I must have been there, trying to make that decision, a long time, because Mr. Greeley came and stood over me with his saggy jowl and rheumy eyes. “You buying it or casing it, girl?”
I picked up the rainbow scrapbook and handed it to him.
As I followed Mr. Greeley back to the cash register, I imagined myself handing the scrapbook to James in the hallway right before prom.
“What’s this?” he’d ask.
And I’d cock my head to the side, all of a sudden shy, although it had been bold to offer him the scrapbook in the first place. “It’s a scrapbook. I got it because the rainbows made me think of . . .”
I’d trail off and look away, too embarrassed to say it.
But he’d make me. Maybe he’d touch my shoulder, or try to catch my eye.
“Made you think of what?” he’d ask. Firm but gentle.
And I’d finally meet his eyes and answer, “You.”
Then the music would start up and we’d kiss.
“You know you ain’t going to get no discount on this, right?” Mr. Greeley said. “That’s just for your mama.”
The image of James and me quickly subsided as I offered Mr. Greeley the ten one-dollar bills.
He looked at it over his reading glasses.
“Actually, that’s going to be ten-fifty. You got tax on top of that nine-ninety-nine.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t got fifty cents?” He moved around, annoyed, like he was thinking of not giving it to me.
I wondered how Cora could bear to have this horrible old man on top of her. At that moment, I did not blame his dead wife for barring him from her bedroom, and I did not blame Cora for thinking he was full of shit.
I put the bills on the counter. I hoped this action translated into Do you want this ten dollars or not, old man?
Though I suspected he was reading it as I’m trash and came in here trying to get one over on you, because you’re having relations with my mother every second Tuesday of the month.
Either way, he took the money. But he grumbled as he put it in the register without ringing up the sale. “Next time you come around here without your mama, make sure you figure out the tax.”
I took the scrapbook and walked out of there. Angry at him for making such a show of it, and scared of what I had been prepared to do.
Growing up, I had learned to hold on to my pride in little ways. If I didn’t talk, then I didn’t get beat or made fun of as much. On the other hand, there was power in not talking, because people didn’t like it when you didn’t talk, and it was a certain kind of aggression, when you knew people didn’t like a thing, but you did it anyway.
And of course, finding cash like I did wasn’t exactly honorable, but on the other hand, I always had a little of my own money to spend. I had Pretty in Pink, Breakfast Club, Say Anything, and Some Kind of Wonderful on VHS. And those were all tapes that I had bought with my own money, without having to ask Cora for anything—not that she would have given it to me if I had.
But the best pride holder I had learned by far was the Not Wanting of Things, which made life a whole lot easier.
Because who cared if no one ever paid you attention if you didn’t want it in the first place?
And who cared if Cora had me going to school in hand-me-downs—I didn’t want clothes.
I didn’t want a fancy house, I didn’t want to be popular or even liked. I didn’t want anything.
Except James.
And when Mr. Greeley had hesitated like maybe he wasn’t going to let me have this scrapbook, a thought had flashed through my head: Maybe I could find fifty cents on the floor.
I knew better than anyone that people were always dropping things. If I dug around for it under the counter, I’d probably find enough pennies, or maybe even some nickels or dimes.
I could see myself on my hands and knees searching for that fifty cents while Mr. Greeley watched me with a sour look on his face.
And it scared me. Not the thought of doing it, but knowing that I would do it. For James.
It felt to be about one hundred degrees as I walked out of the air-conditioned store into the Mississippi sun. But I was cold all the way home.