Nora entered her ground floor apartment in a bad mood. She'd been talking to her landlady, Mrs. Finnegan, and was, for the second time that evening, on the verge of tears. She couldn't stop replaying the conversation over and over inside of her head.
"Nora?" Mrs. Finnegan had called from her 'office', attempting to cover her cold voice with a sweet masquerade. "Could I speak to you for a moment?"
Holding in a groan, Nora entered the small room decorated in dull brown and pastel blue. Mrs. Finnegan sat in her rolling chair, a small smile on her face.
Andrea Finnegan, on the outside, was a lovely woman. Her square jaw was perfectly placed on the alabaster pedestal of her long neck. Her pale gray-green eyes, in their habitual temperate stare, sat burning coolly in the valley above her high cheekbones, on which there was a mixture of natural and applied blush. Reflecting her face in the middle would see no change in appearance. She appeared to be an angel, carved from fine marble.
But she was far from angelic. As an example….
"Did you clean Elizabeth's room, Nora?" Mrs. Finnegan asked in a patient voice, with a hint of authoritative demanding coating the edge.
Nora's breath hitched as she struggled to swallow. "I…I'm sorry?" she choked out. "What did you say?"
Anger, frustration and mocking pulled the sides of Mrs. Finnegan's smile higher. She sat back in her chair, shaking her head slowly. "Do I have to remind you to do everything?" she said rhetorically, her voice rising in intensity. "I ask you to do the simple task of entering my daughter's room and tidying it up a little. Nothing too difficult. You could do that easily. Don't tell me you can't even-"
"I was at work!" Nora interjected, perhaps too loud. The words had come suddenly, without much thought of their uselessness. She hated it when Mrs. Finnegan put her down. The fierce woman could get whatever she wanted from Nora by calling her weak. She took advantage of Nora, forcing her to do tasks, jobs lacking the ease and simplicity of picking up a few books in Elizabeth's room. She hated when Mrs. Finnegan put her down, and the anger emanating from that hatred fueled a useless four-word protest.
"Ah…" Mrs. Finnegan said, smiling and leaning forward to rest her face on her hands. "And how much do you make at that little shop, Nora?"
Nora felt her shoulders slump a bit. She knew where this was going to go from the many similar conversations that they'd had.
"Not enough to rent the apartment, Mrs. Finnegan," she sighed, bowing her head so she wouldn't have to meet the landlady's cold eyes. She could hear the bell laugh coming from Mrs. Finnegan's mouth as she shook her head slowly.
"Nora, Nora," she murmured, "the poor cripple that can't support herself in the best conditions possible."
At that, Nora's head snapped up. When people used her disability against her, she could feel hot anger flood her. They would laugh at her or mock her just because she was in a wheelchair and couldn't walk. It made people feel power as the person that can stand tall. It was that constant pushing, shoving and ordering about that made her so volatile. She could only hold to the idea of a future for support when she began to boil over.
But she had forgotten hope now.
"I'm not your slave!" Nora shouted, wishing she could stand up tall against the landlady's wide-eyed face. "This apartment building is rightfully mine, anyway. After my mother died, it should have been passed on to me, but you stepped in out of nowhere and took it! It's your fault I'm struggling to pay for something that should be an income to me. You have no right to this building. Further, you don't have the right to force me to do all of the work that's too dirty or difficult for you and your idiot of a daughter. And when I make a mistake or can't do something, don't shout at me and mock me by calling me 'cripple'. Because that's what I am, a poor girl in a wheelchair that's doing the best she can to stay alive and safe in a world that seems oblivious to people like her."
Nora felt the anger subside as she caught her breath. She wasn't angry anymore, just tired in an empty shell of her body. All she wanted to do was cry or sleep.
But Mrs. Finnegan was far from calm as she slammed her hands on the desk surface. "You ungrateful girl!" she shrieked, her face flushing to a deep scarlet. "Do you realize how compassionate I've been to you? Do you know how much I've done for you?"
Nona pressed her lips together to keep from screaming in frustration. Instead, she just forced the words "Other than reduce me to the status of slave?" through her teeth.
Mrs. Finnegan gripped the desk and shot up to her full height of five feet, nine inches (with two inch heels, of course). "Do you know why I bought this building?"
Nora felt her will to defy the landlady melt into fear as the woman stood over her. She froze and stared fearfully at her, anticipating an ironic lecture on respect and patience to follow the explanation.
"When you're mother got killed in that wreck you caused," Mrs. Finnegan shouted, "I thought that if you were so irresponsible to not be able even to watch the road, you definitely wouldn't have been able to keep this building the way it was before. So I bought the building from that father of yours before he died and let you stay here for a reduced price. So don't tell me that I have no right to do something when you are the one that I'm trying to help!"
Then Mrs. Finnegan promptly sat back in her chair and said monotonously, "I expect the job to be done by tomorrow evening, or you will regret this conversation. Get out."
Nora quickly wheeled her chair out of the office, eager to get across the hall to her small apartment. She pulled the key out of her pocket, opened the door and pushed herself into the familiar-scented refuge of the one-bedroom residence. She was, for the second time that evening, on the verge of tears. She couldn't stop replaying the conversation over and over inside of her head. How could she have given in so easily to Mrs. Finnegan's angry words? She was just proving the landlady's speech to be to correct. She was weak. She gave in to everything without sufficiently defending herself. She had to stand against this abuse without the help of her legs. And she would. Soon.