Inauguration Day

I slouch out of the dressing room in a strapless black number.

“You look good, girl!” the pretty sales clerk says as she walks by with a handful of white blouses.

I blush, feel a toothless smile on my face. I have never felt attractive and seldom hear compliments. I feel like prancing around the department store. Before I say something silly, I thank her.

“Take a look at yourself,” she points to the full-length mirror.

My eyes follow my wide hips, and short brown legs, but I like how airy I feel.

“It’s perfect on you,” she says as she brushes one of my black hairs from a shoulder. Her perfume, woodsy yet sweet, lingers in the room like a mist.

“Really? You think so?”

“Oh, yeah, whoever you are buying it for will love it!”

“I’ll need a new bra.”

“No problem, let me show you the way.”

“Okay, but let me freshen my lipstick first.”

“Now you’re talkin’!” She snaps her fingers.

With the dress and bra in a bag dangling from my arm, I walk down the street with a bit more sway than usual in my hips. I feel like I’m in a movie, a glamorous star off to meet her handsome co-star.

A young white guy, tall and thin, walking in the opposite direction slows down to look at me nodding ever so slightly. His eyes settle for a moment on my chest. I look away. As he makes his way across the crosswalk, long tan arms swaying gracefully, I start walking faster, but the traffic light turns red. His muscular body and striking head disappear in the distance. Why didn’t I shout “Stop?” Would that just have been foolish?

I walk a few blocks to my bus stop. Sit next to an old man in a dark blue suit. His lips tremble, almost as if he is talking to someone. With his eyes half-closed, he turns to me.

“Did you read the newspaper today?” His voice is raspy, strained as if under the weight of many years.

“No, why?”

“Inauguration Day,” he says flatly.

“Oh, yes, that.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes. Who knows where I’ll be next year at this time.”

“Me too. Well, to be honest, I’m glad I won’t be around much longer.” He sighs. “Say, you’ve been shopping, haven’t you.”

“Why, yes.”

“Special occasion?’

“My birthday, twenty-four.”

“Well, happy birthday! Take it from me, twenty-four is a good one.” His hand runs over his cheek, as if to smooth out the lines; he smiles. “That was the year I met my wife. We had a long run, a happy one.”

When the bus arrives, number 9, I say, “This is my bus.”

“Mine will here soon enough,” he said. “Keep your head up, child; your whole life is still ahead of you despite what is happening all around us.”

I wave and step onto the bus.

“Hello,” the bus driver says. He turns off his radio that was blaring news of the Inauguration Day event. He taps the bill of his cap.

I find a seat in the middle, close to the exit door. With the shaded windows, it’s hard to make out anything outside; the buildings blur into giant amoebas. I set the bag on my lap, reach inside. The dress is soft, silky even, and the bra has a wonderful  scent of new clothes.

The air conditioning blows off and on. Staring at the dress, I remember when I was a child how my mother would take me shopping. Her favorite dress shop was called the New York Store. Evelyn, the owner, was from the city and got all her clothes from there. I remember walking in and out of the racks of dresses, long and short, colorful and shimmering, and I would imagine what it would be like when I could wear such beautiful dresses as an adult.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Can I sit down?”  A large woman in a yellow pantsuit points at the empty seat. I nod.

She slowly sits down. “My hip hurts today.” Sorry, I tell her. “You’ve been shopping,” she says. “Find anything good?”

“A new dress, skimpier than I usually wear. And a new strapless bra to go with it.”

“Oh, là là. Good for you. Can I see?”

I pull the dress up, holding it halfway out of the shopping bag, but high enough.”

“Beautiful,” she says.

“I can’t wait to wear it!”

“I remember in my day I’d wear such a dress to the dances. Ah, to be young and have a partner. Do you have somebody?”

“No. Well, I used to but not now.” I think about all the nights I waited for Jordan to show. All the dinners by candlelight I ate alone. Well, good riddance.

“Well, you’re lovely, my dear. Who knows what’s around the corner.”

I smile. “Yes, who knows.”

“Well, this is my stop, she says as the bus slows down. “My name’s Gloria, by the way.”

“I’m Marta. Nice to meet you. Say, would you mind helping me stand up?” I take her arm and help her. She eases her way down the stairs. “I wish I had one of you at home,” she says as the door abruptly closes.

The bus driver shakes his head. The bus pulls away, and my temples are throbbing. Inauguration Day, what for? He’s already here, everywhere.

At home, I put on some music, light the candles, and slip into my new clothes.

“This is what you’re missing,” I say out loud. “What you could never appreciate. Well, it’s your loss. Not mine.”

I pour myself a glass of wine. Take a few sips, and dance, my feet lighter.

After several more drinks, I drift off to sleep on the couch, but I’m woken up by my neighbor. He’s lighting and throwing firecrackers in front of the building. When I peek out the window, he’s shooting off bottle rockets that KABOOM, FIZZ and SWOOSH! Suddenly, my stomach hurts so badly, I double over in pain. For a moment, I crawl but make myself stand up.

I think about the hope I had in Jordan, this world. Is it still here?

Just before midnight, I take off all my clothes and start running down the street, screaming. And I hope everyone hears me. Don’t you?