Thursday, June 4, 2009

Not Today

How she wished that just once … just one random day … she could have polished the golden wood floors to a level of perfection that would earn approval. She loved those floors… the magic that could be wielded with a floor buffer … wiping away the imperfections of another day … leaving behind a gleaming surface. Some days she would imagine the scuffs to be the miseries of her heart, relishing the moment of make-believe control as the brushes whisked them away. She cherished the heart freedom of a perfectly gleaming slate, free of any blemish or shadow or jagged edge.

Then there were the hours of patrolling the entrances to the room, guarding against little footprints … daring dust to settle … protecting the perfection … waiting in anticipation for the eyes of the one who mattered most. At last the car pulls into the driveway … a dog barks … a key rattles in the door … and he steps into the house ornamented with the aroma of pot roast and baking rolls.

“Oh … you didn’t get to the floors today?”

2 comments:

Cat said...

!!! Oh I felt outrage!

Laurita said...

I felt dejection. My heart hurt for the one who put so much care and effort into those floors, who saw them as something more than wood, only to have those efforts stomped upon. Tess, your writing is so evocative.