Resale 
By: Shawna Chandler

My car stunk of vanilla air-freshener and urine. The dashboard lights cast a green glow on everything, including the piles of money in both the backseat and the front seat. All twenty-dollar bills.

With a face full of mascara black tears, I eased down the highway. My wheels slipped on the solid ice, and because of the heavy snowfall, the visibility was close to zero. My fingers got caught in a tangled clump of hair as I tried to push it out of my eyes.

The wet jeans clung to my legs. Deciding that maybe the car was finally hot enough to blow warm air, I reached for the heater controls. A couple bills swirled in the warm breeze and landed in the backseat.

In hopes of actually being able to see where I was going, I smeared my hand across the inside of the fogged windshield to clear a spot. I could see part of the snowy road through a small circle but then it fogged up again.

I pulled over and slammed my hands against the steering wheel. I grabbed my wet jeans and tugged at them again. My lungs struggled to take a breath of the thickening air and the jeans not only confined me but the car closed-in around me too. My heart pounded as I jerked and twisted the jeans and kicked the floorboard several times.

After a few minutes of sobbing, I realized exhaustion wasn’t helping matters any. Having little hope of getting any further in this storm, I climbed into the backseat and laid over the piles of twenties, the bills sticking to my legs.

I didn’t wake up until I heard the car stop running.

***
The day before, my friend, Holly, and I went shopping for costumes at a resale-clothing store. We were invited to a sorority costume party. The invitation called for “homemade costumes only.” We decided to go as little old ladies, with elastic-waisted polyester pants and brightly colored blouses. We were looking for props too, like canes or walkers.

Neither of us had ever shopped at a resale-clothing store before. We wore names like Prada and Ralph Lauren across our asses, and we sure weren’t going to find any Prada handbags at the Salvation Army.

Mom and Dad paid my way through school by covering my tuition, rent, car, and most expenses… but the clothing thing was all up to me. I took a job at Macy’s so I could make a little cash and stay close to what I was spending it on.

I could tell Holly felt as rattled as I did, walking into a Salvation Army thrift shop. We were both between paychecks and already worried about how we would afford the wardrobe for the campuses’ Greek events during the fall semester. The fact that we would be buying old clothes came as a relief to my pocketbook but a blow to my constant lust to shop for the best deal on as many overpriced garments as I could find. However, most of the other girls invited to the party planned to shop at resale outlets also, so it was sort of trendy if you thought about it that way, which we did.

The place smelled like a combination of hundreds of other peoples’ homes. It was a potpourri of cigarette smoke, body odor and, at best, a collection of assorted laundry detergent scents. It didn’t add-up to the crisp “new plastic” smell of the mall, that’s for sure. We rummaged through a bin of old hats. Several people shopped for clothing with their children. Most of them drove old cars and wore clothes that looked like they had been recycled a few times already.

“Did you see the button down skirt that girl picked up?” I asked Holly.

“Did you see what she was already wearing?” she giggled.

“Welcome to White-Trash-Mart!”

“Yeah, she’s gonna go back to her trailer park and her husband will beat her for spending a whole $1.75 on a pair of acid washed jeans,” I said.

We both cracked up. A couple of the customers shot dirty looks at us and I, at least, made an effort to quiet down.

Holly found some things in the “Retro” clothing section and went to find the clerk to unlock the dressing room.

“Get a lot of thieves around here?” Holly toyed with the lady.

“Oh, now and then.”

“What kinds of people steal from The Salvation Army?” Holly held her nose with her fingers.

As the clerk unlocked the dressing room door, Holly paused, looked at an armful of bright green and pink bold flower prints on polyester clothing and said, “Have these been cleaned?”

The clerk walked off without answering. I watched her return to the cash register where her and a customer shook their heads and frowned in my direction.

I spotted a T-shirt with iron-on bugs all over it. It was a shirt from “Cedar Crest Baptist Summer Camp 1999.” I grabbed it and hung it over Holly’s dressing room door.

“Look, Holly this one has bugs.”

She laughed and I dropped it on the dressing room floor. Holly squealed, “Rachael!” as I watched her bare ankles jump away from it.

I picked out a costume but didn’t plan to try anything on before washing it. I wandered around one aisle, looking at all the acid washed jeans from the 80’s thinking of when I was a little girl begging my mother to spend way too much for a pair of those because, “All the girls were wearing them.” Of course, my mother bought them for me. She always did.

As I picked through the rack, I spotted a pair of jeans that looked brand new. A pair of Von Dutch jeans with the tags still intact. They were stickered at $120.00 but the resale store priced them at $10. They were size 6. After inspecting them for stains and rips, I tingled with excitement from that familiar pulse-rising sensation of finding an excellent deal. I felt dizzy.

Holly was still busy in the dressing room so I hurried to the cash register. The clerk checked out everything one piece at a time. She took the hangers off the costume clothing I had chosen, folded each piece then stuffed it into the bag. When she got to the jeans, she looked at me with raised eyebrows then smiled as she rung them up. I paid for everything with a check, writing it as quickly as possible. The sales clerk slid the Von Dutch jeans into the bag right as Holly approached the counter

“Well Mary-Beth, did you get everything you needed for the white trash ball?” she asked.

“Yup, Tonya-May, I sure did. I even got some stuff that didn’t smell like B.O.”

We laughed again. A heavy-set women looked back at us as she was leaving with her child. “Are we goin’ to the white trash ball, Momma?” the child asked.

My face grew hot. I didn’t think about the little girl hearing us.

Holly and I looked at each other for a moment. Maybe a flash of remorse crossed our faces but before we could get into Holly’s car we were laughing again.

“Poor kid,” I told Holly.

“I know, imagine growing up with nothing but stuff other people tossed out.” Holly flipped down her visor mirror and ran a comb through her highlighted bangs, “I mean, can you imagine, Rachael?”

“It must be a weird life,” I offered, “a whole different world than where I’m from.”

“Yeah, I bet her mom married her cousin and they’ve been on Jerry Springer twice,” Holly grinned at me and we both laughed.

When I got home, Holly left for work. I washed the clothes and tried on the jeans. They fit a little tight in the waist and rear but they were flattering. The mirror reflected a bunched-up left pocket. I stuck my hand into it and felt a piece of damp paper. Pulling the paper out, I discovered a folded twenty-dollar bill. I thought, “these jeans just paid for themselves… plus some.”

I put the twenty back in my pocket and checked the other pockets. Another $20 was in the right pocket! I felt dizzy about finding a bargain again as I stuffed the bills back where they came from.

Later that day, I went to the coffee shop down the street to do some studying. At the cash register, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded money, only to find another twenty-dollar bill! I couldn’t believe I had scored $60 from these jeans. The coffee shop guy sighed and scratched his head as he waited for me to ponder over the money. After my coffee was paid for, stuffed the change in the jeans and sat down.

I drank my latte quickly then went to the bathroom. The button was too tight and wouldn’t work. The zipper didn’t work either. I tried to slide them over my hips but they wouldn’t budge. In a panic, I darted out of the coffee shop and sped home.

When I got home, my bladder was about to explode. The button and zipper still wouldn’t work. I pulled all the money out of my jeans and found the change from my coffee, the original two twenties and then one more twenty in each pocket.

I sat on the couch and looked at the handful of money on my coffee table. A gush of urine flooded my legs.

I grabbed a pair of scissors but the blades couldn’t grip the denim. They just slid across the fabric. I tried to cut them with a knife but the fabric seemed invincible. Nothing made a dent in them. I jumped up and down tearing at the jeans with my hands.

I tried to wash the jeans while wearing them, with a washcloth and soap. Still, they stunk of pee.

Every time I reached into my pockets, out came another bill. I had accumulated around $600.00 of twenties! Pulling it out as fast as I could, accumulated a large stack of money on my kitchen table.

Something very odd was going on with these jeans. I had a couple choices: I could go crazy trying to take them off or I could go shopping. So, I shopped.

At the mall, I spent money on everything I could think of. I found clothes, which I couldn’t try on because the jeans still wouldn’t come off. I bought a new TV, DVD player, Stereo, CD’s.

No one really wanted to help me, even though I was spending so much money. In fact, the salesclerks seemed to be avoiding me. In the electronics store they all gathered behind the counter and whispered to each other. One of them wafted the air in front of his nose with his hand. I must have smelled awful but I didn’t care. Shopping with an endless amount of money is exhilarating.

After about two hours, I had to pee again. I tried to make it to my car but the packages and bags wouldn’t cooperate.

Right in the middle of the Food Court, this cute guy came up and asked if he could help me. I handed him a couple bags and then it happened again. A huge wet circle appeared down the front of my jeans.

The guy looked right at it and said, “Hey, no need to get so excited,” he smirked. “Are you all right?”

“I didn’t wet myself. I spilled something.”

Some girls at a table beside us started laughing and holding their noses.

“No, that’s piss alright. You reek!!” He said, scrunching-up his nose.

“What happened did your adult diaper spring a leak, sweetie?” one girl asked me. The guy started laughing.

I grabbed my packages and rushed to the car. When I got home the phone was ringing. The machine picked it up. Holly wanted to know if we should meet at the party or go together. I had missed five calls. Two of them from my mother, who normally called at least ten times a day. She seemed so worried all the time. Like I couldn’t make it on my own. Calling her about this little problem, would be the last thing I’d do. I could hear her condescending tone now and her “I told you so” attitude.

I couldn’t ask Holly or any of my friends for help because they wouldn’t believe me in a million years, besides if they did believe me, they’d just see dollar signs. Most importantly, I still didn’t want to admit I bought those jeans from The Salvation Army.

I was soaked again. Sure, I had a lot of cool stuff but what if these jeans never came off? What would I do?

I decided to go to the emergency room. Sure, they’d probably lock me up in the loony bin at first but as soon as they realized the jeans were really stuck they’d have to believe me.

By this time it was snowing heavily. As I tried to make it down my apartment steps and into my car, I slipped twice on patches of ice. My ass hurt from falling and so did my hands from trying to catch myself. The jeans were even wetter now and I was shivering.

The hospital was about half an hour away but as soon as I got on the Highway, I knew it would take much longer than that. I could barely see anything. There weren’t many cars, probably because most people around here stay off the roads when it gets like this.

After two hours of sliding through the storm, I knew I was lost.

***
When I woke up on top of the pile of money in my backseat, I saw that my car was out of gas. The clock on my console read 3:00 AM. I had missed the party. The weather outside wasn’t any better. If anything, it had grown worse.

“Knock, Knock, Knock.”

“Shit,” I screamed and jumped. My head hit the top of the car.

I cleared away some of the condensation on the driver’s side window and saw a sweet face framed by the hood of a black coat. The lady smiled at me and asked, “Is everything okay?”

“No. I’m out of gas,” I wailed as tears sprung from my face.

I opened the door and stepped out onto the ice, where I slipped… again. The lady reached out and caught me before my ass hit the ground. When I gained my footing, I looked around and saw that I was no longer on the Highway but on a much smaller road. Mobile homes lined the street.

The lady wrapped her own coat around my shaking body and led me to the one home with a lit-up kitchen window.

I made my way up the wobbly wooden steps and she opened her front door. Warmth washed over me when I stepped inside. I don’t remember much about the trailer. It was a lot different from the house I grew up in. It wasn’t bad or anything, just different. A child slept on the couch in front of a smoldering fireplace.

I shivered so badly I was unable to speak. The lady asked me to sit and said she would run a hot bath for me. I sat in a hardback kitchen chair and tried to gain my composure. A light flipped on down a hallway and could hear the sound of running water filling a tub. The lady came back and poured a cup of coffee.

“Poor thing. Lets get you out of those clothes and into a hot bath.”

I followed her down the hallway. Her plaid flannel pajamas strained against her oversized frame as her fuzzy pink house shoes shuffled along the deep piled carpet. I wondered how she spotted my car outside her house but I still couldn’t find any words to ask. Loose boards, under the clean carpet, creaked as I walked.

Her bathroom was warm and cheery. A bright tropical fish shower curtain hung above the tub. Around the sink, sat matching soap dispensers, rugs and toothbrush holders. The bathtub was clean and inviting. Bubbles filled the tub and fresh floral scents cleared my sinuses. She set a clean towel on the toilet lid and started to leave the room when I remembered that I wouldn’t be able to take the pants off.

Giving one last futile attempt, I tried the button. It didn’t budge. I sat down with a thud on the towel, biting my lip on accident. My hands cradled my aching head.

“What’s wrong, dear?” She looked puzzled.

“I can’t… they won’t,” I stammered as I pointed to my pants.

She looked at me and smiled. With the confidence of a mother helping a child, she grabbed my hand and I stood. She popped open the button of my jeans, then slid the zipper down… no problem.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at the undone zipper as she left the room and ran my hand across my freed stomach. Freedom.

When she shut the door, I pulled the pants down over my hips, down my knees and stepped out of them one leg at a time.

I slid into the warm bath and my body relaxed in the suds.

When I got out of the tub the lady gave me a big t-shirt and some sweatpants, which I didn’t hesitate to put on. She then led me to the couch opposite the one the child lay in. She covered me with warm blankets and gave me two pillows. Then she went outside.

I woke up at sunrise. The little girl slept across from me. Her hair was tangled and she had a sweet little grin on her face. She wore a bright yellow T-shirt with little bugs all over it. The shirt said, “Cedar Crest Baptist Summer Camp 1999.”

I knew then, whose home I was in.

My jeans and shirt had been washed and sat folded neatly on the coffee table with car keys on top. I looked out the window to see the sun break through the clouds. My car waited in the driveway beside the woman’s old station wagon.

“Did you go to the ball?” I heard a faint voice ask.

I turned to see the little girl sitting up on the couch. Seeing her upright confirmed that she was the girl from the thrift shop.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and stumbled through the words, “I remember you… from the store.”

“Did you go to the white trash ball?” she asked as she wiped some sleep from her blue eyes.

“There’s no such thing. We were joking,” I looked down at the clean blue carpet.

“My mom said you and your friend were being mean.”

I forced myself to look into her sweet eyes. “She’s right,” I said.

She snuggled back into the couch and closed her eyes again. I pulled on my shoes and quietly walked to my car. The back door squeaked as I opened it. The car still stunk of urine. Twenty’s fell into the snow and I scooped up as much money as I could. After about four trips, I managed to fill the kitchen table with money.

I took my jeans with me. At first, I thought I would throw the nightmarish contraptions into the dumpster behind the trailer house but it dawned on me that maybe I should take them back to the Salvation Army and donate them. Maybe, I’d even give them to Holly for a while.

I went back inside the house. When I found a sheet of construction paper and some crayons in the kitchen, I wrote, “Thank you,” in big red letters. I dropped it on top of the pile of money and left the sleeping family in the warmth of their mobile home.

Beside my car sat an empty gas can. The car had about two gallons of gas. For a second I wondered if it would be enough to get me to the nearest gas station, and in the same breath I knew, somehow, that it would be exactly enough.