Workforce Development

It started with a pair of boots.
The shoes were on the window display, staring at me with those silver eyelets, begging me to play with them like a puppy at the pet store.
They were normal looking boots, at best. They had been loved passionately before. The laces went all the way up the shoe, a little past the ankle, and they had a slight heel. The tongue hissed at me like a snake behind the glass.
I had been here before, dozens of times. It was a little consignment shop where people bought and sold gently used clothing. My favorite gray t-shirt was from here, but suddenly the soft fabric was no match for what a find these boots were. They were beautiful.
I hesitantly pushed open the door and the bell went off. Did I want to give the mocking shoes the satisfaction of giving in to their allure?
“Marissa, I still don’t know why you shop here.” My friend Jax wrinkled her nose as we stepped into the place. It smelled like new cars mixed with blueberry pop tarts.
Of course Jax didn’t understand why I shopped here. My striking friend was dressed in a perfectly fitting jade green J-Crew sweater and craftily torn up 7 For All Mankind jeans. Her fawn colored Uggs cost the same amount as her professionally applied highlights. The whole ensemble was charged to her dad’s credit card. The only reason I knew all this was because I was there with her while the damage was done last weekend.
“Those boots are perfect and you know it.” I replied, cautiously approaching the windowsill.
“They’re used shoes, Marissa. We’re not talking about a handbag or even a dress. People had them on their feet. Gross.”
I loved my best friend, but sometimes Jax could get annoying. We met when we were six and our parents put us in a therapy group for children of divorce. It was a way for our parents to start their lives again, and avoid explaining why mommy and daddy didn’t love each other anymore. First grade me responded remarkably well to the divorce of my parents (my dad loved guys, not girls). I remember going to summer camp that summer and telling my camp friends what it meant to be gay. Needless to say, my camp counselors were not amused. Jax, on the other hand, carried on in therapy session after therapy session. Jax was born in England, and her family had just moved to California for her father’s job. Mrs. Baxter then caught Mr. Baxter with his blonde, young, American secretary when she went to bring him lunch one day, and voila! Jax chose to live with her dad, while I chose to live with my mom. But anyway, ever since Dr. Warner’s, we’d been inseparable.
“Marissa! Doing any damage today?” Dragon, the multi-pierced salesgirl called from behind the counter. I called her Dragon because I didn’t know her real name, but she had a tattoo of a dragon on her wrist. For some reason, Dragon knew my name. Jax always bitched about how she should be fired for not wearing a nametag.
“I have my eye on those boots.” I admitted, still several feet away from them. It was then that it occurred to me that they probably weren’t even my size. I had a size ten foot, which made it impossible to shoe shop.
“Try ‘em.” Dragon replied, not looking up from her Gameboy. Jax and I were the only people in the store, but I wasn’t expecting the salesgirl to get off her ass at my expense. I always felt bad for people who worked in stores and had to deal with people all day.
“Do it.” Jax rolled her eyes, getting impatient.
“I don’t know…” I said slowly, “what if they don’t fit?”
“What if they do?” Jax argued back, “If you don’t try them on, it’s gonna bother you for the rest of the week, and you know it.”
Stuff like that was the exact reason why I kept Jax around. She knew me better than I knew myself sometimes.
I watched as Jax grabbed the boots off the window display and thrust them at me. They were really buttery soft to the touch and the laces, which looked green outside, appeared to be gold now. Those boots were even better up close.
“They’re size eight.” I shook my head and tossed them back to her, pretending not to be tragically disappointed at the embossed “8” on the bottom of the boot.
“Sometimes they run a little big.” Dragon offered passively. This was a lie. If anything, boots ran small, which is why I never actually owned a pair.
“Just try them, you twat!” Jax sighed loudly. Her British-ness came out when she was getting pissed.
“Okay, okay.” I replied, not wanting to get into a two-hour argument over a pair of shoes. I slid off my 5-dollar slip on tennis shoe and loosened the boot. There was no way they would fit.
They fit.
My foot went right into the boot as if they were made to be together. I silently laced them up and rotated my foot, admiring their beauty.
“They fit!” Jax cried, the most excited I’d ever seen her in a thrift store.
“They’re fabulous.” I grinned.
“They cost ten bucks.” Dragon called from across the store. She had ditched the Gameboy and had started making a green and black friendship bracelet.
“Holy shit. What a deal.” Jax shook my arm, ”Get them right now, Marissa.”
“I don’t know…” I trailed, fidgeting with my sneaker.
“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’? They’re ten bucks and you love them! This should be the happiest day of your life!” she snapped, “You never buy anything. You have a credit care, Issa. Swipe!”
“Next time” I pulled off the boot and placed it back on the windowsill.
“I don’t know what your problem is.” Jax sighed, “Can we go to the mall now? I wanna hit Bloomies before all of the high school kids ransack the place.”
Jax and I had only graduated six months ago, yet she had already adopted a resentful attitude towards all of the high schoolers in town. Almost everybody except for us had went on to Ivy League schools, but we both opted for community college. I know, I know. At the time, Jax was seriously dating this skater guy Andre, who was a year older. Even though she planned on moving back to the UK and attending Oxford her entire life, Andre convinced her to attend SFCC with him. Of course they broke up in August and by then it was too late for Oxford to accept Jax.
As for me, I graduated high school with a 3.5 and good SAT scores, but I decided to stay here and go to SFCC with Jax, my only friend from school. I also felt bad about possibly leaving my single mother at home alone to fend for herself. She had her breakfast dates with her girlfriends, and occasionally went out with a guy from eHarmony, but other than that I was her social life. She owned her own bakery and coffee shop right by our house, but refused to let me help her out there even on the busiest of days. She was such a hard worker and without me she’d break.
My very ambitious, very gay father was living in Paris right now with his life partner, Jacque, where they owned a lux hotel in the city of lights. He was loaded, and sent my mother and I way more than enough to get by. I heard from him occasionally and went to see him last summer. I wasn’t angry at my dad for ditching America to sample the Parisian lifestyle. Jacque and dad were good for each other. I was happy if he was happy.
Jax and my families were both very financially well-off, but while she went bananas every time she went into a store, I had a massive guilt complex the size of the Hummer my mom tried to buy me for graduation. I didn’t like spending my parent’s money, which meant my closet was the size of a mini fridge and I dressed like a struggling artist. It was a wonder Jax wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with me.
She refused to let the boots thing go for the entire day. Eventually, after a few hours in the Bloomingdales lingerie department, I told Jax that I had an essay to write for English 101 and that I’d see her in school tomorrow.