In My Sister's Shoes

Edie bit her bottom lip, her eyes darting over the metal keyboard panel beside the door, fingers trembling as she punched in the seven-digit code. She'd already called the police twice since starting at Pilgrim's Loan Bureau, and each time, the pregnant office manager, Michaela, had been summoned. Another call would mean blowing up her temp spot, and Edie couldn’t afford that—she wanted a permanent position. When the door finally clicked and the lock released, a shudder of relief rippled through her, though the tension still coiled in her chest.

The air conditioner roared to life, drowning out the distant hum of the city simmering under the summer sun. The frigid air sent a violent shiver down her spine. If she had strength, she'd rip the damn thing right out of the wall. It was always too cold here, a sharp contrast to the suffocating Boston heat. This job was far from perfect—icy temperatures, constant scrutiny—but if she played her cards right, it could mean a permanent position, a bigger salary, and no more rice dinners, or cold rice for breakfast. She stretched her paycheck as far as she could.

The door creaked open again, and an angular Black woman, carrying a stack of Homeless Times newspapers, strode in. Her grip on the papers was tight, her gaze focused, determined. The red carpet dulled her footsteps, but her presence filled the room. She must have made up her mind to canvass every floor in the building, pressing forward despite the weight of the newspapers she carried.

Edie plastered an oh-dear-poor-you look on her face. "I'm sorry, no panhandling."

"We make our money by selling this newspaper for donations, which is not panhandling. It keeps me off the streets. Put yourself in my position. Please, can you help a sister out?"

As soon as Edie heard the word sister, she bristled. This woman was not her sister. Nevertheless, she felt her hardness soften. She knew if she could help, she should. It was good karma.

"Here's some change." She offered the woman a handful of nickels and dimes she kept in the top drawer of the reception desk for the vending machine. The woman accepted the coins, slid a paper on the counter, and said, "Have a great day, Sister." before she exited.

Buoyed by the surge of goodwill, Edie felt a lightness she hadn’t known in weeks. A small smile tugged at her lips as she glanced up at the clock on the wall, when her sweater got caught in the silver earring in her left ear.

"Shit!" She couldn't move without ripping her earring out. It had snagged on her sweater. She slid her hand into the drawer and dug for scissors to cut the thread tangled in her earring. She didn't find any. She kept her shoulder to her ear, leaned over, dug in her purse, found a box of matches, lit one, smacked it, and flicked away the ash to reveal a jagged black hole that had extended over her boob.

"Why me!" She smacked her tongue, snatched the sweater over her head, and stripped down to a Bob Marley, One Love black t-shirt. She ducked behind the desk to flip the t-shirt inside out, heart pounding, thankful she had about ten minutes before Tamika and the other lawyers arrived.

Only last week, Tamika had snapped at her about the office dress code. Tamika's knack for pointing out the smallest mistakes kept Edie on edge, made her feel like she was walking on eggshells and not good enough.

Tamika Lacroix arrived at nine, nodded a greeting, and walked in a clip-step to her office. She resurfaced around the mahogany partition, holding at least fifteen folders filled with Post-it notes from the filing cabinets.

"You misfiled these,” She said and dropped the stack of folders with a loud thud.

Edie's skin began to prickle as she searched for an answer, swallowing hard, her annoyance.

"I'm trying. The filing system is complicated, and the phone is always ringing," Edie struggled with finding a voice to counter Tamika's scolding tone.

"I don't want to know why, Edie; find a way. We must work twice as hard to get half the respect, remember that. That’s why I went to law school to command respect. You can’t expect anything just because you’re Black. My family came here from Haiti, both my parents had two jobs."  Tamika showed contempt to those who in her words “expect to get a free ride for being black, but you’re not like that. We’re sisters really.” She said, off-handedly and Edie nearly had an aneurism. She couldn’t believe that Tamika would use that term, sisters. Then she rifled through the files, eager to prove a point. "Lopez-Montes is a home loan, and it needs to be filed in a green folder, not a yellow one."

Edie focused on keeping her gaze on the half-moons of her French manicured nails, glad she had gotten a mani-pedi over the weekend. Tamika went silent. She studied what Edie wore. Edie saw she was staring at the reversed Marley, One Love T-shirt, and her tongue expanded to the size of a loofah sponge, heated, and pounding against the roof of her mouth.

"You know my sister, and you wear about the same size. She's lost a lot of weight. She's throwing some things out, suits and things too big for her now. Would you like me to collect them for you?"

Before Edie could answer, Tamika's piercing brown eyes scanned the reception area. She handed Edie the homeless newspaper, and Edie crushed it into her purse.

"Remember the rule, no panhandling in the office."

"It wasn't panhandling. A homeless Black woman came in earlier this morning." Edie stressed Black, knowing Tamika's sensitivity to the subject.

"It's not a big deal," Tamika said, running her fingers through her long braids. Then, leaning over the desk, she asked, "Should I collect the clothes for you?" Her tone dripped with false generosity, making Edie's stomach turn. Her blood throbbed behind her eyes. Her heart racing, she still was in awe at how Tamika had a way of turning every interaction into a sprung trap.

"You should think about joining our annual company run," Tamika continued, her voice sickly sweet. "I'll bring you my sister's old running shoes since you probably don't have a pair."

"No, you're right. I don't. I'm a six-an-a-half.  What size does your sister wear?"

"I don't know. I'll bring them to you." However, she didn’t bring the shoes over the next month. On race day, Tamika finally brought her sister's worn running shoes and dumped them on the desk.

"They're size nine," Tamika said smugly.

"They'll fit like clown shoes, if you were going to set me up to fail, you shouldn’t have asked me to join the run!” Edie said, unable to hold back her frustration and the disappointment. She’d put up with Tamika’s condescension for three months and this was just another example of her disdain for others.

"Just, put some newspaper in them." Tamika waved her hand dismissively, then left. As everyone left the office to prepare for the race, Edie steeled herself for what she knew would be her final day at the temp job. She was done groveling, done enduring Tamika's constant put-downs. It was time to take back her dignity.

Edie bought a stack of Homeless Times newspapers from “the homeless sister” who was again canvassing the building. She took them into Tamika's office and covered the surface of her desk with them. Then she examined the motivational wall poster that read, Be a Bridge, and took a Sharpie and drew a black stick figure jumping off the suspension bridge. She picked up the oversized shoes, letting them twist by their laces, and threw them up in the air, they caught and swung on the light fixture in Tamika’s office. Satisfied with her revenge, she changed out of her pencil skirt and blouse into the company’s purple t-shirt and shorts, pairing them with her navy pumps.

At the city race’s starting line, Edie joined the Pilgrim’s team of runners and stood next to Tamika. Edie smiled as Tamika’s eyebrows shot up, taking in her ensemble.

“Have a great day, Sister, “Edie said and got ready to take off letting her rage fuel her. She didn't expect to win, but she would run her race on her own terms.