Yellow Birthday Cake Dress

My earliest childhood memories are of me being in my mother's convenience store when I was about 5 years old. I was a small child with the standard haircut for 5-year old Chinese girls: a straight chin-length cut with one and half inch bangs. I cringe now at the thought of it.

At that time, that convenient store was my mother's life and so it genetically became mine as well. I didn't mind then because I wasn't old enough to do anything but I do recall filling up the soda machines when they were low and me and my sister would imagine we were scanning the sodas like at the grocery store scanners at the register as we passed them to each other.

I do remember being on loss prevention patrol though. That wasn't as fun as filling up the sodas because I was self conscience and didn't like people not liking me and of course they can tell I'm watching them needlessly so that would make them not like me. Oh, mom, do I have to? But off I would go, my little 5-year old body in green overalls and ponytails standing there in the middle of the store, the eyes and ears of the whole operation. If you wanna steal anything, buster, ya gotta get past me, ya hear! Go ahead and try. Make my day...

So there I stood with my back to the wall watching a group of teenagers that had come in from after school. That after school bunch can get rowdy, I tell ya what. They were looking at the wide selection of candy because our store did have the best offering of candy in the entire metropolitan area. Then one black girl turned around and saw me watching them.

"Look at that little girl watching us, who do she think she is?"
"She think we stealing!"
"What's she gonna do if we do?"
"Man, that's messed up. If I wanted to steal something, I'd shove this in her face and run out the door!"

The last girl who spoke picked up a candy bar and came up to me. She waved it in my face. I could remember feeling the plastic brush across my nose. Was I scared that she would kill me with this candy bar? Maybe, I was only 5 and many things can kill a 5-year old's spirit. The girl then proceeded to pretend to run out the door, but nonchalantly walked back up to the counter and paid for the chocolate.

The bastard children walked out laughing, the jangling door chimes echoing behind them.

I didn't resume breathing until they were long gone across the street and into the field. I looked at my mom but she was busy with other customers.

The burning tears welled up in my throat.

"Mom, I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

She smiled and said ok absent-mindedly. "Is this all for you today, Mr. Parish?"

I sat in the back room for two hours before anyone came looking for me.

My mother was one of those ladies who considered their human babies to be novel dolls to be dressed up in whatever fancy they pleased. One day as I sat quietly on the orange plaid chair staring at the customers as they went by, I found myself in a yellow birthday cake dress. It was a fluffy lemon yellow meringue of a dress. Layers and layers of scratchy lace and ribbon. I even think there were tiny yellow roses embroidered on the collar.

But to my 5-year old mind, this was elegant. I didn't know any better. I was used to my mother's home-made creations that were made from thin, ugly colored material (usually avacado green or a flat burgundy). So this store-bought beauty was the highlight of my day.

I remember feeling much like a barbie doll. I had a whole collection of those. But how could I look like the barbies? I looked at Barbie #1 with the glossy blonde hair and long legs and look back at my stumpy 5-year old trunks. Glancing over at Barbie #2, I wasn't any closer to physical looks with her amber waves and hefty bosom. Ok, so a five year old's imagination can override reaity. That's the beauty of that age, no?

Then I remember how that sunny day dampened into a grey, rainy mess. A customer, I cannot recollect if it was a man or a woman, but that doesn't matter, comes up to the counter to purchase their can sodas and cigarillos and looks at me. They smile and look back at my mother ringing up their total purchase. "Is that a boy or a girl?"

I stare wide eyed with embarassment and can feel my face getting hot as the blood rushes to my cheeks. I pop off the chair and run to the back kitchen to hide from the spectators who couldn't decipher my gender. How horrifying!! To be on cloud nine, feeling like Princess Lemon Meringue and then knocked down to an androgynous dwarf dressed in yellow rags.

For Christ sakes, I was five years old in a fluffy yellow dress not a one month old infant. My ego scarred, I looked around at the familiar back room that had been my sanctuary for many occasions. I wondered how long it would take for that ignorant customer to realize their folly and then come crawling back on their hands and knees asking for forgiveness. I would sit in my throne as they groveled at my feet and look away. "Off with his head."

But of course that didn't happen and I lived to see many more days that would force me to that back room of my mother's store. I'm much wiser now in my adulthood and with a thicker skin. And my mom no longer dresses me so that's good. It just makes me realize how silly people are when they talk to children. I still see my mom behind that same counter with the same manual cash register asking Mr. Parish, "Is that going to be all for you today?"