Shards of glass...

I paced back and forth, my eyes glued to the floor as shards of tiny glass glittered in the sunlight.  I walked toward the north gate where I could see a tiny flower shop that undoubtedly remained upon strictly on selling floral arrangements to the cemetery across the street and then I turned south to walk toward a gate that showed an old colonial home with a hand-written sign on the window that read ‘Go Home Now’.  The day was hot and humid, which was quite typical of New York City in July.  The beads of sweat trickled down the inside of my thigh and I could feel them strike the pavement like heavy tear drops.  At any other point in my life, I would have been mortified, but now I did nothing to wipe them off. I was far beyond saving myself from any type of embarrassment as I caught a young woman staring at me from across the roadway as she sat perched on her balcony with a notebook in hand.  She was furiously jotting down notes, as she alternately would raise her head to look in my direction.  I didn’t know who she was and at this point, I didn’t really care to know.  I just knew that she must have been judging me, and that really pissed me off.  I’m sure she assumed, just like everyone else did, that I was some type of low-life or drug addict or socialist looking for a hand out.  This was all the furthest from the truth.  In fact, I was a republican who had voted for Bush, supported foreign wars and married a husband who had made tons of money in the stock market.  Naya screamed out to me, “mommy, watch me!” as she raced across the parking lot, weaving in and out of the yellow lines that were once there to help guide a star crossed lovers car into their parking space before they checked in for a night of love-making and vows breaking.  She ran quickly, her Skecher sneakers kicking up dust from the remnants of the renovation that was occurring behind me and I smiled proudly at her. “Great job my little darling!” I shouted in encouragement.  I had stopped to watch her racing against an invisible friend that she was taunting, “I’m beating you! I’m beating you!” and I found my heart aching at the thought that despite it all, she seemed to be ready to win any battle.  “Are you kidding me??” I heard an irate voice behind me as a couple that I had noticed staying here before began to argue.  They were looking down at a piece of paper that was just handed to them and looked to be in disbelief.  I looked over to the door of the main office where I had assumed they had just left from and could only see the shadow of a head behind the screen door.  I began to pace again, waiting for my turn…