The Dragons, the Giant, the Women, стр. 37
In one of the houses we rented in Spring, the corner store was at the end of our street, a little over two hundred yards away from our house. I walked there one day with the Blackgirls. Mam was home making us dinner after track practice and I remember she told us we should just stay and wait for the food, but the Blackgirls and I wanted to follow my big sister and her friends. It was track season, it was early spring. The corner store had only about five aisles of goods and a wall cooler that held beer and soft drinks. It was an old store at the corner of a strip mall that included a billiards club, a hardware store, and a day care center. The shelves were organized in a way that put a pack of sunflower seeds right beside a generic brand of deodorant and below eight different assortments of prophylactics. When we entered, one of the Blackgirls was being playfully teased by one of my sister’s friends, whom we met at the store. We were being loud. The cashiers looked at each one of our faces as we passed.
“Hello,” I said.
There were two men behind the counter. They looked similar to one another but one was noticeably older with thick glasses and a bright red face. Neither of them spoke. We roamed the aisles and stopped in front of the candy, where we took our pick of Airheads, Now and Laters, bubble gum, Starbursts, and chocolate bars. I could not decide between Skittles and a Hershey’s bar, so while the others headed to the freezer for their drinks, I stayed in the aisle and stared down at the candy. In my peripheral vision I saw the younger cashier look at me from the end of the aisle. I looked at him and smiled. He nodded toward me and looked past me at my sister and friends. When they finished getting their drinks, they walked to the front of the store and crowded the cashier. The older man began to ring up their things, and I stayed in the aisle looking at the Skittles bag and brown candy bar.
“Which one will you have?” I heard a long drawl at the end of the aisle. I expected that he was still there—after all, we had all been watched at stores before. But it was the first time that someone had spoken to me after watching me as intently as he had. I looked down to make sure that the candy was still in my hands, that I had not mistakenly opened it while daydreaming. The red and brown pack rested in my palms, yet I knew shortly after the man spoke that something was about to go desperately wrong.
“Everything okay?” my sister asked.
“Yeah,” I said and placed the Skittles back on the shelf. We headed to the cashier, where the other girls waited for us. By then the Blackgirls were fidgeting and noticeably disturbed by the store owner’s demeanor.
“Sorry I took so long,” I said. I placed my candy bar on the counter and waited for the older man to ring it up. It was eighty-four cents and I reached into my pocket for three quarters and a dime. I placed the three quarters on the counter and reached for the dime but I could not find it. I checked the other pocket but it was not there.
“What do you need?” my sister asked.
“Nine cents. I thought I had a dime,” I said.
At once the Blackgirls reached into their pockets to help me pay my deficit.
“Ridiculous,” the cashier murmured as we searched. He said curse words, and we huddled together, as if the warmth of our bodies would protect us, steady us in that moment. Wi slammed a quarter onto the counter, making us all jump.
“What’s ridiculous?” she asked.
“Ol’ racist man. Just give us our change so we can go!” my sister’s friend added.
We were all taken aback by her accusation, though we thought the same. We were all afraid. Not as brave as her. “Racist? Who’s racist?” the younger man said from behind. We turned around.
“You’ve been watching us since we walked in,” her friend said, stepping toward him.
“That’s it, then!” the cashier said, throwing the change from my purchase onto the counter, so hard that some pennies were flung onto the floor and landed at our feet. “Get on out of here then! Get out before I call the cops! We don’t want trouble—just get out!”
The man’s face turned more crimson as he shouted. We did not bother picking up the coins. We headed out of the store, embarrassed and humiliated, and Wi stayed behind with her friends in a full-out screaming match with the two owners. I wanted to go home and get Mam. As soon as I closed the door, I heard a loud crash inside the store. I turned around quickly and saw Wi run toward me with tussled hair and tears covering her face.
“Come on!” she yelled, pulling my hand. The younger store owner chased them out of the store waving a broomstick. Run.
“Get out of here!” he yelled as he stomped the concrete on the road back to our house.
“You niggers! Get on out of here!” he yelled, though his voice was now faint as it hit the back of our heads. Sobs flew beside me—the running cries of my sister and her friends. The dragons had different mothers here, and we ran. We ran. Again. Niggers, he shouted. An animal, a brute, an ignorant person, an unrighteous person. But we were little girls. Niggers, from a man who probably did not see color. But how could he see color? He did not see us.
His voice faded