She felt a dread of her shift at the ice cream shop.
She felt a dread of her shift at the ice cream shop. But the truth was it usually went well for her. Danielle reminded herself that most people liked her, including her co-workers and customers. Her therapist had told her to remind herself of this.
DANIELLE BY ALEX BENTAYOU 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 102
Danielle just had time to get her nails done before her shift at the ice cream shop. On the F train she took a photo of her hand. It was luminous with glossy black nails, her antique diamond in a nest of smaller diamonds, and a new gold ring, on her pointer finger, which was squared-off on top with pointed edges. She posted on Instagram, Loving my new manicure and self-defense ring. Feeling safer is everything. #saam.
She transferred from the F to the A at West 4th Street. The dank subway smell was mixed with incense. A boy was drumming under some stairs on a bucket. A woman’s acid-greed mini-dress flashed by. Black, patent leather shoes glinted. There were pink pressed shirts and leather briefcases and women in headwraps all mixed in the crowd. Every now and then there’d be a haggard person laden with bags or a shopping cart overflowing with bottles.
At the stairs a man shook a plastic cup at Danielle and said “Woo, Princess! Look at what we got here.” He wore flip-flops and Danielle glimpsed his splitting heels and the open sores on his ankles. She gave him a smile. He called after her, “I’d suck those fingers all night long!”.
On the A train she felt a dread of her shift at the ice cream shop. But the truth was it usually went well for her.
Danielle reminded herself that most people liked her, including her co-workers and customers. Her therapist had told her to remind herself of this.
Whenever she was confronted by the minority of those who did not like her (and she felt that those who didn’t like her disliked her intensely) she felt cushioned by an air of–it was almost like a fairy glow–the acceptance and regard of her cohort, those who acknowledged that she was beyond reproach. She smiled at herself.
But since Jenni’s Ice Cream was her first job (except in college as a receptionist at an art gallery) she found her cushion of positive glow at times battered.
This job where she spent 10 hours a week provided her with enough money for indulgences and reduced the amount of money she took from Steve, not that he ever gave her a hard time about it.