Nana saw Ma cleaning, she’d tell her that she was like an axe, chop-chop. That she was like a flash of lightning. Whenever I heard her say that I’d think about how I’d never be even half as fast as she was. And then my ma would come out and tell me to get a move on, muchachita, quit standing around like a lost soul, and all of a sudden my arms and legs would freeze up and some force would stop me from sweeping and make me stand there, my eyes fixed on the clients and a dumb look on my face. And the more Ma said to get a move on, you little devil, snap out of it, the slower I worked. Which is
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