Stu

My little run-in with Victoria was soon forgotten. In fact, Victoria championed my promotion the following year to work as a teller in the savings and loan department. At age 20, I became the third highest-ranking woman in the store, behind only Victoria and Rita. This increased my visibility and status in the community. Also, instead of working primarily with female customers in the clothing department, I was now attending to a mixed clientele of men and women, including many of the prominent male farmers in town who trusted me with sizable transactions of money. I took this very seriously, and soon earned a reputation as an efficient worker who never lost track of a centavo of money. But I also pushed my flirting skills to new heights. I could give many of my male customers a look that made them feel like they were the most important and attractive man in the world. And I learned a lot about them by talking with them.

Not coincidentally, I began dating a lot at about this point. Men now considered me one of the most desirable dates in town, and it was fun to have different men compete for my affections. My parents were ecstatic over my promotion and my popularity. The following year, when I turned 21, I began going steady with Carlos, a son of one of the more successful farmers in our community. He was handsome, well-mannered, hard working and reasonably intelligent, and was expected eventually to take over his family’s farming operation. My parents seemed to welcome him as their future son-in-law, almost from the start. I was not thinking so far ahead, but I did enjoy our time together. We went dancing practically every weekend in one of the small dance places in our town. Afterward, we would walk out of the dance hall in the night air, find some dark spot between two buildings, and spend what seemed like hours kissing while he massaged my cola with his strong, field-toughened hands. Those were good times, indeed.

Carlos first proposed to me a year later, when I was 22 and he was 24. Many women in my town would have jumped at the chance to marry Carlos, but I told him I was not ready. I enjoyed my status and visibility in the town, and the last thing I wanted was to get married, become pregnant, quit my job and spend the next two decades in flat shoes raising children. Alternatively, I did now want to end up like Rita, trying to hold onto a job while raising children, and not being particularly happy at either. My parents were a little disappointed with my decision, but they accepted it. They still believed a marriage announcement was only a matter of time, and they were willing to give me that extra time to get the single life out of my system.

When I turned down Carlos for the second time a year later, my parents were not so forgiving. What was I thinking, they asked me. I was so fortunate to have someone like Carlos, so how could I turn him down twice? His patience will not last forever, and if I lose him, I will regret it for the rest of my life, they warned me. I could end up like Victoria, they said, hoping to shock me. The problem was that, deep down, I wanted to be more like Victoria. The idea of a life without limits – wearing incredibly high-heeled shoes and clothes that were considered too hot for other women, and being the star attraction in the daily afternoon flirting at the store – appealed to me more and more. I still did not dare sharing such subversive thoughts with my parents.

Carlos nobly stuck with me. He convinced his father to let him use his family’s pick-up truck to take me on dates to Cartago and San Jose, in the hope it would satisfy my desire for a more worldly existence and make the idea of getting married more appealing. The strategy largely backfired, as it made me even more dubious of marriage. I would look at the people in these cities, who were somewhat more sophisticated than the farmers in my little town, and I would question even more how I could be happy raising children within the four walls of some house in my little town.

When I turned 24, Carlos proposed to me for the third and last time. The romance and anticipation that had been in his voice the first time around had pretty much vanished. Instead, he almost sounded impatient and weary. He made it clear that if I turned him down again, we would have to break up, which was fair. I told him I could not decide right away and I would let him know, which irritated him even more.

The following morning, I did something I had never done before: I took a sick day from my job when I was not really sick. I had to get away for the day, and I took the bus to Cartago. I was beginning to doubt myself. At one level, it was pretty dumb to be turning down Carlos, as he was one of the better marriage prospects in town. Why was I so scared of ending up like Rita, and why was I so enamored of Victoria’s lifestyle? I had been part of the Costa Rican 24-7 beauty pageant now for six years, and my society was telling me it was time to give it up and move on. But I did not want the beauty pageant to end! It seemed so cruel. Why did my parents and my culture teach me to love the attention I got from wearing high heels and nice clothes, only to expect me to give it all up when my feminine appeal was at its peak? But other women did just that. I thought of all the girls I had grown up with, and how we were all excited to start wearing high heels when we were 18. Most of them were now married, rarely venturing out in public in anything higher than 2-inch heels, and they seemed happy. What was wrong with me that I did not want to follow in their footsteps?

The bus arrived in Cartago. I got off and wandered aimlessly in the city, lost in my own thoughts. I stopped at a street corner and noticed a pretty clothing boutique shop. I went inside. The woman working inside was quite beautiful, with flowing brown hair and a slim figure, and she was wearing tight denim pants and a pair of 5-inch stiletto sandals. I judged her to be about 30 years of age. And she was definitely single.

She asked me if I needed any help. I said yes, and she showed me her various clothing lines. Her name was Gloria, and we talked for quite a while about clothes. She finally said, “If you have any other questions, please do not hesitate to ask.”

I shocked even myself when I replied, “I actually do have a question, although I will certainly understand if you do not want to answer it. Do you like being single?”

Gloria was surprised by the boldness of the question, but she recovered quickly. She looked at me, studied what I was wearing, and seemed to note my 4-inch stiletto pumps. “Let me guess,” she said. “You are about 24 or so, your boyfriend and your parents are pressuring you to get married, and you do not want to.” When I said yes, she responded, “Something very similar happened to me.”

We talked for a little longer – fortunately, it was a slow day and there were no other customers in the store to divert Gloria’s attention. She finally said, “If you have doubts, you should not get married. If you stay single, do the things that you enjoy. I do not regret not having married because I am doing what I want to do. If I meet the right man, I will know it.”

She added, “I think you are a high-heel lover, aren’t you? Come over here.” She walked me over to a corner of her store where a number of pairs of 5-inch heels were on display. “Try some on and see if you like them.”

I had never even tried on a pair of 5-inch heels in my life. But Gloria brought me a pair of sandals in my size. I took off my 4-inch stilettos and eased my feet into the 5-inchers. It reminded me of my 18th birthday party. How could one little inch make such a big difference? I was not used to the way my feet were stretched vertically, and how I had to thrust my hips and my back to stand up straight. When I felt all balanced, I took a few cautious steps and stopped in front of a full-length mirror. As much as I had liked my appearance in 4-inch heels, I was staggered by the way I looked in 5-inch heels. The difference was stunning.

“Ooh, Ana,” Gloria said. “If you are going to give up shoes like that for a man, he had better be good!”

It was at that moment that I made my peace with not marrying Carlos. In four years, I had gone from being one of the most promising young women in my community to something of a disappointment. I had been someone with excellent marriage prospects, but now people had their doubts about me. I either had to marry Carlos, or become the next Victoria. I chose Victoria.

“I love these shoes. I’ll buy them,” I told Gloria.

While paying for the shoes, I told Gloria about my job at the store in my little town. She suggested I walk over to the Bank of Cartago a few blocks away and apply for a job there. If I was not going to get married, I needed to get out of my town, meet new people and expand my horizons, she said. And she was right. She gave me her business card and told me to use her as a reference. The bank had given her the loan to start up her clothing store, and she was on good terms with everyone there.

I walked over to the bank (in my 4-inch stilettos), and filled out an application. I took the bus home, told Carlos I was not going to marry him, and then went home. My parents were waiting for me, and I told them my decision. As I had expected, they were crestfallen. As far as they were concerned, their hopes and dreams for me were crushed. I did not make things any easier for them when I took my new shoes out of the shopping bag. “By the way,” I said, “I will be wearing these from now on.” I slowly put the 5-inch sandals on my feet. My mother began to cry, and my father walked out of the room grumbling. As I said before, what a big difference a simple little inch can make!

To be continued