Savior

A Story by <3

A man's life isn't measured by what he's done or where he's been; how many creased-sleeved-desk-jockeys know his name. What model car her drives. How about what brand stapler he uses to press those post modern busniess memos into a collections of soon to b recycled waste. Morning to night I watched them go about their lives; playing fantasy football drafts cubicle to five by five foot cubicle like they were achieving glory. Telling their wives they'd be working late then putting on a coat and going out to the bars.

I pushed the broom. I cleaned the messes.

'One day,' Mother said to me over her white dishes. Brushing them with extra force she groaned at some spot of caked on food. "One day, you'll find your place, though it probably won't be where you expected.' The last plate had sunken into the murky cotton soap. 'When you do, you'll be able to aford a real house, not some crummy Bronx apartment.' She turned, wiping her hands down the floral pattern apron she always wore doing dishes; light blue. Brown stains bled into the fabirc like rusty decay. 'Finish your math.'