At one point in her rather long life, Beatrice being the naïve girl she was thought she had the perfect life. She had a loving husband, a roof over her head and a great prospect for a large family. Well, that was then; this is now. After 29 years of marriage, her husband had turned into a monster. Beatrice carefully tended to the wounds attained on her left cheek the other night. The water boiled over – causing the cooker to be clouded by the salty foam. She waited in the kitchen with its burning stove that was cooking 4 pots at a time - exuding smoke from all four corners of the cooker, and making the Kitchen seem almost surreal. The room all of the sudden seemed quite dark and claustrophobic; Beatrice, unable to handle the humidity reached for the rectangular shaped window.
There she perched: with her wavy, blonde locks seeping out of her roots resembling gold dust, her beautiful white smile, and an hourglass figure to rival Marilyn Monroe’s. Catherine’s extreme beauty caught Beatrice’s unwilling attention. Her eyes grew cold and wild all of the sudden as she noticed Eddie’s admiration for Catherine.
She got out the colander whilst still staring at both Eddie and Catherine having a conversation through the window. She reached her hand into the cobwebbed cupboard noticing her sleeves imprinted with various markings of the day’s activities as a housewife; Eddie’s housewife. Beatrice quickly rolled up her sleeves abandoning the colander mid-way through the cupboard. Catherine would never have a dirty sleeve; she thought. She suddenly sprang on her feet with the upmost agility, an accomplishment for a woman nearing her fifties. She straightened her flowery dress which now wrinkled with age.
She turned around; both Catherine and Eddie had gone. Beatrice felt her face flush with anger. Why hadn’t her husband come and greeted his wife? Why must he centralise all his attention to Catherine? She stirred the Spaghetti that she was making in one of the pots. My Eddie’s favourite! she thought.
Using all the force that she could muster on her tiny, wrinkly hands she started to stir the big pan of Spaghetti - her hands rough like snakeskin due to the days chores of cleaning, cooking and crying. She started to venomously untangle strips of bright yellow - almost blonde like spaghetti clumped together to reveal an Italian tradition. She covered the cooked spaghetti and made her way to the living room.
“Eddie! You must let me go out and work!” She walked into Catherine’s child like wailing. Why must she constantly seek attention! thought Beatrice with a wryly smile. Beatrice’s gaze caught her middle -aged husband speak to Catherine with an unhealthy amount of utter adoration. Eddie’s eyes glistened with love – Love that was not given to poor Beatrice. Beatrice trudged back into the kitchen. She stared out silently into the rectangular shaped window looking out into Brooklyn and its inevitable rainy forecast. The clouds hung over Brooklyn as if to reflect Beatrice’s mood. Of course, this was a far cry from her home country In Italy where she and Eddie would bask in the glorious rays of Mediterranean sunlight – But things have changed she thought; Brooklyn has corrupted us.
Heavy rainfall started to sweep the streets; Beatrice looks on willingly almost as if the rain would offer to wash away her depression. The City rats started to scatter and hurry for shelter, the on - street Italian fruit and vegetables market trader simply put on his raincoat and got out his umbrella-persisting to earn his keep despite what Mother Nature threw his way. Beatrice let out a sad sigh, momentarily closed her puffy -tired eyes and rested her face deep into her dry, snakeskin textured hands.
A dirt fly was circling the kitchen in a regular pattern of circles as if to ensure her continued awareness. Beatrice’s mother used to say that a fly circling the kitchen – the heart of an Italian family household - meant that something evil and rotten was foreshadowing the family. This was the only thing that Beatrice remembered about her mother.
Catherine sashayed into the kitchen clapping her high heels hard against the floor, her hair loose and wavy. Beatrice turned around in an instant and acknowledged politely of Catherine's inevitable presence. Beatrice almost immediately went to the cupboards to put out the plates. Eddie soon followed choosing to take a seat adjacent to Catherine. They both glared at each other.
As Beatrice sat down with her family for dinner and savoured the joy of fresh spaghetti, she couldn’t help but look out of the rectangular shaped window. The rain had stopped, but fog set in an instant causing the Brooklyn skyline to look distorted. The window mirrored back Beatrice’s reflection. Although not overly attractive, the forty- seven year old Beatrice had somewhat of an intellectual appeal – her dark, short, brunette locks with evidence of grey stripes gave way to her deep chocolate brown eyes, and the many wrinkled lines revealed a dried prune-like face of a scorned Italian woman.
“Tell her B. She can’t be going out looking like that!” asserted Eddie.
She looked at Catherine who was now sporting a knee length skirt and 6 inch heels. Beatrice turned to Eddie. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong with it” she shuffled in a weak tone. Eddie helplessly flinched at Beatrice’s weak response . “Those guys at work would tease her!” He argued.
Catherine stared into Eddie's eyes - her aunt's husband. She felt his foot touch hers.
The dirt fly returned with an increased buzz.