behind me asked.
I glanced up and saw two stripling girls, hair pulled up on the top of their head into swinging tails like ponies. From their pink cheeks, I was certain they were biting their lips in an effort not to laugh. It only then occurred to me, that in bending over, perhaps I displayed too much of what was underneath my dress. Apparently, there was no shrift for aged flesh here at all.
“Ah no, not really, I thought I saw something . . .” I let my words fade away as the pair was anxious to get past me before breaking out into more stifled laughter.
And this is what I learned that first day: that unless one makes a spectacle of oneself—such as muttering aloud useless spells of finding when one has gone astray despite a map—women of a certain age do not exist. No one saluted me, and I quickly learned not to offer such a gesture, for it was met with a stony stare, or even worse a subtle movement away from me as though I were no more than a moonstruck fool. Much later, when my feet had grown tired from wandering in circles on streets named for trees that were no longer there, I finally saw the blue and orange walls of the Co-op. Only then did I wonder:
What can I say to make them “see” me first, in order for them to then want me?
Before crossing the street, I kneeled down in a patch of clover-rich grass growing by the road and plucked a small handful of the bright leaves and shaggy-headed purple blossoms. This too was another one of those spectacle moments. I heard as I gathered my posy the snide comments of youngsters on their way to their own follies. I no longer cared. I chose to cling to any hint of magic, any hope of charms still available to me that might secure my fortunes here. Tucking the little posy in the folds between my breasts, I hurried to the door of the Co-op.
* * *
“H EY, HI ! H EY HERB-LADY, REMEMBER me?” a voice called out.
Turning to the benches, I saw Julia, the sweet, gormlessmaid from the day before. She had gathered the thick rolls of her wheaten hair into a bright turquoise scarf that intensified the blue of her eyes.
“Good day, Miss Julia,” I answered, nodding to show that I had remembered her. In fact, I had been hoping to find her here. “I have come to offer my help, if you will have it.”
“Cool,” she said, folding up a book and tucking it into her purse. “Come on back and I’ll introduce you to the boss, Raul. We might have to talk him into it a little, but I think he’ll dig it. Oh, and what’s your name?” she said with a little laugh. “Might help when I introduce you.”
I winced remembering how easily these children gave away their power with their names. I stuttered for a moment, to hide my unease with such a request and then thought of one.
“Sophia,” I answered, invoking one of the goddesses of wisdom to help me now. What other questions had I not thought about?
“I love that name,” she smiled. “So . . . um, where are you from?”
“Russia,” I answered, thinking of Baba Yaga.
“Oh, that explains your accent. I was wondering about that yesterday.”
Accent?
How was I to know my speech was anything but common enough?
“Have you been here long?”
Questions, more questions . . . must these children know everything about one?
“I have arrived recently,” I added, for that was true enough.
“Wow, your English is like really good!” she said, impressed at what appeared to be yet another skill of mine. Of course I didn’t tell her my Russian was terrible. I knew the word babushka and that was all.
I followed Julia into the store, noting the way her freckles splashed across her narrow shoulders, like a fawn. She was slim as a reed, the thin fabric of her shirt clinging to her body.
I was like that once
, I thought with a stab of envy.
Once! I was like that only days ago
.
Despite my situation, I will say that I was born beneath the luck star, for it didn’t take Julia long to convince Raul that I was
I glanced up and saw two stripling girls, hair pulled up on the top of their head into swinging tails like ponies. From their pink cheeks, I was certain they were biting their lips in an effort not to laugh. It only then occurred to me, that in bending over, perhaps I displayed too much of what was underneath my dress. Apparently, there was no shrift for aged flesh here at all.
“Ah no, not really, I thought I saw something . . .” I let my words fade away as the pair was anxious to get past me before breaking out into more stifled laughter.
And this is what I learned that first day: that unless one makes a spectacle of oneself—such as muttering aloud useless spells of finding when one has gone astray despite a map—women of a certain age do not exist. No one saluted me, and I quickly learned not to offer such a gesture, for it was met with a stony stare, or even worse a subtle movement away from me as though I were no more than a moonstruck fool. Much later, when my feet had grown tired from wandering in circles on streets named for trees that were no longer there, I finally saw the blue and orange walls of the Co-op. Only then did I wonder:
What can I say to make them “see” me first, in order for them to then want me?
Before crossing the street, I kneeled down in a patch of clover-rich grass growing by the road and plucked a small handful of the bright leaves and shaggy-headed purple blossoms. This too was another one of those spectacle moments. I heard as I gathered my posy the snide comments of youngsters on their way to their own follies. I no longer cared. I chose to cling to any hint of magic, any hope of charms still available to me that might secure my fortunes here. Tucking the little posy in the folds between my breasts, I hurried to the door of the Co-op.
* * *
“H EY, HI ! H EY HERB-LADY, REMEMBER me?” a voice called out.
Turning to the benches, I saw Julia, the sweet, gormlessmaid from the day before. She had gathered the thick rolls of her wheaten hair into a bright turquoise scarf that intensified the blue of her eyes.
“Good day, Miss Julia,” I answered, nodding to show that I had remembered her. In fact, I had been hoping to find her here. “I have come to offer my help, if you will have it.”
“Cool,” she said, folding up a book and tucking it into her purse. “Come on back and I’ll introduce you to the boss, Raul. We might have to talk him into it a little, but I think he’ll dig it. Oh, and what’s your name?” she said with a little laugh. “Might help when I introduce you.”
I winced remembering how easily these children gave away their power with their names. I stuttered for a moment, to hide my unease with such a request and then thought of one.
“Sophia,” I answered, invoking one of the goddesses of wisdom to help me now. What other questions had I not thought about?
“I love that name,” she smiled. “So . . . um, where are you from?”
“Russia,” I answered, thinking of Baba Yaga.
“Oh, that explains your accent. I was wondering about that yesterday.”
Accent?
How was I to know my speech was anything but common enough?
“Have you been here long?”
Questions, more questions . . . must these children know everything about one?
“I have arrived recently,” I added, for that was true enough.
“Wow, your English is like really good!” she said, impressed at what appeared to be yet another skill of mine. Of course I didn’t tell her my Russian was terrible. I knew the word babushka and that was all.
I followed Julia into the store, noting the way her freckles splashed across her narrow shoulders, like a fawn. She was slim as a reed, the thin fabric of her shirt clinging to her body.
I was like that once
, I thought with a stab of envy.
Once! I was like that only days ago
.
Despite my situation, I will say that I was born beneath the luck star, for it didn’t take Julia long to convince Raul that I was
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