Shattered Glass

By Erin N. Price

The broken pieces weren’t as rough and jagged as she expected. They’re mocking me, Rosa thought, touching a smooth shard with her extended finger. She wanted them to stab her.

Before she had even picked up the figurine, Rosa knew she was going to drop it. Somehow, she knew something so beautiful, so perfect, couldn’t stay whole when she touched it.

Shaking, Rosa looked at the smooth, walnut desk where the figurine had sat. It had been carefully placed next to a candle and a picture of St. Anthony of Padua, the patron saint of fertility and lost items.

The shrine must be for decoration, Rosa thought, a meager attempt to hold on to a religion and heritage long forgotten. She couldn’t imagine the wealthy, Americanized Señora Rodriguez actually worshipping there. Still, breaking the Virgin Mary wasn’t just destruction; it was a kind of omen.

All she had wanted was to pick up the figurine, to dust under it. It was beautiful, sitting untouched on the walnut desk, sending out rays of rainbow light when the sun hit it just right. She had clutched it tighter to protect it, but it fell from her grip and somersaulted to the floor.

Rosa’s gaze swept across the living room’s perfect features: the ornate fireplace, the plush furniture, the antique grandfather clock in the corner. Had the family always been this wealthy? They must have a grandmother somewhere down the line who was like her—a cleaning lady who had broken a figurine of the Virgin Mary.

Rosa’s hands trembled as she picked up the glass pieces from the floor with her naked fingers. She glanced behind her, worried that Señora Rodriguez might suddenly appear to rage and scream at her. The Rodriguezes knew she didn’t have papers. They had to know. They were from Mexico, too, but they weren’t like her—they had been in Los Estados Unidos their entire lives. Who knew what they would do, what they would say? One damaged figurine could be a one-way ticket back to Zacatecas. And just like that, her children’s future would be shattered like the pieces of broken glass on the living room carpet.

Rosa looked behind her again, sweat dripping from her brow. In one breath, she opened a drawer of the walnut desk and put the glass fragments inside.

She glanced around the room and saw the effects of her work: the translucent windows now free of breath marks, the perfectly even vacuumed carpet stripes. She had done good work for them, always good work. Wasn’t it enough to make up for one little figurine? Even if it was la virgen?

Carolina Rodriguez looked at the smiling faces of her best friends and thought about how much she hated her life.

She watched Susana, sitting in a chair of honor at the center of the room, opening gifts of tiny baby clothes. The other women surrounded her, swapping pregnancy stories and giggling.

Trying not to cry, Carolina looked down at her shoes: turquoise pumps, $200 at Nordstrom. They matched her turquoise blouse, hidden under a black suit jacket.

She was dressed for the courtroom, not for her little sister’s baby shower. But who could fault her? She earned more in a day than Susana earned in a month. She and Josué had a large home in an upscale neighborhood. She had achieved the American dream—but it wasn’t her dream.

She looked at Susana, laughing as she opened a pack of baby onesies. She felt a sharp pain in her stomach as she remembered the kind of life she wanted for herself.

There was no one who could give her that life. Not the infertility doctors, those so-called experts, who had shaken their heads at her and told her in hushed voices how sorry they were. A lawyer’s income could not buy her way to motherhood.

“You’re so lucky,” Susana always said. “You’re free. You can take on the world. You don’t have to worry about anyone but your husband and yourself.”

Lucky, am I? Carolina thought. Even the cleaning lady has two children, and she’s 24 and single and barely makes enough money to feed them. I got all the luck I didn’t want, but none of the luck I wanted.

It was stupid and naïve to keep hoping, especially now that Carolina was nearing forty. But every day she kneeled in front of her glass Virgin Mary figurine and prayed for a child. Carolina wouldn’t call herself a believer, but there was something about that figurine, the way it sparkled in the sunlight, that made it seem almost alive. When she saw the figurine sparkle like that, she could almost believe that her prayers were being heard.

But then there was another negative pregnancy test, and her hopes were shattered again.

It might all be over, Rosa remembered as she picked up a tortilla between her thumb and index finger and flipped it to the other side. Our life here, our home, the boys’ future. Everything.

Rosa added the tortilla to the growing stack. Behind her, Carlos and Andrés colored pictures at the kitchen table. A novela blared from the television just a foot away. It was life in the tiny camper trailer that she called home.

It wasn’t much, but it was better than her old home in Zacatecas. Better than her job begging tourists to buy knock-off jewelry. And best of all, better than life with Esteban. He had seemed so perfect at first, like the romantic lead in a novela. She had thought she found a man who wasn’t like her father—and then he turned out to be exactly like her father.

She was happy to be in the States now, but Rosa couldn’t help wishing for something even better. As she watched her sons fighting over a blue crayon, she thought about them going to college someday, becoming lawyers or doctors maybe. And with one stupid mistake, one Virgin Mary figurine, her dreams might never come to be.

Rosa prayed that the Rodriguezes would be understanding, that the glass figurine didn’t mean much to them. They didn’t seem all that religious anyway. Perhaps it had been given to them by some aunt they barely knew. Maybe they wouldn’t even realize it was gone.

But Rosa shook her head as she set the tortillas on the table next to the rice and beans. No one puts a glass figurine they don’t care about at the center of their living room.

“How could she do it? I trusted her! I even gave her a key to come in when I wasn’t home!” Carolina gripped the steering wheel, breathing hard. She couldn’t believe that young cleaning lady with the large, innocent brown eyes had broken her Virgin Mary figurine and hidden the pieces in the desk drawer.

Carolina knew that Rosa didn’t have any papers, and she was trying to support two children on a tiny income. So why would she do such a stupid thing? She should know better!

Did Rosa break her Virgin Mary on purpose? Was she making fun of her, rubbing her status as a mother in Carolina’s face? Carolina had to find out.

Carolina knew Rosa lived on the other side of town, but she wasn’t prepared at how “other” the other side really was. She drove through a bumpy back road, passing trailer park after trailer park. Carolina passed a battered old pickup truck, rusting in the sun. She passed an old woman with tattered clothes who held the hand of a shoe-less child.

Carolina pulled into Quiet Grove trailer park and drove until the headlights of her Escalade brightened what she knew was Rosa’s trailer. It was hardly the size of Carolina’s front room. In front of the trailer sat two cracked plastic chairs and a kid’s bike with a missing wheel. A chip in the front window had been hastily fixed with duct tape. A dollar-store sign on the door read Bienvenidos.

An image sailed through Carolina’s mind of the apartment her family lived in when they first moved to the United States. The paint peeled and the door didn’t shut all the way, but Carolina’s parents were proud of it. They were proud to have made it to this country, to finally be able to call it their home.

At age seven, Carolina hadn’t noticed the apartment’s flaws. She was caught up in the vision of her parents’ American dream. But now, she thought about the squeaking of the door, the peeling of the paint. She was the woman who had worked her way through law school with scholarships and grit. She had achieved her parents’ American dream, but she felt hollow. She wished she could be that wide-eyed seven-year-old again.

Carolina got out of her car and walked toward the front door, even though she had no idea what she was going to say.

Rosa didn’t feel fear at first—only confusion. Señora Rodriguez looked so out of place standing on her front porch. She wore an expensive suit and heels and a deep shade of red lipstick. Her expression was hard to read, like stone.

She knew about the figurine. Why else would she come? But Rosa had expected a phone call telling her she was fired, perhaps threats about reporting her to the police. She hadn’t expected her boss to show up at her home, mocking her with her expensive clothes.

“Mommy, who’s she?” Andrés held onto Rosa’s legs and peered at Señora Rodriguez.

Señora Rodriguez looked down at Andrés, and her eyes softened. “Perhaps we could speak outside?” she asked.

Rosa nodded and spoke to Andrés. “Can you get out your trucks and play with your brother? Mommy needs to talk to la Señora.”

Andrés nodded and ran off, and Rosa stepped outside and closed the door. She gestured to the chairs in front of the trailer and noticed her hands were shaking. Why did the chairs have to be broken? She waited for la Señora to sit down, and then she sat down next to her. She clutched the arms of the chair and waited for the words she knew were coming.

Señora Rodriguez looked down at her hands, examining her manicured fingernails. “You have an adorable little boy,” she said.

Her Spanish sounded harsh—it didn’t flow like the Spanish of the wealthy class. Señora Rodriguez had come far in life, Rosa realized. But why was she avoiding talking about the figurine? Did she want Rosa to confess?

“I always wanted children, you know.” Señora Rodriguez’s dark eyes filled with longing. She crossed her legs in front of her and looked out at the bright colors of the Arizona sunset.

Rosa didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t realized a woman like Señora Rodriguez could want anything, really. Why wasn’t Señora Rodriguez yelling at her, telling her she never wanted to see her again? Isn’t that why she was here? Rosa couldn’t take it anymore, the waiting.

“I’m sorry about your Virgin Mary. It fell while I was dusting. I will work to make up the cost.”

She held her breath, but Señora Rodriguez didn’t explode with anger like Rosa expected. She just sighed, distant, like Rosa was speaking a language she didn’t understand. Then she shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t need it anymore. I don’t think she was listening anyway.”

Rosa felt like she couldn’t catch her breath. The Señora really didn’t care about her broken figurine? She wanted to ask about her job, but the Señora was in a strange mood, so instead, she waited. All was silent in the trailer park except for the distant sound of a cat mewing. In the trailer across the way, a light clicked off in the window.

Señora Rodriguez lifted her chin to the sky and sighed again. “Do you think the Virgin Mary knows what it’s like to long for a child? She got a child without even trying to have one.”

Rosa shivered even though the air was warm. She felt that the Señora was getting close to insulting the Virgin, and she didn’t like it.

“I think the Virgin understood what it was like to have a life she didn’t expect.” Rosa’s words hung in the air. She regretted saying them to a superior.

Señora Rodriguez turned toward Rosa, smiling. “What about you, Rosa? What do you want from life?”

No one had ever asked Rosa that question, but she felt the answer was obvious.

“I want something different than this,” she said, gesturing to the trailer park around them. “If not for me, then at least for my sons.” She felt strange confessing her dreams to someone like Señora Rodriguez, but the Señora nodded like she understood.

Señora Rodriguez stood abruptly. She extended her hand to Rosa, and Rosa took it. Her hand felt soft and warm. It reminded her of how it felt to hold hands with her older sister when she was a child.

“I’ll see you on Monday.” Señora Rodriguez’s wide smile made her look like a younger version of herself, like someone who still believed in dreams. Watching her boss smile, hearing that she could keep her job, Rosa thought she could hold on to her dreams just a little longer.

As she watched the Señora walk away, Rosa said prayers of gratitude under her breath. Rosa’s prayers left her lips and blew through the air toward Señora Rodriguez, who paused and turned back to Rosa. “And it’s about time I gave you a raise,” she called. She stepped in her car, turned the ignition, and pulled away.

Rosa looked out at the sky’s fading pink. She thought about want and regret and the tiny pieces of the Virgin Mary, hiding and waiting to be put back together again.