Real Life Miracles
5.29.06
In a faded floral shirt she sits upright in her seat, strapped in around the wide waist, per air safety regulations. On the little, flimsy gray fold out table in front of her sits a small safari themed-tapestry purse. Has she been to Africa? Would she like to go one day? The reading glasses she wears are smudged, oversize, blue wire rimmed and manly looking, perhaps her husband's if she left hers at home. But also perched on top of her thick, wavy, short brown hair are a pair of black plastic fashion sunglasses. Pea sized cubic zirocnia earrings dot her lobes and a clot sized liver spot lies on her right cheek. She reads the Reader's Digest folding each page back on itself, laughs now and then with the man to her left, said supposed husband. What does she think of the "Real Life Miracles" featured in this month's issue? Has she had any of her own?
When she lowers her head, the soft padding of an additional chin compresses against her neck like a child's balloon. Blue veins on her tanned hands criss-cross each other like the rivers on a topographical map. They have guided an iron across many shirt sleeves, flipped a 1,000 eggs over easy, changed hundreds of diapers, written thank you cards, caressed cheeks and weeded gardens.
The fresh white Nikes on her long feet protect the bunions caused by many pairs of narrow toed shoes from her younger years. White cotton athletic socks wick away the sweat and cushion her calloused curved toes.The coarse, open pored skin on her face has seen lots of sun and the broad, flat features speak of Latin AMerican Indian heritage. The lower jaw drops open as the early hour tugs sleep over her face like a sheet. The eyelids drop, her head nods and then starts as she fights the sand-man. Hadn't she worked the breakfast shift for years in the family restaurant? The "Real Life Miracles" are not done yet and she starts, awake again, then braces her left arm against the seat back in front of her. Now she adjusts the bra strap under her ample armpit, something there annoys her. Her feet cross, wiggling to keep the circulation going and she shifts in her navy blue chevron flecked seat. She is row 18 Seat E on American Airlines flight 564 from Los Angeles, to St. Louis. When she deplanes, she will put her "Miracles" in her safari purse and be welcomed by 3 grandchildren and her daughter who will take her to celebrate Mother's Day at their favorite Taqueria.
She will call on those "Miracles" in 5 years when diagnosed with breast cancer, that something under her arm having grown into a peach pit size tumor, yet will live another 15 years after the chemo robs her hair and turns it white on its return. Her husband will hold those veined hands through her nausea and moments of low faith. She will put him to bed one night and wake to find him, gone, and the emptiness will feel unbearable at times. But she will recover this loss as well, tuck it way in her purse where she will find his blue wire rimmed reading glasses and will put them on again. Smiling at the sun, squinting at the TV and fanning through pamphlets she will dream of her Kenyan safari before rising to prepare another dinner.
In a faded floral shirt she sits upright in her seat, strapped in around the wide waist, per air safety regulations. On the little, flimsy gray fold out table in front of her sits a small safari themed-tapestry purse. Has she been to Africa? Would she like to go one day? The reading glasses she wears are smudged, oversize, blue wire rimmed and manly looking, perhaps her husband's if she left hers at home. But also perched on top of her thick, wavy, short brown hair are a pair of black plastic fashion sunglasses. Pea sized cubic zirocnia earrings dot her lobes and a clot sized liver spot lies on her right cheek. She reads the Reader's Digest folding each page back on itself, laughs now and then with the man to her left, said supposed husband. What does she think of the "Real Life Miracles" featured in this month's issue? Has she had any of her own?
When she lowers her head, the soft padding of an additional chin compresses against her neck like a child's balloon. Blue veins on her tanned hands criss-cross each other like the rivers on a topographical map. They have guided an iron across many shirt sleeves, flipped a 1,000 eggs over easy, changed hundreds of diapers, written thank you cards, caressed cheeks and weeded gardens.
The fresh white Nikes on her long feet protect the bunions caused by many pairs of narrow toed shoes from her younger years. White cotton athletic socks wick away the sweat and cushion her calloused curved toes.The coarse, open pored skin on her face has seen lots of sun and the broad, flat features speak of Latin AMerican Indian heritage. The lower jaw drops open as the early hour tugs sleep over her face like a sheet. The eyelids drop, her head nods and then starts as she fights the sand-man. Hadn't she worked the breakfast shift for years in the family restaurant? The "Real Life Miracles" are not done yet and she starts, awake again, then braces her left arm against the seat back in front of her. Now she adjusts the bra strap under her ample armpit, something there annoys her. Her feet cross, wiggling to keep the circulation going and she shifts in her navy blue chevron flecked seat. She is row 18 Seat E on American Airlines flight 564 from Los Angeles, to St. Louis. When she deplanes, she will put her "Miracles" in her safari purse and be welcomed by 3 grandchildren and her daughter who will take her to celebrate Mother's Day at their favorite Taqueria.
She will call on those "Miracles" in 5 years when diagnosed with breast cancer, that something under her arm having grown into a peach pit size tumor, yet will live another 15 years after the chemo robs her hair and turns it white on its return. Her husband will hold those veined hands through her nausea and moments of low faith. She will put him to bed one night and wake to find him, gone, and the emptiness will feel unbearable at times. But she will recover this loss as well, tuck it way in her purse where she will find his blue wire rimmed reading glasses and will put them on again. Smiling at the sun, squinting at the TV and fanning through pamphlets she will dream of her Kenyan safari before rising to prepare another dinner.
posted by Barbery at 7:14 PM
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