I was hard when I reached the bottom of the stairs and marched across the living room. In five strides, I was thrusting open the swinging kitchen door...and finding the mayhem inside. A large glass pitcher had shattered, glass spilling across the floor and around my mother. She was cowering in her bathrobe on the linoleum and—The sight arrested me.My mom was wearing her pink bathrobe, and it had half-ripped open from when my father threw her to the floor. Her right breast had popped out, round. It was a great deal for everyoneinvolved--except me.Being a motel maid is no fun. They make me wear a little dress with flatshoes so I fit in with the other maids. It feels funny to wear a dress.It makes me feel so vulnerable to the men that are janitors andmaintenance workers at the motel. The rooms are hard to clean and Ms.Brown inspects every detail. I share my maid cart with another girl,LaTanya. She is sort of my supervisor. She is about 25 and has worked atthe hotel for 7 years. . More

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