She slaves at work from 8 in the morning to 8 in the night. In between, a few moments for breath. The soles of her feet, tired with age. Her eyes squinting with the light of the sun when she goes in and out. Her husband, a viejo rabo verde who could care less about respecting her as his wife when he speaks of the women in his life. Constumbres, costumbres nada mas says Juan Gabriel. Where is the love? There’s only the familiar holding that union together. The icing on the cake, two ungrateful daughters who will one day drive her to an early grave. One reproaches her every single thing in her life while the other one will never be satisfied.
She’s already past forty. The life she leads is far from the fairy tale she once dreamed off when she was a little girl running around the streets, dreaming of a perfect life with a handsome man and a big family that would love and cherish each other ‘till the end of time.
As she crouches down in front of the seventh toilet of the day, she wonders what she did in her previous life to deserve such a punishment. She sprays the inside and scrubs really hard that she almost pulls a muscle and chastises herself for even thinking those thoughts. Despite the imperfections in her life, she is content. She has a roof over her head, a steady job, family and health. Others have much less, why is she complaining? Careful not to bump into the door behind her she stands up and inspects the bathroom. Everything looks and is clean. She takes her bucket containing her liquids and brushes with her and as she exits the bathroom her traitorous mind betrays her and asks itself one more time in a very small voice, what did I do to deserve this punishment?
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punishment. [8/14]
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