In the hush of a sultry tropical night, a 25-year-old Haitian woman reflects on her life as a night worker, sharing her story with raw honesty. She dreads the night, yet it is a necessity for her survival. After tucking her young son into bed within their modest one-room dwelling, she stands separated from him by only a thin curtain, his "bedroom" a mere corner of their shared space. His bedtime attire includes his Sunday best and her vibrant red scarf—an accessory she wears to catch the eye of potential patrons. In these quiet moments, she almost sees the specter of his absent father in the child’s form.

Divided Realities

In her mind, the world is split between day women and night women—she finds herself straddling both realms. Her son stirs softly in his sleep, a sound that heightens her fear that he might venture past the curtain and discover her other life. She gently touches his cheek with her lips, gauging his dreams by his reaction. Sometimes, in his innocent gaze, she detects a yearning for something beyond their existence. To her, their relationship feels like that of distant lovers, separated by different skies and distant moons.

Stories and Dreams

Her fingers trace his face with tenderness, sometimes inducing a playful response. Her tales of ghostly women who "ride the crests of waves while brushing the stars out of their hair" fill the air, connecting the ethereal with their everyday reality. She weaves stories of these enchanted figures, of mythical serpents at rainbows' ends, and golden hats. Together, they lie in their respective fineries, she in her carefully crafted facade, he in his childlike elegance. She worries that his curiosity might one day outgrow these tales, so she prepares to tell him that an angel is expected to visit. In such celestial company, beauty becomes a necessity, much like the elegance of a floating hibiscus.

The Fragile Illusion

In his dreams, the child savors the taste of a sweet he pilfered, unaware she had forgotten to supervise his nightly rituals. She contemplates the day when another woman might admire the brightness of his smile, a testament to his untended teeth. Should he wake unexpectedly, she is ready with comforting lies, describing her clients as fleeting illusions, mere dreams of bare skin. As he matures, so too will her stories; she plans to speak of a vanished husband to explain the male presence.

Night's Visit

Tonight, Emmanuel, a doctor and one of her suitors, is expected. She adorns her cheeks with Egyptian rouge, the shimmer in it guiding Emmanuel to her in the darkness. As their encounter peaks, she smothers his cries with her hand. With dawn's approach, he departs, leaving her to return to her son. She nestles beside him, feeling the warmth of his breath upon her skin. When he wakes to ask, "Mommy, have I missed the angels again?" she soothes him back to slumber, assuring him, "Darling, the angels have themselves a lifetime to come to us."