Side Effects May Vary

A woman twice as wide as our shopping cart stood in front of us, blocking our path. She wore a faded Nifty-Thrifty vest with Gwenda stitched onto the left breast pocket. Her pudgy hands made fists and pressed into the bulge that was supposed to be her waist. She eyed me in the cart, with Harvey at the helm. Two teenagers screwing around. She was not amused.

But neither was I. “Beep-beep,” I said, my voice monotone.

Gwenda didn’t budge.

Harvey started to back up, pulling me with him.

I looked over my shoulder. “Wait. What are you doing?” I pursed my lips and sighed through my nose. “We weren’t doing anything wrong!”

He rolled his neck from side to side. “Alice, there wasn’t anything good down that aisle anyway.”

I settled back against the metal grates. “You didn’t even know what I was looking for.” We continued to roll down the aisle of children’s clothing. In the bins above the racks were random pots and pans and toys. It was depressing. We turned another corner. “It’s like you’ve got to win everything,” he said, not letting it go. He was a little bit right, I did have to win everything because this was my last shot and I wasn’t going down without the last word.

“Even when there’s nothing to win,” he continued. “I mean, she works at the Nifty-Thrifty. I’m pretty sure she’s not winning. Not everything is about—”

“Stop,” I said a little too quietly. Something had caught my attention.

“You know, it’s okay to be nice sometimes. It won’t—”

“Harvey, stop!”

The cart stopped with a jolt, sliding me forward against the metal grates. I squatted on my haunches. “Push me closer,” I said.

So he did.

The aisle we were in now was lined with tall racks full of dresses. When I was within reach, I stood up right in the cart, my head bobbing above the racks—giving me a view of the entire store, including Gwenda.

I sifted through the dresses methodically. Nothing was sized and most everything was of the plaid jumper variety.

“So we’re looking for a dress,” Harvey concluded. “What do you need a dress for? You have plenty of dresses.”

I continued to search, not bothering to reply.

“You don’t even like to shop, Al.”

“The list, I told you. It’s for the list.”

The hangers scraped against the metal bars as I pushed aside dress after dress, waiting for the perfect one to reveal itself. Each dress was a story, a life. Funerals, birthdays, dates.

Harvey kept his foot on the bar beneath the cart, to steady me. He reached his hand into the pool of fabric and pulled, coming up with something chiffon and delicate looking. He rubbed the material between his fingers. It was the perfect shade of pink. Ballet slipper pink, so light it was almost white. I raked aside dozens of dresses to reach it.

“That one.”

He dropped the fabric, like he was scared he might stain it.

I pulled the dress to me. “Take me to the fitting rooms.”

“Do people even try on clothes here?”

I rolled my eyes and pointed to the ALL SALES FINAL sign hanging from the ceiling.

The fitting room smelled like feet. I wouldn’t have even bothered trying it on, but the dress in question was twenty-three bucks, and the list was being funded by old birthday money so I would need to spend wisely.

I stripped out of my T-shirt but left my jeans on. The dress was comprised of layer upon layer of chiffon with thin straps and a neckline that dipped down in the front, making my bra visible. I would have to go bra-less, not that it mattered much anyway. My boobs weren’t very big to begin with. The fabric gathered beneath the bustline, flowing out around me. I felt ethereal in it, like this dress could change me.

I reached around, trying to search for the zipper, but couldn’t quite grasp it. “Harvey, come in here.” Beneath the fitting room door, I could see the wheels of the cart rolling back and then come to an abrupt halt.

“You want me to go in there? With you?”

“Yes, and hurry.”

From beneath the door, his dirty sneakers shifted around outside. I slid back the bar lock to let him in.

“Uh, okay. I’m coming in.” A smile tugged at my lips and I gave in to it, laughing to no one but myself.

The door creaked open, and Harvey squeezed in, trying to be discreet. The room was barely big enough for one person to stand upright, never mind two.

I turned so that Harvey stood at my back. “Zip me.”

He pulled the zipper to the top without any hiccups, and then studied our reflection in the dirty mirror. “You look so pretty.” He said it simply. Not hot, not gorgeous. Pretty, I looked pretty.

My chest swelled.

“When are you going to wear it?” he asked.

“Soon.”

Harvey didn’t know the whole plan, not yet, and if my answer confused him, he didn’t say so. I think he was as lost in this moment as I was. I could have said, To the moon, Harvey. I’m wearing this dress to the moon. And his eyes would have stayed steady on me, unchanging.