The Pastel Lady

A Short Story

Written By Alyssa Quinlan

“They weren’t kidding when they said life isn’t fair,” a long exaggerated sigh escaped the pursued lips of Ceil Flaherty, masking the essence of vanity. The solemn frown that she wore upon her porcelain face, seemed odd and out of place against her usual conscience self. Her dirty-blonde hair lay damp and stringy against the soft cashmere of her new scarf. The earthy beige color of its material seemed to bring out the cold brown of her eyes, which straddled a decently upturned nose. The slightest appearance of wrinkles made their way to her pale forehead, creasing over in tiny waves.

As she gazed towards the approaching bus, her heart sank with dread and embarrassment, and strangers lingered at her elbows. The unfairness of her situation continued to tear over in her self-absorbed mind, as she contemplated her misfortune. The previous night had brought forth chaos after the young girl’s car was demolished in an accident. This particular incident left her without a “decent” source of transportation, forcing her to access the public bus on her shopping adventure.

It isn’t my fault the stupid deer ran into my car! The darn thing came flyin’ outta nowhere and now I have to suffer! While ascending the bus stairs she mumbled to herself ever so quietly in disgust, “stupid deer…” and then proceeded to pay her bus fare.

Filing through the rows of seats, Ceil landed in a nearby corner, carefully arranging her possessions about her, all the while maintaining her air of disgust. The bus quickly jerked to a start in haste to commence its journey onward down the streets of Brookwood, Pennsylvania. Other matters continued to consume Ceil’s mind, even the trivial matter of a loose fingernail seemed to perplex her. Glancing down at the slender hand within her lap, she discovered that the jagged edge of her pinky nail was nearly severed from the rest of the nail. Wincing slightly at the sight, the creases in her forehead easily returned, but this time in a different context. After poking at it for a brief time, her attention was then directed elsewhere towards the front of the bus.

After coming to a complete stop, one particular woman made an error as she attempted to locate a seat. Believing that the seat diagonal from Ceil was unoccupied, this unknown woman began to sit down before realizing the presence of a young boy in that very seat. Quickly apologizing for her own rudeness the woman found an alternate route, although clearly embarrassed by her actions. Walking away with a warm and rosy complexion, this unfamiliar woman opened Ceil’s eyes to a hidden treasure.

This young treasure continued to conceal himself further and further into the worn leather of his seat. Attempting to camouflage himself from unwanted stares, the youth was dressed in tattered gray slacks, and an overcoat, which had once been black, but now hung a somber gray to match the gray of his pants. Consumed in a meek filth the boy sat at least ten years of age, but no more than twelve. His pale fingers clutched a small knapsack that weaved patterns of various brown cloths. This same brown color that lay embedded in his hands mirrored the dirt brown of his shoes, which swung daintily back and forth inches from the hard surface of the bus floor. Frayed laces mixed into this coarse material and hung miserable and forgotten, brushing the surface below in a rhythmic pattern. Throughout this constant motion he never once let go of the worn garment within his grasp, but rather clung to it with the Jaws of Life. It was almost as if the world might stop if he loosened his grip, and he dared not try and see.

Ceil soon realized that she had been staring far too long at the boy to her left, absorbed by the same common air that lent to his seemingly invisible self. If his firm hold upon the bag remained throughout the rest of the bus ride, Ceil took no notice. Occupying her mind once more with her troubled nail, she frowned with simple displeasure, as tree after tree blurred past her window frame. Soon enough this cycle of evergreen came to a halt and Ceil found herself breathing a sigh of relief. Gathering her possessions around her once more, she quickly exited the bus in the same manner of disgust that consumed her when she entered.

Eager to begin her shopping, Ceil maneuvered quickly through the crowds of people, blind to everyone around her, and focused in her own separate world. Repeatedly peering into window after window, Ceil made her way along the congested streets. Leisurely observing the handmade trinkets that one store had to offer; she casually entered beneath a sign that read, “The Yellow Jasmine.” Pushing her weight unto the metal door a soft clamor of bells rang above her head, announcing her presence.

Immediately the bittersweet scent of vanilla and peppermint engulfed her and an array of overpriced objects that lined the shelves. Ceil roamed through shelves littered with votive candles, jewelry, hand craved figurines, incense, lip balm, exquisite candy and much more that escaped her eyes.

A slight trace of boredom was creeping into her mind, along with thoughts of leaving this clustered shop, until her eyes came to linger on a pleasing display of outwear. Intricate patterns of yarn and cotton interlaced to form a collection of scarves, mittens, hats and gloves. As she delicately ran her fingers over the colorful garments, they hovered slightly above a pair of green and white mittens. Not bothering to glance at the $30 price tag that accompanied the pair, Ceil maneuvered her way to the end of the line. Three others stood in front of the young blonde, also anxiously waiting to make their purchases. Overtaken with impatience Ceil tapped her foot to the sound of music playing softly within the walls of the store. The line advanced and then quickly stopped as some confusion arose between the sales clerk and the second women ahead of Ceil.

This women, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, also seemed to having difficulty paying for the items on the desk. Becoming irritable and flustered, she stubbornly insisted that her credit card was still valid.

“If you could just try it one more time, I’m sure it will work,” the women pleaded.

“I’ve already run it through four times ma’am. I’m sorry, I can’t accept it, but if you have any other forms of payment…” The older man behind the counter looked genuinely sorry, yet somewhat impatient at the same time. He handed the hopeless card back to its owner while glancing nervously at the mounting line of customers. Shaking her head vigorously from side to side she scooped up her purse and the useless piece of plastic before rushing out the store. Shocked by the women’s public display, Ceil marveled to herself, wondering why people are so unprepared for situations such as these.

It’s a shame, but she may have deserved it nonetheless. Meanwhile the line lurched forward and the person ahead of Ceil paid for their purchases with ease. Approaching the sales desk in a nonchalant manner she made petty conversation with the older gentleman before handing over the mittens. With her hands free she began rummaging through her purse in search of her wallet only to find lip-gloss and Kleenex. Immediately her heart experienced dominant gravity, as it reeled to the pit of her stomach in one quick action.

Realizing that she must’ve left her wallet at home, Ceil’s pale skin soon turned crimson red as her cheekbones flushed with color. The utter possibility of being unable to pay for such a small item was horrifying to this spoiled child. The complete embarrassment that the other women had recently suffered now came back to haunt her. Determined not to leave this shop without paying, Ceil dug her freshly manicured hands into the tight pockets of her jeans. Offering up a weak smile to the elderly salesman, she made a final effort to escape from this unbearable shame. After thoroughly checking each pocket, she managed to retrieve a total of twenty dollars, the leftovers from her bus fare. Instantly certain of her success, Ceil proudly displayed her discovery on the countertop. Handing it over to the polite gentleman. All her worries were washed from shore and she stood quite content allowing some of the color to wash away from her cheeks as well. The man then gave her a rather puzzled look, staring into the eager brown of her eyes before opening up his tired mouth to speak.

“Sorry hun, you’re short ten dollars. These here are thirty dollar mittens, and you only got twenty.” Launched into a scene all to familiar, the worn man had done his duty and now prepared for the reaction.

Instantly the rosy color returned full force, and the waves came crashing in from high tide. Quiet murmurs and rustlings echoed in the background, others experiencing her own impatience, wondering when and if it would ever cease. Looking about in a panic, Ceil searched for something in her desperation, though not really sure what. Meanwhile, tiny creases appeared once again above her brow, and heavy moisture clung to the cotton of her shirt. Nearly all hope had drained from her body when Ceil felt a feeble tap at her right shoulder.

“Excuse me, but I believe you may have dropped this on your way in.” Amidst all the tension, Ceil spun around to face a small woman old enough to be her grandmother. Lined in pastel pink, the stranger’s lips slowly curled up into a smile revealing a yellow grin of false teeth. The piercing blue of her eyes winked up at Ceil behind thick-rimmed glasses, as she motioned toward the ten-dollar bill in her wrinkled hand.

Staring down at this odd character before her, Ceil remained dumbfounded, and words failed to form upon her lips. Ceil was almost certain that she hadn’t dropped any money, and the woman was simply acting out of generosity, but she paused anyhow. Hovering for a moment, Ceil smiled and accepted the money greatly, though with much hesitation. Silently questioning the woman’s motive, she thought of returning the money, but her shame conquered in the end.

Equally relieved, the sales clerk also accepted the remaining money, and finalized the exchange. Taking her new purchase in one hand and the receipt in the other, Ceil quickly bound out the door without thanking the “pastel lady” or even looking at another soul. Pushing her way through the door once again, the series of bells that had once welcomed her now rang a song of dismissal and annoyance.

Making her way through the throng of people outside, Ceil decided to put an end to this dreadfully short trip and begin the journey home. After stopping at a local bank along the way to extract money for her passage home, she rushed to the nearest bus stop. Mingling with strangers once again, Ceil was able to look back at the last hour in complete dismay. What shocked her most of all wasn’t her stupidity, but the kindness and generosity that the “pastel lady” had displayed. Ceil had never witnessed such humanity first-hand, and was now left with a blessed feeling, much like the feeling of sight.

The overwhelming feeling continued to consume her, as she mounted the bus stairs. At first she was almost too engrossed in her own thoughts to noticed the familiar boy who now stood in front of her. The “invisible boy” who first shared the bus ride with her earlier, still clung to his brown knapsack and looked no different close up than from her diagonal view moments earlier.

This time a single hand clutched the bag, while the other helplessly roamed his pockets for loose change. Sensing his weak state of embarrassment and the reality of a familiar situation, Ceil eagerly came forward. Bringing out enough money for two she handed it to the driver saying, “don’t worry, he’s with me.” A look of bewilderment followed the young boy back to his original seat and then he too was at a loss for words. Parking herself down in the seat beside him, she silenced his efforts with a smile. Glimpsing down at her pinky nail she observed that it was no longer awkward, but still lay extremely shorter than normal. She then turned to face her new friend.

“Hi, my name’s Ceil. What’s your name?” His soft green eyes lit up with the simplicity of the question. Still astounded by the sudden act of charity, the youth fumbled with his tongue for a second time before answering.

“My name’s Jessie.”

“Well Jessie, it’s nice to meet you.” Extending a warm hand to greet him, Jessie willfully grasped the textured material of her new green and white mittens, thrilled at the prospect of friendship. Smiling to herself yet again, Ceil knew in her heart that the “pastel lady” would’ve been proud.