“Too little too late,” you put the key back on the shelf with an almost gleeful violence, and the metal rattled as the shelves shuddered against their ancient bolts and screws holding them to concrete walls.
“Careful back there!” The old woman who ran the thrift shop hadn’t followed you around the store, which was a nice change. She hadn’t seemed to worry about anything. Which fortunately included your eyeshadow and the plum lipstick that your friend had insisted was for a different complexion than your own.
The proprietor’s unsteady gait, punctuated by the cane, thumps toward you from the front, and the potential for direct confrontation sets your heart pounding. You were so happy for her lack of attention, elated to find that there was more to this little shop than the church dress section. Your arms are laden with the shockingly good selection, all in your size.
The woman stops at the end of the aisle where you stand, and you freeze like a deer in the headlights. She has glasses and a cane, but her eyes are sharp.
“Careful of this shelf dear,” she warns, giving you a once-over, from the way your baggy sweater hangs, to the skinny jeans going into delicate daisy dukes. All things you found easily and anonymously.
You had felt so brave today. Now you feel cold, and scared of an old woman in a thrift shop staring at you.
“Don’t look so worried,” she offers you a smile. “Those shelves won’t fall on you, so you don’t fall for anything on it!” She laughs, a warm sound. No censure in her tone. Now it’s time to berate yourself for always expecting the worst from people.
She notices the key in front of you and tuts quietly.
“No, you don’t need that anymore, do you.” It isn’t a question, but she smiles and waits for an answer anyway.
“No?” You make it a question because it always was one, for you.
“No.” She considers your dresses and shoes. Your stomach swoops and clenches all at once. “You know,” she says, “I have something like that key. If you ever get interested in such things, there’re other ways to open locks. Combinations. A fingerprint. Codes. A breath. Time.”
“Oh?” You hadn’t thought- foolishly- to look for anything else hidden away but still dangerous in your childhood bedroom. You hadn’t imagined anything but a key could only turn on you and keep it all in forever.
“I can show you.” She doesn’t look critical anymore, she looks proud.
“How much?” You don’t dare hope it’s a reasonable cost.
“For you, three more dresses! Come come! I get new stuff in every day! Let’s see if there’s something a little more like you.” She wags her cane at you. “Less blue, more red. Come, come. That key is behind you, let’s find a new one.”
AN: Prompter requested protagonist be Trans