Olive Branches Don't Grow On Trees

by Grace Mattioli

CHAPTER THREE: HOW TO BE FREE

  When Silvia painted, she was free. Time didn’t move forward, but swayed back and forth like a palm tree’s branches blowing in a tropical breeze. This wasn’t true of her other escapes, like music or movies. But through her own creation, she was afforded an opportunity to fly. She never thought of moving to a new place when she painted. She never thought of going anywhere. It was the only time when she was just where she wanted to be and when her mind was still rather than whirling about like a stick in a tornado. The more she painted, the less she noticed what was wrong with her surroundings and the less she thought about moving.

  She used bright, cheerful colors and painted with big thick lines. Her world was inhabited by mythological beings, with human-like qualities, that lived in nature. Her fantastical universe was set against the strange and beautiful back drop of a place resembling the Sonoran desert, with big, black, mystery birds, giant saguaros that looked as if they should be growing on some other planet, and ocotillo trees with long, skinny branches reaching up as if they were trying to grab onto the sky. If Hieronymus Bosch was born a Mexican folk artist, his paintings might resemble Silvia’s.

  Painting real life was boring to Silvia, so she was surprised when she caught herself starting a self-portrait. She wanted to capture who she was beneath her skin. She wanted to convey the greatness of the spirit trapped inside her tiny body; how she was young and old at the same time; and how her mind wandered far and wide in an attempt to escape the confines of her skin. She made herself small enough to fit other stuff on her canvas, but wasn’t sure what else she wanted to include in the painting.

  She listened to the Beatles album Revolver as she painted herself. She always listened to music when she painted. Not the kind of music that bounced off her, but the kind of music that penetrated her skin and touched every cell of her being. Her taste was eclectic-- everything from rock to folk to psychedelic. The music seemed to go right through her and ended up, somehow, on the canvas. If you stared at any of her paintings long enough, you could hear guitars, harmonicas and even the occasional wah-wah peddle.

  She had been invited to join in gallery receptions and even had a couple of her own. But she steered away from the more elitist galleries, as she thought art was for everyone, not just the wealthy and affluent. She participated in making public murals, and even did some of her own street art on the sneak. Even though Frank didn’t fully appreciate her work, he knew that other people did appreciate it, and he thought that she was foolish by choosing not to capitalize on her talents.

  Maybe he was right, she was thinking on this particular rainy day. And maybe, if she had listened to him, she would not be driving to a nearby shopping mall in search of a job and thinking how lucky she would be, due to the current economy, to find one at all. Shopping malls were no by means one of her favorite places, and it depressed her to look for a job at one. At this time, she felt that she didn’t have a lot of options besides the mall.

  She tried, unsuccessfully, to tell herself that malls were really not that bad. They were just so completely insulated that they reminded her of Biosphere 2 or some other weird science fiction experiment, and made her feel claustrophobic. The excess of merchandise everywhere had a reverse effect upon her by not only making her not want to shop, but by making her never want to own anything for the rest of her life. The constant low grade noise that pervaded the air made her weak and dizzy. The other shoppers walking casually, as if they were enjoying themselves, made her feel alien because she couldn’t relate to their ability to derive pleasure from this environment.

  Despite her negative feelings towards the mall, she needed a job. Her fear of being stuck in her father’s house, had already come true, and now she feared having to stay there for an indefinite period of time. She knew that the way out required money. She was ready and willing to do whatever necessary to make money, so that she could move far away.

  She dressed in her most conservative looking attire, which consisted of plain black cotton pants and a plain white button down shirt-- the same outfit she had worn at a previous banquet server job. Her hair was evenly and freshly colored dark brown and pulled back in a big, slick, black barrette. Copies of her resume were in hand, showing all of her work experience. She listed only jobs that she had left in good standing, which eliminated most of the jobs at which she had worked. She had listed in reverse chronological order: A natural food market in Tucson, a pottery store in Philadelphia, a used bookstore in Chicago, and an art supply store in Brooklyn.

  Although she had a problem keeping a job, she never had a problem finding one. She didn’t need the lure of a “Help Wanted” sign to walk into a shop and ask if help was needed, and for her proactive approach, she was often rewarded. But on this particular day, she tried nearly thirty shops with nothing but negative responses. She was ready to go for her second Cinnabon when she noticed a candy store that appeared to be new to the mall.

  It was called, Savor the Flavor, and was filled with big, plastic bins containing a rainbow of bright, artificially colored candy. It had everything from gummy worms to candy corn to yogurt coated malt balls to chocolate covered raisins. The place was crammed with shoppers loading up little white paper bags with candy and taking them to the register. The cashier looked overwhelmed and jaded at the same time and wore an electric green apron that matched the rest of the store. Silvia was reluctant to ask her if help was needed because of the very uninviting expression on her face, but approached the girl none-the-less. The girl, in turn, called out to a man named James, who came through a door in the back of the store wearing a maroon suit jacket. He was tall and thin and stiff and moved like a life-sized wooden puppet. He was either the owner or the manager.

  “Hello,” Silvia greeted him professionally, “I was wondering if you are looking for help.”

  “As a matter of fact, we are looking for a store manager. What kind of experience do you have?” He was curt and to the point, and Silvia liked that in a person. She took her resume out and handed it to him. He took one look at her resume and blurted out, “How do you live in all these places?”

  She laughed, pretending to find this comment a humorous interpretation of her life, instead of the truth. She had a rich laugh that was just one more thing adding to her magnetism, and after hearing it for only a few seconds, he seemed to be impressed. Or at least impressed enough to want to do an interview with her on the spot.

  “Let’s go sit down and talk in the office,” he said.

  She had never had such an easy time making it to an interview and she anxiously followed him while rehearsing in her head what she would say to sell herself. He took her into the “office,” which was little more than a broom closet jammed full of boxes of candy stacked on top of each other on some steel shelves.

  They each sat on a couple of stools parked in the center of the room. When he asked her if she had any managing experience, she drew upon the few times that she had to train a new employee at her previous job at the natural foods market. She also talked about her opening and closing responsibilities at the art supply shop and how she was solely responsible for the upkeep of the pottery store. She didn’t mention the fact that the pottery store was the size of a large walk-in closet, and that, therefore, there wasn’t much inventory for which to be responsible. Nor did she mention that the opening and closing responsibilities at the art supply store involved unlocking and locking the front door of the store. Rather, she embellished the duties of her past jobs. She also provided James with a brief description of the many qualities that would be sure to add greatly to the candy store’s success. “I’m a fast learner, punctual, hard-working, and enthusiastic,” she said, her eyes open wide, as if she had drunk too much coffee. Except for the fast learner thing, these were all lies, but she had the looks and the energy to make anyone believe that she did possess all of these qualities and more. James certainly seemed convinced. But convincing this stranger that she was here to stay would be much more difficult tha
n convincing him that she would make a good candy store manager.

  “I just purchased a mobile home only a few miles away from the mall,” she told him. “So, I won’t be going anywhere soon.”

  She surprised herself at coming up with this lie. It must have come from her experience driving past a mobile home development this morning on the way to the mall. Maybe, while driving by, she subconsciously was pondering what it would be like to live there. James looked back at her with a combination of credulity and admiration, undoubtedly for being so young to have purchased her own home. She knew that mobile homes were cheap, especially in today’s crumbling real estate market, so this lie wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.

  He told her that he would give her a call after he checked her references, and he kept his promise. He called the next night to tell her that she was hired as the new store manager. She was scheduled every day from nine to six except Tuesday and Thursday. He told her about the other employees at the store. There was Dave who was diabetic, so “you don’t have to worry about him stealing the candy.” There was Connie, who was a senior in high school and worked the night shift, and did way too much socializing during her shift. “But you know how high school kids are,” he added. The night manager was a kindergarten teacher named Alicia. He told her that he would meet her the next day at nine in the morning in front of the store.

  She hung the phone up feeling proud of herself. She was almost embarrassed for feeling proud of her new mall job. But it was, never-the-less, an accomplishment. It was a management job. And it was in a candy store. It would be fun. When she thought of candy, she thought of her family’s summer trips to Canada when she was always sure to get a big lollipop that had vibrant swirls that went around and around. She enjoyed looking at it even more than she enjoyed eating it. Cosmo would try to hypnotize her with it. Angie tried to steal it from her. And Vince just looked at it with curiosity and wonderment. There were no giant sized swirl lollipops at Savor the Flavor, but there was a plethora of other candy varieties. The next day when James met her at the store, he talked about all of the candy, but mostly about the gummy bears.

  “They’re your bread and butter,” he said with a big grin, assuming she cared about the sales of the store as much as he did. “If the distributor ever tries to send you a box of blue whales after you’ve specified gummy bears on the order form, don’t accept it!” he warned her. Then he went on about the blue whales as if he had something against them. “They just sit there in the bins. They don’t move.”

  Silvia couldn’t imagine getting on the phone with anyone, demanding that they compensate for their blue whale mistake. She wondered how long James worked for the company before he began speaking in this strange candy language. Furthermore, she found it difficult to keep a straight face as she listened to a grown man talk so seriously and passionately about candy. But he was, after all, the vice president of the company. And to his credit, the company was doing well, even in these tough times. There were eleven other Savor the Flavors spread throughout malls in Southern New Jersey and Eastern Pennsylvania. The store where Silvia now worked ranked pathetically low in sales at number ten, but she felt nothing for the cause of bringing up the sales. In fact, she was probably doing the locals a favor by keeping the sales low, thereby not contributing to the local population’s obesity problem. Of course, she would not reveal a trace of her work ethic or her inherent laziness for this cause to James. As far as he was concerned, she was a shiny, young, ambitious recruit starved for learning the business of candy and eager to increase sales.

  While James continued to talk, she half paid attention and half fantasized about moving to Portland, and as the minutes drifted on, his voice got so muffled, he came to sound like an adult in a Charlie Brown cartoon. Fantasizing would be the only way she would be able to endure the remainder of her orientation. She imagined herself clearly in the downtown of Portland with her friend, Emily. They were talking about something more meaningful to her than gummy bears and blue whales. She then saw herself riding her bike in the rain and going out to eat burritos with her new boyfriend. And of course, he was the one. She had searched high and low, but she had finally found the one. She then imagined herself at whatever job she could find there, and this is where the fantasy became most vague and even somewhat disturbing. She saw herself working in a mall job just like this one, and all of a sudden, James’s speech became more clear and pronounced. It was actually a good time for her fantasy to go sour, as he was talking about the process for ordering.

  “Orders are made every week,” he said. “They’re called into our main office in the city.”

  He showed her the process for ordering, and then it was about time for the store to open to the public. He turned on the store’s fluorescent lights that made the candy shine so brightly that Silvia’s eyes burnt for a quick second. Children were waiting anxiously at the doors, accompanied by their tired looking mothers seeking to appease their little ones with candy so that they could proceed with a day of shopping. Silvia had not had any experience with children, so they may as well have been really short aliens from another planet. She had never baby-sat, and because she and Angie had seen so little of each other in the past couple of years, she barely had an opportunity to hold her little toddler niece, Isabella, in her arms.

  A small Asian girl with pig tails and overalls ran towards the coke bottle candy canister, opened the lid, and took out a piece of candy right as her mother came over to reprimand her. The mother then looked at Silvia and apologized for her daughter’s misbehavior. Silvia wasn’t used to being apologized to. Usually she was the one apologizing to someone for something. It felt good to be on the right side of the fence. She then felt a little tug on her shirt and looked down to see a little boy, with dark hair and big-rimmed glasses, who wanted to ask her something. It felt good to be bigger than someone for once.

  “Hey lady,” he said, his little face looking up at her, eyes like saucers, “can you get me a lemon slice?”

  “A lemon slice please,” corrected his mother, who was standing behind him.

  “Oh, yeah, please,” said the little boy.

  “Sure honey,” she said realizing that James had forgotten to show her how to open the candy case where the fruit slices lived. He gladly showed her how to open the case and demonstrated how the fruit slices should be properly taken out with tongs and placed in the tiny paper bags used for candy from the case. He was business-like and efficient, but also had a sweetness about him. Silvia figured he had to be sweet to work in the candy business.

  The morning flew by, and before she knew it, it was lunch-time. She forgot to bring her lunch, so she went down to the food court and bought the only thing that she could afford-- a bowl of rice at the Chinese restaurant stand. After lunch, she went right back to the candy store without the usual dread she felt when returning to other jobs after a break. She thought it might be because she was working with a completely new group of people. Her lack of familiarity with children didn’t make her uncomfortable. It made her curious. When she saw them entering the store with fresh, innocent faces, her own curiosity about them increased. To her great surprise, she was only slightly irritated by the whiners. Mostly, she found the children’s spontaneity and their lack of conformity to social customs refreshing. They were free in their own simple way. Silvia attributed their ability to be free to the fact that they were too young to care how others perceived them. As she peered around the store, with kids running wild and bright candy colors, she started to feel like maybe this job would not be so bad. Maybe she would even eventually start to care about the difference between gummy bears and blue whales.