I take the two bills from my pocket, slide the twenty-dollar bill cross the counter. “Here you go,” I whisper, hearing Momma’s voice in my head telling me it costs too much. It’s too much to spend on one thing, and especially cause it’s one thing I want, and not one thing I need.
“You can just give me the ten if you want,” says the boy, nodding in the direction of my other crumpled bill.
“Nah, I need this one for something else,” I say, embarrassed to let him know that I wanna spend the twenty just to get all the change. He fake smiles, like he knows I’m a liar but gotta be nice anyway.
“Here’s your change. Have a nice day.” He looks away as he passes me a handful of bills and coins that I stuff in my pocket before running out the door with my book and receipt.
As soon as I am far enough away, I reach my hand in my pocket and shake the fabric so that the coins move around. They clink in my pocket like tiny bells. I take out a five-dollar bill, hold it to my nose, and sniff in, deep. The smell is new again every time I smell it, like my uniform shirts on the days Momma brings them back from the laundromat, crisp and folded. I shove the bill back into my pocket and think I might add this money to my getting-home fund, since I ain’t found any bottles. But then I remember Granddaddy said we need to buy a dress for church, so I look for another store.
I walk and walk til I spot a store up ahead with a mannequin in the window wearing a pretty dress with pink flowers and dancing green stems. I’m nervous cause I never shopped alone, but I stroll inside and begin to look around. The store is big, with clothes for kids and for grown-ups. I wanna touch everything on the racks. I imagine what it would be like to run my fingers cross fabric soft like cotton candy or smooth like butter. But I don’t touch, cause whenever we’re in stores, Momma always tells me don’t touch nothin’ and don’t ask for nothin’。
I walk around the store two times before I finally find the dress from the window. It looks even better up close. It’s all white, with little flowers that are decorated pink and green and yellow, like fresh-watered blossoms in a garden. The dress ain’t too long or too short. It’s perfect.
“Can I help you?” A woman with a red tag on her shirt and red lipstick clinging to her teeth approaches, looking down at me over the top of too-big glasses.
“No,” I whisper, looking down at the ground. The woman stays there for a minute, watching me, but since I stay frozen, she eventually walks away. I let go of the breath I been holding.
I stare at the rack, filled with that same dress over and over, search for my size. This past winter I grew outta my 8/10 clothes and had to move up to the next size, with my very first 10/12 hand-me-down dress, burgundy and stiff, a gift for my daddy’s funeral. I find the last dress in my size and check the price tag: $89.99. I put it back on the rack and leave the store, rushing past the saleslady, who’s still watching me with mean eyes. No point even looking around more, when I already found the perfect dress that I can’t have.
“Kenyatta,” speaks a voice behind me just as I leave the store. It’s Granddaddy, slowly shuffling my way. I look past him at that giant food court clock and it’s only been thirty-six minutes, so I guess Granddaddy got back over here early. But right on time.
“Granddaddy.” I plan to smile, but instead my eyes fill with tears as soon as I speak.
“What’s wrong?” Granddaddy asks, now standing in front of me. I want him to reach out and touch my shoulder, or maybe even give me a hug. But he just stands there. Cane in one hand, shopping bag in the other.
“I found a dress for church,” I sniffle, “but I ain’t got enough money to buy it.” We’re still standing outside the store with the mannequin in front, wearing my dress proud like a flag. I look at the faceless figure and frown.
“Well, how much is it?” Granddaddy uses his cane to nudge me out the way of a group of boys who are making a bunch of noise and bumping into a bunch of people.
“Eighty-nine ninety-nine.” I avoid looking at Granddaddy when I tell him the price. I bet he’ll laugh. If Momma was here, she’d tell me that’s too much money to spend on one dress. We could go to the secondhand store and get ten dresses for that same amount. “This is all I have left.” I hand Granddaddy the change from the bookstore.
“Come on,” Granddaddy says, pocketing the change and hobbling into the store. Toward my dress. He finds it on the rack in the back, right where I left it. I grab the 10/12 and hold it up for Granddaddy to see.
“Like it?” With the dress pressed against me, I twirl around once, tiny. I think I see Granddaddy smile, just a little bit, as I spin. It reminds me of a moment I once pretended to have with Daddy, cept this one is real.
“Beautiful,” is Granddaddy’s simple reply. Without another word, he leads me to the cash register, where he pays $89.99 for the dress that makes me twirl.
* * *
Two hours later—cause it took us almost an hour just to find Nia, who I guess ain’t pay much attention to the whole meeting time and place—we pull into Granddaddy’s driveway. He pops the trunk, where Nia’s bags fill the whole thing from end to end. I think Granddaddy gon’ be mad that she spent so much money, but he don’t say nothin’。 And seems like Nia’s happy for it, cause she’s been smiling at him all sweet since we left the mall.
As I search through the pile for my one bag, I think bout Granddaddy buying me that dress. Not only does he have a lot of money, but seems like he is also ready to give it to people, if that’s what’s gon’ make them people happy. It makes me feel special, knowing that Granddaddy cares bout making me happy. I’m not really used to anybody spending a lot of money on me. There was this one guy at church who used to buy me and Nia candy and give it to us after service, but Momma found out and yelled at him, so he never did it again. Other than that, the only time people ever really bought me stuff was sometimes on my birthday, most of the time on Christmas, and every once in a while, when I got all A’s on my report card—like I always did—somebody would give me a quarter or a dollar for the accomplishment. Even Daddy gave me that five dollars, once. But never Momma. Momma bought us food and clothes and took care of us and stuff, but she was not the type to just be giving us money all willy-nilly.
“KB,” Nia’s yelling, grabbing her bags, “don’t forget about our clothes.”
It feels like days ago that we went to the swimming pool, but my wet clothes on the floor of the car remind me of wrinkled fingers and Marco Polo. And Rondell. I grab my dripping clothes, my new best book, and the bag that holds my new best dress and head to the porch without waiting for Nia.
Granddaddy unlocks the front door and I head inside. I wanna try on my dress, twirl and twirl around the room til I can’t stand up straight. But as soon as I walk in the bedroom, Nia comes in behind me.
“I like your dress,” I whisper as I watch her take it out the bag.
Nia shrugs. “It’s okay, I guess.” She lays it out on the bed before rummaging through her other bags. From what I can tell, she bought jewelry, shoes, and makeup, too.
“You gon’ try it on?” I ask, pointing at the dress. Nia shrugs again. I can’t believe she’s acting like all this ain’t no big deal, when we ain’t never went shopping at the mall and bought so much new stuff like this.