Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Martha Stansky stands in the living room of her studio apartment above the liquor store watching T.V. Her left arm is folded across her gentle breasts, bracing her right arm at a ninety-degree angle. A cigarette is perched between the thin fingers of her right hand just inches from her mouth. She stands to watch T.V. in her silk housecoat and curlers because if she sits down something might not get done. If she sits down she might think about things that won’t happen. She will think about the holidays that she won’t celebrate with friends and family that she doesn’t have. She will think about the presents she won’t get for the children she never had. She will think about the life that she never lived. She will wonder how she became a middle-aged short order waitress instead of a powerful lawyer or saintly doctor. Martha Stansky just stands in the one room of her one room apartment above the liquor store smoking and watching T.V.