She’s gone, kidnapped by her niece for a couple hours and the house is finally mine. For a moment, I stand in the middle of the living room feeling the silence of alone, before an energy takes me over and I jump into cleaning the house, without my grandmother micromanaging me.
From the top down I race against time, focusing on the necessities of a clean; driven by checking off the priority list in my head, one room at a time, slowly and methodically.
My last room, the dirtiest, now that the rest of the house has had its spit and shine, has me down on my hands and knees. Dirt and dust cling to my pants, as I give each tile the one-on-one attention it needs. In this moment, as the cloth collects grime, I realize that I am a modern day Cinderella and this timeless tradition still exists when one needs to get down and dirty.