The days that Angela waits for me at the library are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I am at the mall; it is Thursday afternoon.
In the distance I see a little young woman, two thirds my height, sitting on a tall stool reading a college text book. She is at the kiosk that sells silver jewelry and various accessories that appeal to those partial to the Goth lifestyle. Each of her ears carries multiple silver earrings with one in her nose and another through her lower lip. She is wearing a black, fitted women’s t shirt and a gypsy skirt. Her frizzy hair is drawn back into a large mass that bounces around when she moves her head. I stop at the kiosk to browse the silver rings.
Looking up from her book, she observes the silver pinky ring on my hand. “Try this,” she says, jumping down from the stool. She picks out a little ring shaped like a cat with evil eyes. It is too small for my finger, but she slides it on anyway. She calls it a fingertip ring.
Noticing my portfolio she asks if I am an artist; she wants to see my work. We spread them out on the counter as she asks questions regarding each piece. I purchase the rings and say goodbye.
Her name is Tara, and she is originally from Trinidad, in the Caribbean.
Angela is from Jamaica…