The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [148]
Mick turned sideways in the seat so that she could cross her legs. There was a run in her stocking. It had started while she was walking to work and she had spit on it Then later the run had gone farther and she had stuck a little piece of chewing-gum on the end. But even that didn’t help. Now she would have to go home and sew. It was hard to know what she could do about stockings. She wore them out so fast Unless she was the kind of common girl that would wear cotton stockings.
She oughtn’t to have come in here. The bottoms of her shoes were clean worn out. She ought to have saved the twenty cents toward a new half-sole. Because if she kept on standing on a shoe with a hole in it what would happen? A blister would come on her foot. And she would have to pick it with a burnt needle. She would have to stay home from work and be fired.
And then what would happen? ‘Here you are,’ said Mister Brannon. ‘But I never heard of such a combination before.’
He put the sundae and the beer on the table. She pretended to clean her fingernails because if she noticed him he would start talking. He didn’t have this grudge against her any more, so he must have forgotten about the pack of gum. Now he always wanted to talk to her. But she wanted to be quiet and by herself. The sundae was O.K., covered all over with chocolate and nuts and cherries. And the beer was relaxing. The beer had a nice bitter taste after the ice cream and it made her drunk. Next to music beer was best.
But now no music was in her mind. That was a funny thing. It was like she was shut out from the inside room. Sometimes a quick little tune would come and go--but she never went into the inside room with music like she used to do. It was like she was too tense. Or maybe because it was like the store took all her energy and time. Woolworth’s wasn’t the same as school.
When she used to come home from school she felt good and was ready to start working on the music. But now she was always tired. At home she just ate supper and slept and then ate breakfast and went off to the store again. A song she had started in her private notebook two months before was still not finished. And she wanted to stay in the inside room but she didn’t know how. It was like the inside room was locked somewhere away from her. A very hard thing to understand.
Mick pushed her broken front tooth with her thumb. But she did have Mister Singer’s radio. All the installments hadn’t been paid and she took on the responsibility. It was good to have something that had belonged to him. And maybe one of these days she might be able to set aside a little for a second-hand piano. Say two bucks a week. And she wouldn’t let anybody touch this private piano but her--only she might teach George little pieces. She would keep it in the back room and play on it every night. And all day Sunday. But then suppose some week she couldn’t make a payment. So then would they come to take it away like the little red bicycle? And suppose like she wouldn’t let them.
Suppose she hid the piano under the house. Or else she would meet them at the front door. And fight. She would knock down both the two men so they would have shiners and broke noses and would be passed out on the hall floor.
Mick frowned and rubbed her fist hard across her forehead.
That was the way things were. It was like she was mad all the time. Not how a kid gets mad quick so that soon it is all over--but in another way. Only there was nothing to be mad at.
Unless the store. But the store hadn’t asked her to take the job.
So there was nothing to be mad at. It was like she was cheated. Only nobody had cheated her. So there was nobody to take it out on. However, just the same she had that feeling.