Six Point Five

I am a six point five.

I know because my roommate in college printed the chart and taped it to the mirror. She was a 7. She said I was a 6.5. “You’re not a knockout,” she said. “But you’re not invisible.” She meant it as a compliment. I took it as a measurement.

The first time it paid off was at an interview in Seattle. I was twenty-three. I had a resume printed at the library. The printer jammed, so I was late. My shirt was from H&M. The collar was folded. The interviewer looked at me. Then at my resume. He asked if I knew what a demand deposit was. I said no. He said, “Honest. Teachable.” The guy next to me said he didn’t know either. The interviewer frowned. “Then learn.” The guy didn’t get the job. I did.

I worked at a bank on 8th and Pine. The branch smelled like bleach and old carpet. The ATM outside had a sticky keypad. My desk faced the window. HR gave me a pink keyboard cover. Xiao Zhang sat to my left. She had been there three years. She knew the codes. She knew which manager wanted coffee and which wanted tea. Once she asked how to fill out a form. The manager said, “Three years and you still ask.” The next day I asked the same question. He said, “You’re new. Take your time.” Xiao Zhang looked at me. She didn’t say anything. I picked at the corner of the keyboard cover until it lifted.

At lunch she opened a salad. I opened a box of rice. She asked what skincare I used. I said Nivea. She laughed. I laughed. Then we chewed. She said, “Clients like you.” I said, “I know.” She put her fork down. “Must be nice.” I kept eating. The rice was cold.

Old Chen came in every Tuesday. Fifty. Thin hair. Big stomach. Gold ring on his pinky. The first time I poured him water. He said, “Pretty girls get things done.” I pushed the contract across the table. “Mr. Chen, page three.” He read. He signed. I took the paper. That night I memorized clauses until two in the morning. Stomach medicine on the desk. The pothos on the windowsill. One leaf yellow.

He came back. He asked for me. The manager smiled. Xiao Zhang typed faster. I poured water. He signed. I filed. The numbers weren’t mine. The words weren’t mine. But the signature line had my name on the bottom. I learned to keep my face still. When I said, “I’ll check that for you,” I checked three times. I kept a pen in my hand so no one could see my fingers shake.

At my review the manager said, “Clients respond to you.” He tapped a pen on the table. “Keep doing that.” I asked, “Doing what.” He said, “You know.” I didn’t know what he meant. I knew anyway. I got a raise. Xiao Zhang got a raise too. Hers was smaller. She stopped asking about my skincare.

Zhou Yuan worked at the coffee shop downstairs. He didn’t drink milk tea. Too sweet, he said. One night I worked until ten. He stood outside the bank with a cup of milk tea. I said, “You don’t drink that.” He said, “I bought it for you.” He waited forty minutes in line. The shop was across the street. The line was long. He never waited in lines. He bought coffee where the line was short.

He walked me home. He didn’t ask. He just walked. At my door he checked the lock. “This lock is loose.” The next day he came with a screwdriver. He fixed the lock. Then the faucet. Then the chair. He stood in my kitchen and opened cabinets without asking. He put the rice on the top shelf. He put the oil on the bottom. “This is better.” I didn’t move the rice. I didn’t move the oil. I let him.

We ate noodles. He ordered for me. I hated cilantro. I ate it. He didn’t ask. He talked about his plan. Five years. A spreadsheet. He showed me on his phone. The cells were green and blue. He said, “You’ll like it.” I said, “Okay.” He said, “We can move in spring.” I said, “Okay.” He put his phone away. He didn’t ask about my spring.

We weren’t together. He fixed my faucet once in my rental. He squatted on the floor. His shirt came loose from his waist. I stood beside him. I handed him the wrench. He stood up. Close. The fridge hummed. He put his hand on the fridge. I smelled coffee on his shirt. He lowered his head. My phone rang. Work call. He stepped back. “Answer it.”

I answered. The client said the contract needed changes. I said mm four times. I hung up. Zhou Yuan stood at the door. He said, “I applied for a transfer for you.” I asked, “What transfer.” He said, “Back office. No clients.” He said, “You don’t like entertaining clients.” I said, “Did you ask me.” He said, “I thought you didn’t.” I said, “You thought.”

The manager called me in the next morning. “Your boyfriend fixed it.” I said, “He’s not my boyfriend.” He said, “Whatever. You’re in back office Monday.” I said, “No.” He said, “It’s done.” I went home. Zhou Yuan was there. Takeout on the table. A key on his ring. I didn’t give him a key. I saw the key. I pushed him. He hit the shoe cabinet. A box of Band-Aids fell. I said, “Don’t manage me.” My voice was loud. He didn’t speak. I packed. I left.

New city. One room. The pothos came with me. It died. Takeout boxes by the door. The fridge didn’t hum. It clicked. I scrolled my phone. Three missed calls from Zhou Yuan. I didn’t call back. My mother called twice. I let it ring. I turned off beauty mode and pushed my bangs up. I opened the front camera and looked at myself. Six point five. Toothpaste at the corner of my mouth. No stomach medicine.

I sold phones for four months. I stood in a store. Men came in. They asked for my number. I said no. They asked again. I said no. I learned the specs and the storage. I learned the trade-in prices too. I got good. A woman came in with her son. She bought a Xiaomi. She said, “Thank you.” She didn’t look at my face. She looked at the receipt. I put the receipt in her bag.

I went back to the bank. Not his bank. A smaller one. The manager looked at my face. Then at my resume. He said, “You have a gap.” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Why.” I said, “I moved.” He said, “Why.” I said, “I wanted to.” He looked at me. I didn’t smile. He hired me.

I checked the accounts I had been afraid to check. I studied for the certificate at a small kitchen table under a yellow lamp. I read until the letters moved. I took the exam and passed. The certificate went in a drawer. I didn’t post it.

I sent Zhou Yuan a message: What should I do. He wrote back: Where are you. I didn’t answer. I cut the dead leaves off the pothos. The stem was still green. I put it in water. Tomorrow I work.