Day after day, she cried at home, like a child afraid of bullies, who does not want to go to school. Life had been ironic with her; She wondered when it was that her fate was dragged along the path of normality, away from everything she ever wanted. The madness of being an artist had given room for another art: she learned to master acting techniques, but she had not deceived me.
We are both liars, our eyes betray us. Ideas scattered through the air, past-life connections flickered at one time or another. It was crystal clear as she could not stand every minute of that scenario. She went from painting to the theater of empty souls. She abandoned all the crazy dreams of exhibiting her works of art in galleries to sell products that she did not even care. She had heard countless times that she had to get a real job. She'd only realized the wrong choices when she'd been caught in a hellish cycle.
The client looked at each piece of clothing, as a spoiled child looking at a toy she needs to own, even if she will never play with it. The saleswoman breathes and feels like asking the woman to leave the store; She wants to do anything but be there. There's a song she needed to listen to. She wants to get on her cell phone while the supervisor is not around. She wants to dance around the store and imagine herself making the trip of her dreams that never happened – the money she had tried so hard to save had always seemed to slip from her hands. She had given up a life devoted to art in search of an unattainable stability, especially when she saw the announcement of the labor reform being announced on television. She had let die part of who she was, what made her soul shine.
She had an impossible goal to achieve. The manager had increased the value, as if it were easier to sell with the economic crisis that Brazil was going through and not the other way around. Her legs are tired. Almost eight hours on foot. She'd like to sit down a bit, but the supervisor growls when she sees her approaching the puff. What have we talked about? This puff is just for the customers to sit down! She listens to the voice in her head repeating endlessly and regret even have thought of the idea.
Thank you. It was just that. I do not find any beautiful shoe for me. They are all ugly, says the costumer who asked her to show a lot of products but ended up taking none. She smiled sweetly and thanked her for the visit. As soon as the client leaves the store, she and the supervisor exchange a look. She realizes that I am looking at her and she tries to disguise.
I'd like to tell her to gamble on her art, but I was also doing something I did not like. Our words betray us. I watch her checking the watch, desperately longing to get away from the supervisor, the store, all the universe she can't stand. I need to use the toilet, I can read her lips. She shakes her head and I see her face filling with life as she walks through the door, as if out of that cubicle space surrounded by glass, she can finally be who she is again.
When she returns to the store, the supervisor looks crooked at her as if to ask why the hell she took more than a minute. Another client was waiting. I see relief in her face when she realizes that an artist friend came by to invite her to an arts exhibition. She thanks her. Even though it's free, it takes time for her to do anything else that is not work related. What a pity, says her friend, I believe you were going to get a lot of inspiration and venture into painting again.
Her eyes fill with tears and this time there is no way she can pretend. The supervisor goes to the back of the store and the saleswoman takes the opportunity to respond to her friend: You, better than anyone, know how much I HATE this job. Do you think I would not want to live the same life as you? Having more flexibility of schedule, making money doing something that I really love, being who I really am? The friend looks at her and asks ingenuously: Why not, then?
It's too late, I think. All her control is gone. Her face is red. I see the thoughts flying overhead and the excuses she intends to invent if the manager shows up there. You do not understand ... You do not understand that if I do not work here, I will not have money to pay the rent, to eat, nothing. You do not need the money. For you, art is just an expression. I devoted myself for years in the hope that things would change, but unfortunately they have not changed. I barely am able to buy the brushes, frames, paint. I had to sell all my art books to pay the rent or I would be evicted when I was fired from the last job I hated too. She swallows the tears when she sees the supervisor coming back. It was good to see you, but please do not come back! She rips the paper and throw in the trash.
Our eyes meet. I see hope shining somewhere inside her. She repeats her mantra: this is all temporary. I want to tell her that someday she'll be able to do again what moves her soul, I want to remind her that sacrifices sometimes pay for dreams. But the day is so dark and the rain is so strong that I feel my spirit freeze. But the day is so dark and the rain is so strong that I feel my spirit freeze. I look at my hands full of calluses and burns. We do not need to say a word to understand. A quick walk at the mall and I see the same looks, the same inert faces. We're so tired, but there's nothing we can do right now. Just breathe and keep smiling, I write in my notebook, while the next client does not come.
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