Magdalena: At Home
Magdalena lived modestly in a small, rented home five miles from the nearest town, Outaway City. The house sat by itself on a small lot surrounded on three sides by a bean field. One oak stood in the yard, and, trying to stand but not really making it, sprawled the rusted-out remains of a swingset that Magdalena intended to convert into sculpture once she found the money to take a welding class. She thought a stegosaurus would do nicely. Perhaps if she got really good at welding, she could turn it into a swingset-themed custom chopper, but she would have to practice a lot.
The house had a small porch, and in summertime Magdalena would sit there, careful to distribute her weight evenly across the rotting boards and supplemental two-by-fours. She would gaze past her peeling blue paint and watch the corn grow on the other side of the county road, the fourth side of her rented plot. When drivers passed, she would raise her index finger calmly and deliberately, and they would raise theirs in return.
Upon opening the rickety, cartoonishly saggy screen door and kicking in the sticky interior wooden door, one reluctantly set foot on the peeling tiles of the kitchen floor. The kitchen was clean and cheerful, and it generally smelled of cinnamon. In wintertime the tiny windowsill above the heavily stained ceramic sink was choked with herbs in small, decorated pots. The rusted metal kitchen table teetered perilously but was covered with a cheerful cotton tablecloth. The bathroom, similarly stained but clean and cheerful, opened off the kitchen.
To the right was a doorless passageway into what might charitably be called a living room. Atop this room's matted green carpet rested a prickly, burnt orange three-cushion couch dotted with colorful hand-knitted blankets, a brown leather recliner that was missing several buttons, a green three-legged footrest, a side table supporting an 11” TV with a built-in VCR, and a folding chair and card table with an outdated computer, printer, telephone, and piles upon piles of paper, much of it also outdated. The walls supported unframed drawings and paintings, some by Magdalena, some by her friends. A Wandering Jew houseplant hung territorially from the ceiling: the man of the house.
The back room was the bedroom, which contained a full-sized bed, a dresser, two antique lamps, a filing cabinet, a dwarf hemlock tree, and more artwork. The bright side to having only a few small, almost windowless rooms was that it kept the heating bills down.
Magdalena supported herself with a half-time job as a library assistant, but although she did not like to think of herself as materialistic, she had higher aspirations. She wanted to work full time. She had a dozen resumes, each tailored to a different career path: receptionist, short order cook, data entry clerk, waitress, seamstress,... It puzzled her that she had found nothing in nearly a year of searching. She was well liked by her parents, grandparents, landlord, and three friends. She dressed well, in clean, black full-length dresses with bright jewelry. More than that, she was a responsible person with a kind disposition who deserved to be able to take a welding class.
Reading a newspaper during her break at the library, Magdalena learned that a ski resort would soon be opening at Mittelmont, the only substantial hilly outcrop in the area, apparently somehow created by glaciers. A ski resort would have to hire workers. True, Mittelmont had a reputation for strange occurrences, even disappearances, but beggars could not be choosers. She needed a second job, and she was determined to try every possible avenue.
The house had a small porch, and in summertime Magdalena would sit there, careful to distribute her weight evenly across the rotting boards and supplemental two-by-fours. She would gaze past her peeling blue paint and watch the corn grow on the other side of the county road, the fourth side of her rented plot. When drivers passed, she would raise her index finger calmly and deliberately, and they would raise theirs in return.
Upon opening the rickety, cartoonishly saggy screen door and kicking in the sticky interior wooden door, one reluctantly set foot on the peeling tiles of the kitchen floor. The kitchen was clean and cheerful, and it generally smelled of cinnamon. In wintertime the tiny windowsill above the heavily stained ceramic sink was choked with herbs in small, decorated pots. The rusted metal kitchen table teetered perilously but was covered with a cheerful cotton tablecloth. The bathroom, similarly stained but clean and cheerful, opened off the kitchen.
To the right was a doorless passageway into what might charitably be called a living room. Atop this room's matted green carpet rested a prickly, burnt orange three-cushion couch dotted with colorful hand-knitted blankets, a brown leather recliner that was missing several buttons, a green three-legged footrest, a side table supporting an 11” TV with a built-in VCR, and a folding chair and card table with an outdated computer, printer, telephone, and piles upon piles of paper, much of it also outdated. The walls supported unframed drawings and paintings, some by Magdalena, some by her friends. A Wandering Jew houseplant hung territorially from the ceiling: the man of the house.
The back room was the bedroom, which contained a full-sized bed, a dresser, two antique lamps, a filing cabinet, a dwarf hemlock tree, and more artwork. The bright side to having only a few small, almost windowless rooms was that it kept the heating bills down.
Magdalena supported herself with a half-time job as a library assistant, but although she did not like to think of herself as materialistic, she had higher aspirations. She wanted to work full time. She had a dozen resumes, each tailored to a different career path: receptionist, short order cook, data entry clerk, waitress, seamstress,... It puzzled her that she had found nothing in nearly a year of searching. She was well liked by her parents, grandparents, landlord, and three friends. She dressed well, in clean, black full-length dresses with bright jewelry. More than that, she was a responsible person with a kind disposition who deserved to be able to take a welding class.
Reading a newspaper during her break at the library, Magdalena learned that a ski resort would soon be opening at Mittelmont, the only substantial hilly outcrop in the area, apparently somehow created by glaciers. A ski resort would have to hire workers. True, Mittelmont had a reputation for strange occurrences, even disappearances, but beggars could not be choosers. She needed a second job, and she was determined to try every possible avenue.
Labels: Magdalena
posted by Margo at 3:00 PM
1 Comments:
More than that, she was a responsible person with a kind disposition who deserved to be able to take a welding class.That, my friend, is a great sentence.
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