Homely Girl
Copyright ©2012 by Denise McFarlane
She was a very matter of fact individual. She had a basic cell phone, no frills, no fancy ringtones, just a normal telephone ring. She hated those obnoxious rings that were music. It was a phone for God sakes not a handheld disco. She wore no flashy jewelry and maintained a modest wardrobe. She wore one of two hairstyles, a pony tail or plaits that fell well beneath her shoulders. Her monthly metrocard was worn around her neck until she was securely on the bus where she then tucked it into her sensible tote bag, that was two-toned, reversible and machine washable.
No one really paid much attention to her; after all, she was well under the radar. She was a pretty woman but never really stared in the mirror too long to even realize she was a beauty. Her sensibility was perceived as boring. She worked as an accountant in a small office, no big companies for her. She saw the same five people daily. Roger, the owner, Paul, the senior accountant, Cass, the 2nd senior accountant and Paola, the office manager and Minnow, the receptionist. This was her world; she thrived around numbers and became excited at the prospect of new work, exciting challenges. She didn’t know it but when she worked her face came to life and her beauty outshone even the sun. Paul and Roger, the only two men in the office, noticed too.
One particular day on her way home she decided she wanted a special meal after she finished a big project at work. Most people would go to a fancy restaurant but she preferred to make her own meal. Her enjoyment came not only in eating the meal but in the preparation itself. Who knew how her small modest office stayed in business and pulled in big projects. It was really all due to Maya’s diligent work and acute accounting skills but she had no idea. Anyhow, she stopped in the supermarket also known as the Super Mercado in her mostly Latin neighborhood. She went inside and went directly to the seafood section where she had the fishmonger pick out a big lobster, scallops, prawns and clams. She picked out a nice wine from the local liquor shop. She would make paella and the wine she picked out was not too expensive—it was on sale actually and made in the United States, that’s why she bought it. She could afford to splurge this once since she had been cutting corners all month, after all, she was a conservative spender. Maya was also environmentally conscious, having the clerks bag her groceries in two cotton canvas bags. She always recycled her trash and only bought toilet tissue and other items that were recyclable. Buying these items often meant spending more money but if it kept the earth healthy she was all for it.
Outside as she struggled with her groceries she saw a young man panhandling on the street. Normally she would never approach people in this situation but this was a youngster, a teenager with beat up clothes and a crooked smile. “Hey kid come over here,” she beckoned with her chin. “You got money giving me lady,” he responded, sauntering over. “I’ll give you a little something if you help me to my apartment with these bags.” “I don’t know about that lady. Sounds shady to me. A young impressionable buck like me can’t be mixed up with an old lady like you,” he said mocking her. Now Maya was no more than thirty-five years old but once again her sensible dress didn’t allow anyone to really see her real age. She took no offense to this young man because she knew nothing of the beauty that she wore like a veil day in and day out. Somehow her face, the honesty and care shown through and he took her bags from her and walked beside her all the while looking at her sensible work shoes. A block before making it home, he commented, “those are some ugly shoes lady.” She continued her gait and never paid this young boy whose name she didn’t know any mind. About ten minutes later she replied though. “Your hair sure is nappy and you seem to smell a little funny.” The young man’s chest puffed up just a little and he stopped briefly but continued when he saw her face held no malicious intent. They had an understanding—she got her point across. That was the way of Maya. Her quietness was swift and powerful, most times taking you by surprise.
Upon arriving at the small one family house on Castaway Street, Maya turned, took the bag from the young man and put a ten dollar bill in his hand. “Thanks lady but I thought I was going to. . .ah forget it.” She immediately felt badly and thought that if he was going to rob her, he probably would have already. She invited him inside and noticed how his eyes zoomed in on her massive library upon entering. It’s going to take me some time to get everything ready. Come on in and I will pour you a glass of lemonade and you can watch TV while I cook. You get to do the dishes though. A smile as bright at the sun formed and he shook his head in agreement. It warmed her heart immensely and she got to work preparing her meal. She cooked with such vigor you would have thought she was cooking for Jesus himself. Feeling needed could blossom and spread love through one’s body like the vines of a tree.
In two hours she had completed the meal and poured herself a glass of wine and the young man a glass of apple juice. She placed two oblong plates on the tale with a knife and fork before putting the large dish of paella front and center on the table. Maya thought to call the young man to the table but realized she did not know what his name was. As she stood there, thinking how to approach him she thought of how boring her apartment must be to a young person such as him. She did not play video games, hardly watched movies and did not own a DVD player. She didn’t even have cable much less. Why she cared or even trusted this young man was beyond her reasoning.
As she stood there pondering, the young man asked with urgency, “Is it ready? It smells good.” “Yes it’s ready Steven.” He looked at her, smiled and shook his head. She motioned to where he should sit and as he sat down, he said, “Michael, that’s my name.” He was ready to dig in but before he could grab the serving utensils, Maya steadied his hands and said a simple grace. She always saw fit to give thanks and that is why she believed she was blessed with everything she needed in life. She grabbed both serving spoons and put a healthy portion on Michael’s plate and watched his eyes expand into saucers looking at his plate. He quickly drank down his apple juice and she sent him to the fridge for more. She made a mental note to pick up sparkling cider next time but stopped herself when she realized there may not be a next time. She was slightly saddened. Michael watched the changing expressions on her face and wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if he had a mother if she would be like—God he had to find out her name.
Dinner was had in silence. Maya thought about how nice it was to have company and to be feeding someone. She savored every morsel of her paella. She hoped she wasn’t being rude by not talking. Michael thought about how cozy the lady’s home was—he still didn’t know her name. He had been on the streets for too long, sleeping in one friend’s house after another until their parent’s tired of him. He couldn’t tell when last he had a hot meal and on a plate at that. Maybe if he helped her, she would take him in. “Maya, that’s my name.” I just realized I never introduced myself. [END OF SAMPLE]
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