This time I spoke louder than I intended. They turn to me, the girl’s mouth gaping from a sentence she has not finished. The pharmacist woman seems concerned, but the girl stares at me.

What?

Some people need some help around here.

Mom nervously adjusts her purse strap, but the girl does not seem to notice her or that I am with her.

You know, I was in the middle of a sentence.

People have been waiting longer than that.

I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were in the need for makeup.

Did I say I needed makeup?

My hands have begun to shake, so I hide them in my pockets. The pharmacist disappears from her window and comes through a section in the countertop she lifts like a drawbridge. She’s older than the girl, vaguely Hispanic, with too much purple eye shadow around her concerned eyes. She sets a hand on the girl’s shoulder and faces me.

What’s wrong? she says. It seems like she said this to me, but the girl answers her.

I don’t know, she says. This kid comes up and all of a sudden starts talking like I was ignoring him. He only just got here.

It seems strange that my mother has not said anything yet, but she shifts around, and must be waiting for an opportunity to speak. A few shoppers have clustered at the end of a nearby aisle, and though they pretend to be looking at hair products, they in fact appear to be listening.

Hey, just cool it, Cathy, the woman says. Okay?

The girl scrunches her blue lips and her eyes narrow. We’re not slaves, she mumbles.

Suddenly I am not sure whether Mom is fidgeting because she would like to say something but feels ignored, or because she wishes I had not said anything and wants to go, or that I would shut up. The girl glances at her, but Mom pretends to look at items in the counter.

It’s not me, I finally tell the girl.

What? What do you mean it’s not me?

I’m not the one waiting for help with makeup.

You’re not waiting for makeup.

No.

So then what are you talking about?

Mom lowers her head, fingering the counter glass. I glance towards the glass door. Outside, a woman in denim overalls has a bright cluster of balloons for sale, bunched like floating grapes, purple and yellow, in the afternoon sunlight. Maybe, if my mother was not here, I would run to her.

I gesture towards Mom.

She’s been waiting here to get service for a long time.