May 5, 2014

Skipping Wednesdays


The washer was going as loud as the nosy
room. All she could hear at the time was
the television, yelling, and music in and out
of the small three bedroom house. Under the table 
was a bag of Epsom salt and towel she had gave him 
from the pantry. Summer was around the corner. 
Her freshly pressed ponytail began to shrink from 
the humid air.  He took his good hand and patted her 
right thigh. The pats were followed by a long caress up 
her short skirt under the dinner table. The table was
 deformed, leaning to one side. Valencia jumped but 
kept quiet before Ma caught a glimpse. No one ever paid
her any attention.  She was known for being
the neighborhood slut. Uncle was suppose to keep
an eagle eye on her. And didn't he…She hated his
demeanor. Valencia knew the routine, go to the back
bedroom and pretend she's doing homework.
Uncle would give her younger cousin a few dollars
for the ice cream truck. Grabbing her stomach, she
could hear the screen door slam. The sound of his
footsteps caused her heart to flutter and she became
short of breath. Her fiancé held her close as she
ran her nails along the peeling wall paper. The paper
held more than tobacco stains and the smell of
liquor but Valencia's childhood. Valencia slid onto
the faded hardwood floor. What did she expect after
20 long years? There was nothing of value left but a
few photographs of Ma in her Sunday best. Every
Wednesday night it was the same thing.  Ma was too
busy helping the church or someone else. She was blinded
by a bigger light. Some people don't want to see the truth.
as Valencia and her fiancé claimed closure on the house,
she took a look back and wondered if her Ma made it
to the glory land. Was ma really that naïve? She also
looked up high and prayed Uncle was burning in hell. 

jhp©2013-2014



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