The Window Read Free

"What do you expect me to do with it?"
    I don't mean to be rude, but I know from Gabriel's answer that's how I've sounded.
    "I expect, Mandy, that you'll use it to buy what you need, that you'll save some, that you'll pay your way when you do things with friends." His voice lightens up. "Pitch in gas money, maybe, if you go somewhere."
    Is this man for real? What friends does he imagine?
    I want to tell Uncle Gabriel I don't need his allowance, but I keep my mouth shut. A person doesn't turn down money.

    Two days later we all drive to town so I can get some clothes to start school in.
    The uncles drop Aunt Emma and me off at the department store end of a mall, saying they're going to check on some motor repairs and will pick us up when we're done. "What do you want?" Gabriel asks. "Half an hour or so?"
    "A couple of hours at least," Aunt Emma says. "And bring the checkbook back. Why don't you meet us about noon in the coat department?"
    She's laughing as we go in. "Half an hour! Isn't that just like a man, Mandy?"
    She steers me across an echoing, perfume-smelling place and into an elevator, where a woman greets her by name.
    "Anne, this is my grandniece, Mandy," Emma says.
    I don't have any idea if I'm being introduced to a clerk or a friend or what. I say hi and someplace inside hear the voices of a dozen teachers saying, "Speak up, Mandy."
    I expect Emma to say, "Speak up, Mandy," but she doesn't. Instead, she tells how we're going to the junior department. She makes it sound like the most exciting thing she's ever done.
    Then we're getting out of the elevator, which hasn't stopped quite flush with the floor. I stumble, and this woman, Anne, grabs my arm. She says, "Let me help," and she's pulling me forward before I can get my bearings again. When I try to shake off her hand, she grips me harder.
    "I don't need your help," I say. "Let me go." I can hear that I'm too loud.
    There's a moment of embarrassed silence, a tiny "Well..." from the woman, not angry exactly but uncertain. Then she's saying good-bye, and good shopping, and telling Emma she'll talk to her later. I bet.
    I expect Emma to scold me for being rude, but she just says, "This way."
    We seem to be the only ones shopping in juniors, I suppose because it's a school morning. Aunt Emma asks what kind of things I like, but I've hardly started to tell her when a clerk comes up and takes over.
    "This is my niece," Aunt Emma says, "my grandniece," like it matters who I am. "We're here for school clothes."
    "What size is she?" asks the clerk.
    "I'm an eight," I say.
    "Does she like pants or skirts?"
    "Ask me," I say. "I'm the one who will wear them."
    And then, to my horror, tears well up.
    "Want to get a cola and try this later?" Aunt Emma asks.
    "No," I say, "now."
    "Look," says the clerk, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." and then Aunt Emma's smoothing things over and pretty soon I'm in a dressing room.
    I stand there while the clerk brings in things and holds them up to me. She says, "See how this fits," or "Navy's not your color."
    There's so much I want to know.... I mean, clothes matter. I feel the tops of collars, try to picture how a neckline is. Where a hem is hitting my legs. Everything seems long, and I say so.
    "I can call in the seamstress, but of course that's an extra charge," says the clerk.
    "We can take them up at home," Aunt Emma says.
    I'm happiest with the jeans—jeans fit or they don't, and you don't need eyes to tell. And with one blouse, the material feels like air between my fingers and I hear Aunt Emma catch her breath when she sees it on me. Or maybe she's gasping at the price tag. Nobody talks about what anything costs, but the blouse feels expensive.
    Shopping does take until noon, between the junior department and shoes. I'm picking out a jacket when my uncles arrive.
    Uncle Gabriel pays for it all, and I wonder if I should offer to give back the money he gave me, but I can't find a moment when it feels right to ask. This is the first