Falling For Us

 The rest of the day passed by with nothing too eventful happening. Except for my forced shopping trip. That turned out both unexpected and rather painful. Sort of like a root canal; I was left numb and confused.

The hot California sun caressed my back as I locked the car and walked up to my nothing-special apartment building. Marching on the in-questionable-repair stairs to the second floor, I barely took two steps in and closed the door when I heard Roza behind me, knocking frantically. "Open up! Open up, I know you're there."

I did as ordered. "Hey, Roza, I just got home," I told her as if she didn't know. My feet thanked me as I peeled off my shoes.

"Eat, my darling. Sit down," she pushed all the way in and handed me a bright yellow margarine container. Only I recognized that there was no edible oil product in that baby, it had to be soup.  Roza took off down the hall like she was on fire; I assumed to use the facilities.

The container was almost melted; as were my hands. I strode in careful triumph to grab a spoon, then gingerly placed my treasure onto the counter. "Ow, ow, ow!" I whispered and waved my fingers around to cool them.

Carefully, I opened the lid and inhaled the spicy, steamy aroma. Ah, heaven. Without waiting, I dove in for my first taste and son-of-a-biscuit, it was hot. "Ouch!" My burnt tongue lamented for a quick moment before I continued to scoop up another mouthful. Mmmm, divine. You did not waste time when awesome soup was at hand.

Never having been much of a cook; my culinary skills comprised of boiling pasta, opening cans and thawing frozen dinners. So, homemade cooking was a special treat.

The minutes ticked by as I reveled in my joy, slurping every drop. When I finally emerged from my soup-coma, I realized that Roza still hadn't come back yet. Uh oh. Panic overtook me as I raced down the hall, spoon in hand.

The bathroom was dark, but oddly, the light was on in my bedroom. So I peeked in and there was Roza with half the contents of my closet on the bed. Dark blue dress in one hand, hanger in the other, she seemed visibly frustrated. "This? Where you wear this? A funeral? I don't think so," she threw the dress on the ever-growing disposal pile, and it commiserated with the rest of the other banished clothing.

"Uhhh, what's your deal?" I questioned, and remained frozen in shock in the doorway... more than a little freaked out. Had she ever been in my room before?

"You have nothing to wear to trap a man. All of this is," she waved broadly with her arms to the reject pile, "Sad! Sad clothes. You need sexy clothes to trap a man. Look at that body of yours and you hide under funeral clothes," she shook her head and 'tsk'd' at me. "Those legs. How many women I know would kill for your legs?" Even I had to admit my legs were awesome. But I didn't think I owned 'funeral' clothes, did I?

As I pondered this, Roza shuffled up and barked, "Move. This won't do." Afraid of getting hit with all the angry arm movements, I stepped out of her way. Bewildered, I stared at her as she stormed out in complete disgust of my gloomy threads. The door slammed behind her.

Ok, then. Coming out of my stupor, I walked to my 'sad clothes' and looked at them. Really looked at them. Was she right? Were my clothes depressed? I picked up my long blue skirt, and rubbed the material carefully; trying to get a read on it. "Talk to me, skirt. Are you sad?" Hmm. No answer from the ankle length, sensible, polyester-blend maxi. Perhaps it might not be the sexiest thing around, but it was a dream to wash.

Less than a minute later, I heard, "Ok, ok, I'm coming! Don't drag me." In walked Roza pulling a scowling Vanessa. "Geeze, where's the fire?" She stopped, teetering on her gorgeous beige heels and frowned at the growing mound on my bed. "Spring cleaning, honey?"

"Apparently, my clothes are unhappy." I shrugged and nodded in Roza's direction.

"Funeral clothes. All of them." Then she chucked a few more items onto my bed. "She can't catch a man wearing funeral clothes. You," she poked Vanessa in the shoulder, "lend her something or go shopping," she said, with a wave towards the door. "Find sexy clothes. So big, strong man will look at our little Harper," she bellowed and whirled around. Instinctively, I ducked, scared her arm might inadvertently hit me in her frenzy.

Vanessa sighed and walked towards the burgeoning pile where she picked a few items up, checked them over with a critical eye, and dropped them. Next, she swayed to my closet and scrutinized what remained.

By this point sweat trickled down my back as my anxiety took hold. Vanessa's clothes were so high class, I was mortified she was anywhere near mine.

Finally, after rifling through every dismal hanger, she turned, arms crossed and said, "How about a trip to the mall after supper? I'd lend you something, but honey let's face it, you're never gonna stuff your girls into any of my shirts." We both gazed down at my chest. The woman spoke the truth.

"Yes, great idea. I already brought soup. Vanessa, eat," Roza clapped her hands together, making us jump.

"Umm, I sort of ate it," I smiled sheepishly. "Like all of it. It was fantastic---," Roza stared at me, chin gaping open in surprise.

She recovered quickly. "Ok, I go get more soup. Nobody move," she shuffled out in a blur.




"I don't think I'm ready to jump back into the dating world quite yet," I peered up, afraid I offended her. The mall was near dead, which suited me just fine.

Strong but kind arms wrapped around me, "How about you try, ok?" Vanessa's voice was low and soothing. "Just this once, for me and Roza, and all the big-handed men you are so cruelly denying of your company. One time. See how it goes before you make up your mind," she looked right in my eyes. "Give yourself a chance to have fun. Nobody said you have to get married tomorrow. But I'd love to have you as my wingman."

All that sweetness got to me, and the last thing I wanted was to disappoint her, so I nodded my agreement. This earned me another squeeze, and we walked again.

"First stop," she slammed to a halt in front of the lingerie store. Confused, I thought for a moment she was speaking a different language. A few patrons dodged us, giving us dirty looks.

"I've got plenty of under things. We can skip this," I glanced at the fancy pink sign and kept walking.

Vanessa grabbed my arm, "Honey, we need to start from the ground up," her eyes moved from my feet on up. "It's ok to remember you're a woman. We live all day in a man's world. Nothing wrong with wearing something feminine while we do it." Gentle fingers brushed the hair away from my face. "You're a gorgeous, young woman. I think you just forgot for a while." She tilted her head and smiled; but it was a resigned smile, not a happy one. "Well, I think a certain person helped you forget." A single eyebrow raised as she put her hand on my shoulder and leaned in, "A man should make you feel more like a woman, Harper. Not less. Never less," she said with a quick shake of her head. "He's not a real man if he makes you feel less like you. A man who loves you? He wants to hand you the world, not take it away," her eyes wandered wistfully off to the side for a moment. "He makes you appreciate yourself; makes you feel safe to be yourself." I teared up. "That man did a real number on you, sweetie," she sighed. "But you need to realize that you let him. Not all men are like that. Never settle for one who dims your light or tries to hide it. Find someone who lifts you up, to shine brighter." Tears shone in her eyes and I was this close to losing it, too. Instead, I straightened up, wiped under my eyes to catch the escaping tears and turned toward the lingerie store.

Then I decided to walk forward; because no way was I ever going back.