She felt no satisfaction as she meticulously crushed the expensive watch underneath the tip of her heel. One sickening turn for perfection, she thought, as the glass face cracked satisfyingly. One angry stomp for hard work, as she tried her best to break the metal links of the band. One loud sob for marriage, as she quickly bent to pick up the mangled timepiece. And finally, one stunted shout of rage as she threw the Cartier watch with all her might against the exposed brick of the basement wall. Tiny springs and cogs scattered on the concrete floor, and the battered remains of the watch lay in a heap at the base of the wall. Surveying the small mess she had created, Marie thought: And all this destruction? This one's for love.
After a moment, she briskly retrieved the small dustpan and hand broom she stashed behind the furnace for precisely this purpose. Efficiently, careful not to stir up any dust onto her salmon colored work suit, she swept all the watch pieces together and unceremoniously dumped them into the trash bin. Suddenly tired, she blinked back tears as she replaced the cleaning supplies in their hiding spot. It was 5:00 a.m. in Detroit, Michigan; a frigid January day in 1976, but Marie refused to cry. There was simply too much work to be done.
Quickly composing herself, she ascended the dilapidated wooden stairs leading to the main floor of the house, taking special care to lock the basement door behind her. The quiet of the main floor was quite different than the oppressive silence of the basement, it recalled the cheerful organization of a well-kept home. Her husband was asleep upstairs in the master suite, all five children peacefully slumbering in their bedrooms on the second and third floors of the house. In fact, the only noise to be heard at all was the run of the paperboy and Marie's own heels against the newly refinished parquet floor. The house smelled clean and fresh: every morning Marie had fresh flowers delivered to place in the crystal vase of the foyer, and she never went to bed before making sure everything was tidied and perfect. Even though the kids were assigned dish duty every evening, more often than not Marie found herself taking the dishes back out of the cabinets and re-washing them by hand, to make sure they were always flawlessly clean...usually, she was the last person to go to sleep, climbing the flight of stairs to her own bedroom long after midnight.
This wintery morning, as she sat in the darkened dining room at the behemoth table, necessary to seat all seven family members and various guests at once, she found herself wondering: Am I happy?
Just as quickly as she asked it, she put the unanswerable question out of her mind. It doesn't matter if I'm happy, she chastised herself. Other people can be happy. I am successful.
And with this last thought, she rose quickly from the seat at the head of the table and went into the kitchen to put the roast for dinner in the oven and put on the morning coffee for her long-awaited husband.
After a moment, she briskly retrieved the small dustpan and hand broom she stashed behind the furnace for precisely this purpose. Efficiently, careful not to stir up any dust onto her salmon colored work suit, she swept all the watch pieces together and unceremoniously dumped them into the trash bin. Suddenly tired, she blinked back tears as she replaced the cleaning supplies in their hiding spot. It was 5:00 a.m. in Detroit, Michigan; a frigid January day in 1976, but Marie refused to cry. There was simply too much work to be done.
Quickly composing herself, she ascended the dilapidated wooden stairs leading to the main floor of the house, taking special care to lock the basement door behind her. The quiet of the main floor was quite different than the oppressive silence of the basement, it recalled the cheerful organization of a well-kept home. Her husband was asleep upstairs in the master suite, all five children peacefully slumbering in their bedrooms on the second and third floors of the house. In fact, the only noise to be heard at all was the run of the paperboy and Marie's own heels against the newly refinished parquet floor. The house smelled clean and fresh: every morning Marie had fresh flowers delivered to place in the crystal vase of the foyer, and she never went to bed before making sure everything was tidied and perfect. Even though the kids were assigned dish duty every evening, more often than not Marie found herself taking the dishes back out of the cabinets and re-washing them by hand, to make sure they were always flawlessly clean...usually, she was the last person to go to sleep, climbing the flight of stairs to her own bedroom long after midnight.
This wintery morning, as she sat in the darkened dining room at the behemoth table, necessary to seat all seven family members and various guests at once, she found herself wondering: Am I happy?
Just as quickly as she asked it, she put the unanswerable question out of her mind. It doesn't matter if I'm happy, she chastised herself. Other people can be happy. I am successful.
And with this last thought, she rose quickly from the seat at the head of the table and went into the kitchen to put the roast for dinner in the oven and put on the morning coffee for her long-awaited husband.
