I learned that she lived with her two sisters who were twins and seven years younger than herself. They all been born in America although I gathered without her ever explicitly saying it that her parents had come into the country illegally. Her father, she sadly admitted, had abandoned them and disappeared shortly after the twins were born, leaving her mother to struggle to keep them all together, working multiple jobs also as a maid to try to make ends meet.
When Maria had just turned seventeen her mother developed pneumonia and refused to go into the hospital. She even tried to continue to work but got sicker and sicker and one night just didn't wake up. Ever again. Maria then became the head of their small family with the two ten year old twins, and she was staunchly determined to keep them all together, and the twins out of the child social services system.
She dropped out of high school and began working as a maid herself. Over the years they had to move often, to smaller and smaller apartments that she could afford, but she always insisted that her sisters remain in school throughout, and while she had them contribute to the household chores she made sure that they spent most of their time with their studies. And they not only finished highschool but did so well that they both earned full academic scholarships to a local prestigious college and were already well on their way to graduating early.
I could see the pride in Maria's face and hear it in her voice as she talked about her sisters' accomplishments, and when I tried to point out that their success was as much hers as theirs she would lightly laugh and adamantly demur. Still, it was obvious that she was the rock, undeniably solid in strength and will, and I became more and more in awe of her, sadly realizing that in so many more ways than one that I was not in her league.
Yet I couldn't help but become more and more enamored with her and obsessed with the time we were together, most of which for me was at her feet. At those moments it was the work of my hands that was most gratifying and exhilarating to me, but I came to doubt that it was of much import to her. Rather it was my ears, to listen and share her story with, perhaps even to help validate it, that was the most valuable to her, and I think the major reason that she allowed it all to continue.
It became clear to me that this was likely all that I would ever have of her, even as I might want so much more. But I strongly doubted that she ever would. Why would she? I could offer her money, which was the only thing of me that had any worth, but I now knew her well enough to know that she would in horror refuse any such offer, as if she could be bought. And as had been demonstrated to me so many times before, I had nothing else to offer that anyone else would want.
Still, I yearned to find some small way to show what I felt, to demonstrate my ardor, not in any way that would drive her away, or even suggest that I expected or deserved anything more. Just a symbol perhaps of my small place in her life. In one of my more heated moments a furtive image flashed in my mind, and once there expanded unchecked, day by day, finally even in my dreams until the image became all consuming. I didn't know if I had the courage to dare, but my hunger grew so strong that I just had to try.
I played out a contemplated approach in my mind time and again before on another Friday afternoon, as I raptly listened to Maria happily recount one the twins' latest achievements while I sat below rubbing and caressing, I finally took the fateful plunge.
"Maria," I mumbled hoarsely, "before you go, I ... I was wondering ..."
"Wondering what, Sir?" she answered lightly.
"whether ... well ... ah, I ... I might be allowed ..."
"Allowed what, Sir?"
"Allowed ..."
There was no turning back.
"... to kiss your foot."
There was no sound for several long, long seconds. Then softly ...
"Why would you want to do that, Sir?"
In all the myriad scenarios I had of this moment ... her polite refusal, her mocking laughter, her indignant departure, or worse ...or even my greatest hope, her improbable permission ... I had never contemplated this question, and it left me at a total loss. I grabbed for the first thing that entered my mind.
'To say thank you ... for all the things that you do here ... for who you are ... and ...and ..." I couldn't go on except for "...please."
I lowered my head and waited for what seemed an eternity before ...
"Yes Sir, you may." she said very quietly. "You may kiss my foot."
The world receded around me as I slid off the stool and onto my knees. I stared down at her foot, still in my hands, and then raised it slightly as I slowly bent down to press my lips just at the base of her toes. All of my frenzied imaginings of this moment were the barest shadows of its glorious reality ...the scent, the texture, the taste ... as I seemed transported to another time and space, where for the first time ever I fully felt a part. How long I lingered there I could not say, but finally, reluctantly, agonizingly, I pulled my lips away. As I did I could only utter a whispered "Thank you".
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