writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

Saturday Morning

Jack Harrison


��Maria Rodriguez pushed the vaccum cleaner rapidly back and forth over the maroon carpet in the conference room,. taking care not to let it touch the stocky legs of the long, massive walnut table or the thin legs of the ornate chairs with needlepoint cushions.
��She glanced nervously at the only door to the room. She knew there were a few people in the building on a Saturday morning.
��A boy about twelve years old stuck his head in the door and she flipped the switch to turn off the machine. The shrill whine unwound to stillness.
��“I’ll take the trash downstairs now, Momma,” the boy said.
��“Okay, Willie, that’s fine. I’m almost done in here.”
��A few minutes later, she placed the vaccum cleaner in a closet in the outer office and looked up at the clock on the wall. In about an hour her nine-year-old daughter would be arriving home after spending the morning at a friend’s house.
��A man walked into the room. He was carrying several folders and some loose papers.
��“Maria,” he said, “you had to come in on Saturday, huh?”
��“Yes, Mr. Carlson.”
��“Those guys sure left a mess. I guess they were here late on the contract.” He walked into a corner office with large windows overlooking the city.
��Maria began straightening up the outer office. She scooted chairs into place at several desks. Two file cabinet drawers were open and she pushed them shut. She picked up a pair of shoes near a secretary’s work station and placed them side by side under the desk.
��The boy returned. “What should I do now?” he said.
��“Help me finish up here,” she said.
��The man came out of his office and walked over to a file cabinet.
��“Oh, Mr. Carlson,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my son, William.”
��The man smiled and stepped toward the boy. “Hi,” he said, shaking the boy’s hand. “William, huh? That’s MY name.”
��“Willies’ in the sixth grade,” the woman said. “He’s going to be a lawyer, too.” She smiled proudly.
��The man chuckled. “Oh, yeah? Well, that’s just fine. Helping out your mom today, huh?”
��“yes, sir,” the boy said.
��The man turned to the woman. “You look great in those jeans, Maria,” he said. He bent over and patted her on the rear end. Grinning, he glanced at the boy, then walked back into his office and sat down.
��The woman’s face reddened. She looked at the boy, then quickly away.
��“Check over there,” she said, pointing across the hall. Her voice was barely audible. “Make sure we got all the trash.””
��The boy walked into the room that the woman had pointed out. It contained two photocopy machines. He kicked the side of one of the machines, then ttok a deep breath. Several packages of copier paper were scattered on a table. He stacked them in a pile. On the table lay a key ring with six keys on it, which he picked up and put in his pocket.
��He thought about a recent night when he had been awakened and found his mother asleep in a chair in the living room, holding in her lap a pair of slacks she had been hemming. That was her other job - doing alterations for a clothing store.
��He thought about how embarassed and angry he had been when some kids at school had called him a “wetback” and “greaser.” But it hadn’t happened in several months and he had been hopeful that it wouldn’t again.
��He heard his mother call his name and walked out into the hall.
��“Mr. Carlson can’t find his keys,” she said. “Would you help me look?
��“They wouldn’t be out here,” the man said, sounding angry. “Maybe they’re on my desk.”
��He went into his office. The woman and the boy stood near the office door, not sure if they were supposed to go in.
��“Well, hell,” the man said. “I’ll look in the men’s room.”
��As he walked out of his office, he said, “That’s the only key to the Mercedes. My wife lost the other one last month.”
��The woman and the boy went back to their work and soon finished. As they were putting on their jackets, the man returned.
��“I couldn’t find Œem,” he said, and stalked into his office. The woman and the boy left.
��Neither said anything until they had almost reached the end of their bus ride.
��“Are you getting paid for working today?” the bot said finally.
��“They told me I could probably take some time off later,” she said.
��They were both silent for a moment.
��“I don’t mind,” she said. “I need the job. We all have to try to get along in the world.”
��The boy looked out the window.
��On the three-block walk from the bus stop to their apartment building, as they were crossing a bridge over a small stream, the boy slowed his pace and fell a few steps behind the woman. He took the kewys out of his pocket and tossed them into the water. The woman didn’t notice.
��The boy ran to catch up and took hold of her hand. He felt a little better, but not much. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what it should be. So he just squeezed her hand and walked along beside her.



Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...