white star

It takes three folds to make these tablecloths square. Then I run my hands down each side to flatten them, and the way my hands contrast with that crisp white still startles me, even two million folds later.

I suppose I've learned a couple of things, even at this job where there is nothing to learn. There is no such thing as "just until I get back on my feet." I suppose I'd known it when I made the decision but hunger beats dream like paper beats rock.

The cruelest parents do not beat their children or try to have their way with them. The cruelest parents tell their children that they can be anything they want to be. They make them believe it.

I never wanted to be what I am. Not once do I remember dreaming of drudgery and time wasted on labor that creates no beauty, work that is devoid of all meaning.

But it's kept me breathing despite it all. Even while knowing my dreams will remain just that, I still have them. And now, crouching beneath starch, white and chemically clean, I may be on my way. Bouncing toward either a departure at the farthest point on the route, or a round trip back to more of the same. Either way, I am alive and I am nothing to laugh at.