Mary by Daryna Posternak

She spends the majority of her days

looking at the floor. At first, people thought that she was deaf. Nobody could recall seeing a smile on her already wrinkled face. She has never said hi back to children nor to any of the staff, she has worked with. When she was done with her job she stayed at work for another hour to sit outside on the bench and look at the parents picking up their kids.  She worked as a cleaner in a middle school.  

-Whore! - screamed one of the girls as Mary was leaving the hallway of her High school. She was five months pregnant and everyone knew. It was a small town and gossip spread here faster than the light.  She figured they knew for a while – she had to scratch the names of the locker and endure all the glares, whispers, and giggles behind her back since October. Mary meant to go to the art school in London, she has already received the invitation to the final interview. She has never shown up to it–at the time she was crying in the delivery room. A day later, she run away from the hospital. 

–What a bitch  - said the nurse realizing she has left the child. 

Everybody claimed it was her fault. That she got pregnant; that he left her 3 months before the labour after talking her off from abortion; that her mum kicked her out of the house saying ‘ you should have known better than sleeping around’. She didn’t sleep around -it was her first time. Her high school sweetheart—Cole, was assuring her that he’ll always love and would never leave her. His ‘never’ lasted 6 months. She moved to a city 125 miles away and changed more than 14 jobs by the age of 40.

She got back to the flat which more resembled a stack of matchboxes. The walls were too thin to protect her ears from neighbours’ arguments and babies’ cries. She scrolled through the short list of numbers on her phone. Letters are too small for her so she threw her head back a little while squinting her eyes. She pressed the green button, and after a series of beeps cold woman’s voice stated:  This person’s phone is currently unavailable, please send SMS or try again later.

She put her phone back on the table next to a framed picture of a young beautiful woman gently holding a sleepy baby boy and a neat pile of books mainly consisting of romance novels. Then she turned the TV on and gazed through the talking and moving figures on the screen.  

In the left corner opposite the window stood an old wooden easel, just next to a dusty case with oil paints and three canvas leant facing the wall. That was a forgotten part of her room. Only occasionally visited by her 10-year-old cat, who likes playing with dying ficus leaves.