Mona sloshed the mop into the steaming pail, the aroma of bleach strong in the air. It was industrial strength; several times stronger than ordinary household bleach, but it was necessary, for this was, after all, an industrial task. Back and forth she scrubbed the floor and the plastic walls; section by section, panel by panel.
It was important to do a thorough job, for any contaminants could result in mold and other fungal growth, which would harm the seedlings that would soon fill the greenhouse.
Scrubbing greenhouses was one of the least desirable jobs at the nursery, so nobody objected when Mona volunteered to take on the task. She was on her third of twenty greenhouses but it was necessary work. It was solitary work, and it gave her plenty of time to reflect on her life and how drastically it had changed in such a short time.
Her husband had never allowed her to work outside the home. She had enough to do, he said, keeping his home clean and caring for the children. But once the children were grown and able to care for themselves, Mona found herself with little to do. When Richard lost his job, the bills began to pile up. When Mona suggested he apply for work at a local nursery that was hiring, she received a black eye for her trouble. Richard frequently let his fists do the talking. Mona had always cowed to his will, but this time she swore it would never happen again.
The bank was on the verge of foreclosing and Richard still hadn’t gotten a job. He sat at home in a drunken stupor, day after day.
Mona went behind her husband’s back for the first time, and went to work. She accepted the same nursery job he had refused. Richard didn’t appear to notice she was gone each day.
Until he did.
She didn’t notice his truck, following at a distance as she walked to the bus stop, and then following the bus until she got off and walked the rest of the way to work.
She didn’t hear him enter. Mona listened to her radio as she used a razor knife to trim excess plastic from a newly installed panel in the greenhouse wall. She was unaware of his presence until her head was yanked backward, cruel fingers entwined in her hair.
“You fucking liar!” he growled into her ear, spraying spittle on her cheek.
“Ow! Rich, you’re hurting me!”
“Oh, you don’t know hurt, you sorry bitch. I’ll show you the meaning of hurt. You don’t lie to me and get away with it.”
“Rich, no! Please!” Her plea was cut short by rough hands around her throat, choking off her air.
Mona struggled to breathe. Flailing, she tried to thrust his hands away from her neck.
The world turned red.
At first she thought blood vessels in her eyes had burst from being choked; all she could see was red. Then Mona realized she could breathe again and the pressure on her neck was gone. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes, and then as her hand touched her face she felt the sting of a blade on her cheek.
“Ow!” The razor knife dropped from her hand.
She touched her cheek where the blade had scratched it and her hand came away red. Far too much blood for such a little scratch. Or was she cut deeper than she thought? She looked down at her clothing to find them also covered with blood, and a dark pool surrounded her shoes.
Oh my God, I’m bleeding to death!
She stumbled backward, frantically patting her body in search of mortal injury and finding none. Her foot struck an obstacle on the floor and she fell, landing on top of the lifeless form of Richard. The dark pool of blood originated from a gash in his neck.
The razor knife lay where she had dropped it, covered in his blood.
“Oh, Rich! What have I done? What did you make me do?” she whispered.
So many times he had uttered those very words to her after beating her black and blue. He always blamed his rage on her.
* * *
Mona stabbed the compost with the pitchfork, lifting forkful after forkful of the heavy, smelly material. It was important to turn the compost regularly to speed decomposition. It was an unpleasant task that the other workers were happy to let Mona take on. She was going to be very busy, between cleaning the greenhouses and maintaining the large compost pit. Springtime was on the way and new crops needed to be planted.
Mona had a hunch the compost would be extra Rich that year.
Copyright © 2022 Mandy White
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