The realtor’s voice echoed through the empty apartment, as did the two women’s steps against the hardwood floor. “And the loft is up there. It has a half bath, skylights and two bay windows…”
A good place for her studio, Sene thought to herself, taking in her surroundings. This was to be her home. This trendy skyrise apartment with its loft and island kitchen, it’s spacious bathroom. It was not large in width, but it had a beautiful, vaulted ceiling that rose far, far above her head. This was exactly the type of apartment an up-and-coming sculptress should have. She didn’t feel up-and-coming, though. She felt like the charity case of some eccentric patron. And perhaps she was.
She would never pay rent for this home. Other bills were hers to deal with, but this place was bought and paid for and in her name. She owned it. Who had given her the lavish, yet practical, gift…she could not say. It was the same person who had seen to it her visa was approved in Haiti. Some strings must have been pulled. Her health alone was reason to bar her from entering the US. But there had been convincing done by someone, a grant offered her, and a gallery calling to say they were interested in viewing her sculptures. So, here she was, away from family and country, A bachelor’s in Art under her belt but not much else. At least she spoke fluent English.
After the realtor had wished her luck, congratulated her on the much sought-after apartment being bought, and departed, Senegal sat herself down on the kitchen counter, her head slightly bowed. She had been hiding the pain from the realtor ably enough, but it was good to breathe harder and let her expression show the discomfort in her. Her hand dug into her purse and fetched out the small bottle of folic acid. She took two of the tablets, cupping her hands to catch water from the sink. The episode wasn’t a long one or even very severe, and soon she was able to greet the arriving movers with a slow, pleased smile.
It was when her supplies were unloaded that she –really- began to become excited. And when boxes were piled, bed was assembled, sofas and chairs in place and the movers had departed, she sat naked before her clay and shaped the first shapes of her America, the stars filtering their light down on her nude form, wet hands pressing and molding expertly…
