Racial Misunderstanding

La Quitta felt a tight knot in the pit of her stomach; she bit her lip nervously and defiantly raised her chin while squaring off her shoulders walked over the threshold into the retail store Nordstrom.  She was about 5’8” and weighed about 220 pounds. She did not like shopping because she could never find things that made her feel good.  Clothes only looked good on Skinny girls.  She was wearing her best jeans and a baggy green sweater to try and camouflage her large middle section. However, she was built like a football player with extra pads on the front of her chest and the baggy sweater enhanced rather than hide her large frame.  Walking into the store she immediately noticed an underlying tone of quiet sophistication and subtle privilege permeating the air.  She didn’t know what made the difference from other clothing stores, but she did feel a difference. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to turn around and go back to go back to the familiar stores like Wal mart or Big Lots where shopping didn’t feel like a foray into strange land.  La Quitta wasn’t savvy enough to see that the store designers placed the merchandise further apart to give the allusion of space with fewer items on the rack for ease of handling by the customer.  The strategic mirrors placed within easy access to allow a friendly and warm shopping experience.  The lushness of the carpet, perfume smells wafting from the cosmetic counters and wingback chairs to comfort tried toes of the guests and attentive sales clerks to aid in every way possible.  All she knew was walking into the store was like stepping into another world and it made her feel ashamed that she felt a sense of wrongness in being there.  I have just as much right to be here then these privileged crackers, she thought.  Her mind drifted back to the reason she was making this odyssey.  She thought again about her mother lying in St John’s trying to recuperate from the chemo therapy. The doctors had missed her symptoms and Mrs. Roland’s colon cancer had reached end stage 4 before anyone had noticed. Things had progressed to the point that LaQuitta mother’s had a Port-A- Cath placed in her upper chest, a device to help administrate the chemotherapy drugs.  The State facility was staffed with overworked and underpaid workers and was LaQuitta knew she was not getting premium care her mother deserved, not like that those white rich folks would get. The  Port-A-Cath her mother had was leaking out Fluorouracil, Leucouorin, and Oxalipltin onto the surrounding tissue.  The result was a slight musky odor.  Her mom had asked LaQuitta if she could pick up a bottle of her favorite perfume to help mask this odor.  After an internet search at the hospital’s library the only place she could locate the perfume was at Nordstrom’s.  If need be she would have gone to hell to ask the devil for the perfume, and right now it felt like she had.  Taking a deep breath LaQuitta stepped up to the shiny cosmetic counter and muttered “excuse me” to the girl who was wearing a what looked to be a white lab coat standing with her back to LaQuitta behind the counter.  The sales clerk turned around and LaQuitta could see on the breast pocket the name Amy spelled out in large pink cursive font.  Amy was pretty, appeared to be about 24 with long blond hair swept up in a stylish professional looking coif.  She had bright green eyes and a warm soft smile with straight teeth that had seen many years of dentistry.  “Yes, can I help you?”  “Yes, I want that perfume right there”, said LaQuitta and pointed to the scent she was after. “No, I can’t… “What do you mean you CAN”T”, interrupted LaQuitta “its right there” she said raising her voice a bit.  “No, what I mean is that I don’t have the key to open that case”.  That’s ridicules, you wouldn’t be behind the counter if you couldn’t open damn thing” retorted LaQuitta this time she could feel the anger simmering behind the words. All the frustration she felt at the doctors for missing the diagnosis and the feelings of inferiority she felt in just being here started to build up and finally she spewed out.  “It’s because I’m black ain’t it”.    Amy stammered a disclaimer. “Of course not”.  LaQuitta at this point was beyond listening and demanded to speak to the manger.  LaQuitta watched as Amy visibly shaken waived over another sales girl and asked her to get the manager. The other sales clerk eyed the upset LaQuitta and quickly did as Amy requested. LaQuitta stood her arms folded over her green pullover sweater and glared at Amy.  Amy stood quietly aside, eyes downcast and twisted a ring on her long polished finger.  Without either of the two girls noticing Amy’s boyfriend who had came into the store to surprise her with flowers popped up from behind the column next to the cosmetic counter and grabbed Amy by the shoulders and spun her around. “Surprise baby”, said Jamal his chocolate face beaming.  He held out the flowers with a smug smile on his face like a little boy who knew he had done a good deed.  Amy gave a happy squeal and hugged him tightly. “Whoa baby, it’s that not that good.”  He laughed.  Then he noticed the stunned LaQuitta looking at him with dismay on her face.  He gave a quizzical look to Amy and then back to LaQuitta.  Amy looked at him and said “don’t ask it’s just a little misunderstanding.”  LaQuitta turned her gaze on Amy and mouthed the word "sorry".