her closet runs a size larger than it’s meant to. it’s the way she was brought up, mother always bringing home dresses for girls twelve and up when she’s only eight. you’ll grow into it, mother promises, secures the sash around her waist in a tighter bow so the dress doesn’t completely swallow her form. the thing about growing up with habits is you don’t question if it’s normal. you simply believe it to be so, chalk it up to some shared experience when the shoe flies off your foot as you’re walking down the sidewalk. that is to say, kang nara only knows herself to grow, to always be challenged with fitting into bigger shoes and even then, bigger still. she doesn’t know what it means to have her shoes fit her the way it’s meant to. to come as she is.
suppose it’s why the lady gets to her. the customer hassles her colleague for an expired discount and nara stamps her feet to the ground. a minute later, and the lady resorts to yelling. to mocking nara’s authority in what she sees as a dead-end job. to pointing out all the ways in which her clothes don’t fit. and suppose she’s right. because kang nara may have a bright future ahead of her, but the thing about the future is it isn’t set in stone. it’s a finish line that’s always shifting. it’s big shoes that’s constantly growing. and no matter what nara claims to have, all that she really has is this: this dead-end job in a mall.
now it’s ten minutes past the end of her shift and she’s sitting in the back trying to hold in her tears. the specks of mascara on the hem of her sleeve lets her know she’s failed. there’s a voice in the back of her head reminding her that nabi’s waiting for her somewhere, but she can’t bring herself to get up and walk. so she gives herself five more minutes, and five more minutes after that, and she doesn’t move from her spot until she hears the door open. and maybe it’s instinct from all the years she’s dealt with her sister barging in on her after an argument with their mom, to know that it’s nabi without having to see her. “nabi, just uh…” nara keeps her back to her, places the back of her hand over her nose as she sniffles, “just give me five minutes. i’ll be out in a sec.”
MY SISTER'S KEEPER / @wingspin
