as she tried for a second time.
Mabel looked down at her breasts again and then directly at Anne. I watched as she quietly studied her daughter’s graying hair and big brown eyes, rendering us both speechless as her tenderness filled the room.
“I need to double-check a fit down the way,” I said, softly touching Anne’s hand. “You can try another band size or, if you’d like, go ahead and wear the bra out. It’s a start.”
Without waiting for a reply, I slid out quickly and knocked on Tabitha’s customer’s door. I could sense Tabitha’s confusion as I caught the last of her words before letting myself in.
“Hi there.” I spoke in a low tone, gazing around the room at the enormous piles of discarded bras while trying to focus. I wanted to cry, but then, in the next instant, I wanted to laugh, feeling the swift-moving pendulum from Mabel’s sliver of l
ight.
“She’s wanting to minimize her breasts,” Tabitha quickly stated, looking at me wide-eyed.
“Okay,” I replied, turning to examine the young woman’s breasts as they sat tightly squeezed into one of our heavy-duty sports bras, pushing her breast tissue in every direction but up.
“Is this for everyday use or ...” The words barely left my mouth before the customer interjected with demanding urgency, her tone desperate and pleading.
“Yes, and I need to look as small as possible.”
“Alright,” I replied calmly, picking up on her loss of patience.
My mind was on overdrive, tenderly holding on to Mabel and Anne and their gentle beneficence. I wanted to get back to them, but I knew I was now facing a far-from-easy challenge. And with disappointment spilling into puddles around me, I also knew the customer needed as much time and attention as we could give her so that she could find whatever was going to ease her mind. The significance of feeling comfortable had quickly carried over, propelling me to acknowledge what it looked like on the inside, too, for both Tabitha and her customer.
“Let us grab a few minimizers to try,” I said, opening the door while quietly pondering our availability. “We’ll get it right.”
Tabitha followed me down the hallway, stopping abruptly as I crept closer to Mabel’s room. The stillness was startling as I peered through the cracks of the door, seeing only a couple bras dangling on the bar against the wall.
“I’ll meet you in the stockroom,” I said to Tabitha, moving toward the doorway.
And there I waited, watching Mabel lean into her daughter’s arm as they exited the department holding onto a small shopping bag and the transient gift of remembrance.
bubblegum tum
With our big annual sale right around the corner, stress levels were on the rise. Incoming merchandise continued to pile up in the stockroom, and Roxanne’s stealthy rounds magnified the frazzled levels of Rachel and Michelle. We all worked around the clock in preparation for the sale, packing racks with as many bras and panties as possible. Garment bags, soaps, negligees, and heaps of Hanky Panky thongs lined the walkways, making our stockroom the most organized disaster I’d ever seen.
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