White Aprons

Chapter 4

Dust flits about the as if they were fairies, and the sun warmly shines on my back. What a beautiful day to have some time off.

I take my time passing through all the tiny shops, and make sure to stop and peek into a window or two. I stop at a newly shined glass display window that holds beautiful intricately designed dolls. I press my hands against the glass with my nose on the cool surface and clear away the fog my breath has made. My eyes dart back and forth, noting each and every small detail about the frail figures. How exquisite they are. They remind me of the castle girl. Small and delicate, yet so perfectly brought up. So perfectly designed.

I sigh, as after all my staring, I failed to notice the huge sign with the prices. My heart sinks, and quite frankly, I don't know why. I knew I wouldn't be able to afford it no matter how I wished. I finger the four coins in my pocket, three silver and one gold. I couldn't even buy a pencil from this place. Even so, my eyes still dart from doll to doll, eyeing them carefully. All of a sudden, a sweet warm smell wafts through the air, and I turn my neck to get a whif. I smile. Who would have thought bread would smell so good.

I make my way through the thick crowds of this Sunday afternoon, and let my nose lead the way. The smell gets stronger and stronger until finally I see a banged up wooden stall, with a man wrapping a loaf of what looks like dutch bread into a brown paper bag. I walk over and stand behind a woman in a worn out gray dress, her elbows locking with three small children. The children eye the bread eagerly, and hop from foot to foot, very anxious to get their treats. The woman is carrying two very heavy looking bags, filled to the brim with groceries. Her face looks more run down than her dress, but whenever one of her children smile to her, she quickly changes her expression. This warms my heart and makes it ache all together. The poor woman still manages to keep a smile on her face, even though she is clearly struggling. I step forward.

"Hi," I say with a smile, then shifting my head to the children so they can see it too. "Would you like some help with that?" I motion to the bags, but one of the children steps in front and I quickly clarify.

"The groceries, I mean." The woman smiles and nods, carefully handing me one of the bags. I cradle the bag with my elbows and lean it against my chest, careful to not let any of the contents spill. I look at the grateful woman, who now steps forward to collect the small pastries for the children.

This woman reminds me not of the dolls I saw in the expensive store earlier, but of dolls in a store I saw a while back in one of my old jobs. The shop was half eaten by termites and the windows were dusty with cobwebs dangling from the corners. The display casing was covered in a thin layer of dirt and had patches of clear spots from where people used a sleeve to wipe away some of the residue. The dolls sat in an uneven row with their small fingers placed on their lace dresses. Even though some were missing fingers here and there, or were chipped and dusty, still they looked out of place in the worn down shop. They managed to sit there beautifully, flaws and all, in a shabby window case. This woman is like this. Maybe she is missing a few fingers in her life and her paint is chipped and peeling, but still she smiles through it all. Even if she is sat in a dirty window case. I'm just glad I used my sleeve to wipe some of the muck on the glass away.

The woman takes back her bag after she readjusts her positioning with her items. She whispers a soft thank you and makes her way down along the twisting alleys, her children skipping next to her, mouths stuffed with pastries.

I watch until they all disappear around a corner, when I realize it is my turn in line. I step forward to get a closer look at the menu, and my mind settles seeing the well affordable prices. I tap my finger against my chin and finally decide on a golden brown croissant hiding under a jelly pastry. The man wraps it in wax brown paper as I slide two silver coins across the rough wood counter. The man picks up the coins with his dirty fingernails and hands me the croissant. I gradually take it, noting how the warmth of the dough leaves dampened marks on the light brown wax paper.

I make my way through the market once again and this time come across a stand selling paints and brushes. It is named, Wands for the Artist. I walk over to the stall and pick up one of the brushes placed in a rusty tin can baking in the afternoon sun. I move the smoothe thistles back and forth across my hand and a small scraggly man with thin arms and a prickly mustache behind the cart smiles to me.

"You seem to like that one, don't 'cha?" He says in a nasally voice. I nod, not stopping the movement of the brush.

"I'll tell you what, I'll give it to ya for two golds." I stare at him and think about his offer.

"I got one gold," I say, clutching my leftover silver.

"Deal."

I walk round and round the market place, still fingering my single silver coin. I flip it up in the air and complete yet another turn around market. I stop and sigh, slipping my hand into my pocket to make sure my brush is still there. I finished my croissant and I lick my lips, trying to savor the buttery saltiness of it. Where to now? I still have some time before I have to go back.

I shrug, and continue walking aimlessly around till I hear a gasp. I stop and turn around, but everyone seems calm. I hear it yet again and this time notice a small alleyway hiding behind some underbrush of the tanned brick building it lays next to. I look around cautiously, then push aside the tangled leaves. I step into the mysterious shadows and the noisy sounds from the market muffle behind me. A breeze sweeps over my body and I shiver. I turn yet another corner and see a group of small children and teens sitting cross-legged on the cobblestone floor in a semicircle. I look up and gasp silently. Then a smile creeps across my face. I obscurely slip into the crowd of ragged children and blend in perfectly. I sit down on the cool stones and tilt my head slightly upwards. A Teller with a story is always easy to find when you are ready to listen.