Six Day s a Week by Qu in Bro wne

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Monday’s Child is Fair of Face Her face would never be her fortune. It would neither stop traffic nor curdle milk, her grandmother said, it was nothing more than ordinary. “Don’t be picky, girls like you are lucky to get anyone so don’t go thinking you’ll find some Prince.” He proved them wrong, being all the things she’d ever dreamt of; handsome, witty, wanting a life with her. It was the night she was tired, giving an abrupt answer to a question, that he picked up his tennis racquet to finish their conversation. Later, when he held her and kissed the marks he’d left, she accepted the trade off--and willingly took her place in the game.

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Tuesday’s Child is Full of Grace He ambled through life with an ease that belied his large frame. Using his voice, his soft smile, his ability to make every woman he met believe she was the one, he never stumbled in the field of relationships. Perhaps it’s because he had never had one; he saw only the ‘I’ part of a ‘we’. Saying what had to be said, he achieved what he wanted, leaving behind those who had believed, trusted, given their all. He offered a glimpse of what could be to each one, slipping out before the serious questions could be asked--effectively spilling ink on the stories of a future they wrote in their hearts. The brutal honesty of his lies created their own version of paper cuts, shallow, but, painful to the touch.

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Wednesday’s Child is Full of Woe Kristen had the world on a string, sitting on a rainbow--you know the words. There was nothing she could do that was wrong; meeting the right person, finding the perfect job, the apartment that was pre-War and rent controlled--her life was luck and serendipity all rolled up in one. She celebrated the highlights of your life, and was the strong shoulder when you were down. Kristen excelled as a cook, a housekeeper, an employee, mother, daughter, wife -- friend. There was serenity found in her presence and confusion at her death. Whoever said suicide was painless?

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Thursday’s Child Has Far to Go I asked Jack, while we lay curled together in bed, in the dark, during that time when you give over secrets and trust, “I’ve never told you the story of getting my glasses, have I? I was 12, and Sister Mary Joseph called from my school, telling my mother she was tired of my struggle to see the blackboard and if my parents didn’t take me to have my eyes checked, she would. When mother and I walked together in the heat to the appointment, she said if I didn’t have bad eyes, she’d beat me all the way home; I started praying then for God to strike me blind. While the doctor fitted my glasses, he said he couldn’t believe mother never noticed I had problems.”, I paused, remembering her frown of annoyance. “Looking through those thick lenses changed...everything and, for the first time, I actually saw my mother’s face.” Lying together, in the dark, I felt him weeping.

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Friday’s Child is Loving and Giving I dole out pieces of myself to everyone I know. I self-sacrifice when we have a disagreement, make time when I don’t have it, give full attention to their stories of paltry issues they tell me. I say the right words, make the proper moves, bite my tongue to hold back things that would hurt or cause pain to another. Here’s the thing; it’s boring as shit to be this nice person-- boring, irritating, maddening. What I really want to do is take an AK-47 and go postal, you know? One day....one day, I’m going to make it all about me, and then I’ll give to them in a way that will make me smile.

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Saturday’s Child Has to Work for a Living Who knew she’d end up here, with the job on Wall Street, an apartment in Soho, and the kind of Chanel purses that weren’t peddled on Canal Street? Who knew that such a recession would hit, and put so many of her friends out of work, desperate to find something to do? All she knew, she had rent to pay, food to buy, expenses to meet, and unemployment wasn’t going to last forever. She updated the resume, slogged to interviews and scrambled to put herself at the top of the field of applicants for every job, finally landing one. Her sense of accomplishment faded after the first day, but, a job was a job, right? She repeated that phrase like a mantra as she picked up yet another pile of shit, adjusted her charge's leashes and set off for the park.

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About the Author

Quin Browne is currently in transit to Denver. She's a romantic who doesn't believe in romance, and always dedicates her work to the person she's written for over the last years. quinbrowne.com