Woodworm

by Layla Martínez

I’d also learned that not even money can free you from men like that. Your family can own companies and annuities and land and apartments, but shitty men will come down on you all the same. I thought rich women had it easier with that stuff, that they just packed their bags and left, called a lawyer or two or three or four and got their ex-husband’s cash but then I realized that no, that’s not how it works, the men break them too, bit by bit, day after day, like someone digging a grave with a teaspoon. And when they screw up their courage and call a friend and say I can’t take it anymore the friend tells them but if you walk out he won’t pay you any alimony you’ll be alone with the boy and he’ll have to change schools and then they call up their father and say I’m leaving and the father says don’t cause a scene don’t make trouble. Having money is always better. Money spreads everything with a nice layer of grease so that nothing squeaks and everything fits clickety-click into place, all the parts working like they’re meant to, not splitting or snapping or stalling or crashing. We poor people spend our lives hammering parts that still never fit and meanwhile those people haven’t broken a sweat. But not even money can free you from men like that.