circular staircase

Face hot from tears that she refused to show, Aliyah rolled silverware into paper napkins. She could not get angry, no one could see her lose her cool. HomeSpun was a casual eating franchise in WhitLawn Heights Shopping Centre. The “centre” spelling showed this shopping area was upscale. Only high end salons, luxury boutiques, and Restoration Hardware expensive level name brand stores were here.

HomeSpun was for families with young kids who liked the retro toys and pricy penny candy and grandmas who liked the old-timey country CDs and ornaments in the attached gift shop. The fare was faux soul food: collard greens, catfish, pork chops, chicken and biscuits, all under-seasoned but okay. Tin signs galore, the decor had a Southern porch vibe.

For Aliyah, HomeSpun was terrific tips and health benefits. She’d worked in food service for years beginning at age fifteen at McDonald’s. She’s seen her share of crap diners and fast food restaurants. Now she was working her way through grad school. HomeSpun meant she could take care of her daughter and go to school. She swallowed her anger and focused on the spoons, forks, and knives.

“Allie, Kenny is a good guy really. He just has an offbeat sense of humor. Maybe you’re a little sensitive, a little too sensitive.”

The memory of her manager’s words turned her anger into a razor sharp wire in her belly twisting and twisting. Smiling, Aliyah had nodded reassuredly as Stacey asked if Aliyah thought she was fitting into the HomeSpun family.

She needed this job. Her kid would lose her place in the good daycare. Her car needed repairs. Their new apartment was safe and close to her school. So Aliyah remembered to say ask instead of axe, to speak proper, to keep her long hair pin straight. But most importantly, Aliyah knew at HomeSpun she could never be pissed, annoyed, cold, standoffish, resentful, irritated, aggravated, agitated, or mildly miffed. Aliyah practiced her brightest smile in a pair of spoons.

Ken was another server. He’d worked at HomeSpun for years. It started with Ken’s questions about her hair. Playfully Ken asked her the usual none of your business if you care so much google it question, was her hair real, black girls can’t have long hair. Playfully he started referring to her hair as horse hair. Playfully he threatened to pull her wig off. Aliyah didn’t play.

Next came the touching. Ken would run his fingers through her ponytail. He would tug her apron strings. He was always playful. Aliyah cheerfully told him to stop. He didn’t.

One night at the end of shift, Ken yanked her ponytail. Serious face and even voice, Aliyah told him to stop touching her. Ken said he would stop for a taste of brown sugar. Aliyah asked him if he had lost his goddamn mind. Suddenly he was in her personal space. Trying to steal a kiss, Ken pushed her back against the freezer door. He pushed hard. One of the line cooks walked in and Ken left.

Aliyah looked at the silverware bundle in her hands. The napkin was torn. There were three forks instead of spoon, fork, knife. Her anger was acid in her throat. Fork in hand Aliyah pictured jabbing Ken in the balls.

Whenever they shared a shift, Ken was flirty and handsy. Hands on her shoulder, in her hair, on her waist to move her out of the way, Ken touched her over and over. He commented on her jewelry and makeup, on her full lips and how he liked how she walked. Hot tears burned at her eyes. Quickly she dabbed her eyes, checking to see if anyone saw.

The other servers either said what a great guy Ken was or avoided her eyes when his name was mentioned. Asking Stacey to talk to him and switch her shift had been her last hope. Aliyah stacked the wrapped cutlery on a platter. No one was going to do anything. Nothing would change. She needed this job.

A strong arm wrapped around her middle and pulled her back. Aliyah gasped. Ken pressed his front to her back. She could feel his breath steamy against her nape. Aliyah knew eyes were on her and she couldn’t afford to make a scene.

“Saw you talking to the manager. You look upset. How about I walk you to your car tonight? How about I follow you home? Make sure you’re safe.”

Ken slapped her ass and sauntered away. One of the servers laughed and the rest of the waitstaff focused on the early bird customers trickling in. Peach cobblers and slices of sweet potato pies, plates of HomeSpun desserts for the late lunch crowd were being served. She needed this job. After wiping her face with her apron, Aliyah headed to the hostess stand with the tray of silverware and a smile.