BETH THE MAID
✍️ Carl Alistair
Taking the remote from the television cabinet, he heads to the sofa. Throws himself into it and sighs a sign of relief. For some time, he maintains his sitting position, his hands on his laps and his head leaning on the sofa. On his left hand are the car keys and on his right is the remote. All over a sudden he sits upright, places the car keys on the table and switches on the television. He gradually takes off his spectacles and rubs his eyes then blinks a couple of times focusing the television.
"Beth," he called"a class of wine please." I quickly stopped chopping the onions, ran to the fridge and poured cold wine to his favorite glass. "Sir enjoy," I said as I handed the glass to him. In the television, a church program was on and him being a firm believer, his attention was there. He seemed not to have heard me. I repeated, this time with a louder voice. He immediately turned, and since I was very close, he knocked the glass, fell on his laps and the sound of it hitting the floor irritated our ears. Poor me. I cannot remember the number of times I said sorry. I feared losing my job. He looked at me in a manner likely to suggest I was the dumpest person he ever saw on the planet. He clicked and focused back to the television. I freaked out. I ran for a towel and came to wipe him, kneeling. No sooner had I finished wiping him than his wife entered. She had warned us from coming close to her husband. She came quickly to me and without realizing it slapped me hard. I stood up slowly and stayed there, my head bowed and my eyes full of tears. What a bad evening.
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