Chapter 7
The narrator opens the chapter by describing his mother’s callused, blistered hands, forged by decades of work in nail salons and factories. He portrays the salon as a toxic, multi‑purpose space where chemicals mingle with culinary aromas, where children are raised, and where undocumented workers cycle in and out without contracts or benefits.
On a Sunday, the ten‑year‑old narrator watches his mother run the salon, turn on the lights, and greet a frail, seventy‑year‑old woman carrying a burgundy alligator purse. She asks for a pedicure; the mother assists her, filling the foot tub with scented water, then, in a startling moment, the woman detaches a prosthetic lower leg from her knee. The mother proceeds to treat the phantom limb with a meticulous, imagined massage, polishing the missing foot with warm water and a towel, and accepts a folded hundred‑dollar bill as payment, slipping it into her bra.
That night, the narrator lies on a hardwood floor while his mother lies on a pillow. He scrapes her back with a quarter coated in Vicks VapoRub, following a ritual he learned from her, creating bruises that he believes heal her. He reflects on Barthes’s idea of the writer’s body, comparing the act of writing to the physical manipulation of his mother’s skin.
The narrative then jumps to the summer the narrator turns fourteen and begins his first job in a tobacco field outside Hartford. He rides his bike to a farm, noting the landscape, the scent of tobacco, and the presence of a large barn complex. He meets Manny, a Spanish‑speaking crew leader, and is introduced to other workers: undocumented migrants from Mexico and Central America, a Dominican named Nico, and a white twenty‑year‑old named Rick. The farm owner, Mr. Buford, a seventy‑year‑old white man with a Red Sox cap, greets the narrator and assigns him to the piercer role, where he operates a spear cart to load harvested tobacco onto tractors. Detailed descriptions follow of cutting the stalks with machetes, the sound of blades, the drying process in the barn, and the hazards of working at height. The narrator recounts refusing gloves, his hands becoming black with sap, and the camaraderie built through gestures and smiles.
Throughout both the salon and the field, the word “sorry” recurs. In the nail salon, workers repeatedly apologize to clients to earn tips, and the narrator observes this ritualistic apology. He notes that the same apology (“Lo siento”) permeates the tobacco farm, used by Manny, Rigo, and himself in various situations—from missing a day to mechanical failures—transforming the word into a survival currency.
The chapter concludes with the narrator leaving the farm on his bike, hearing colleagues shout farewells in Spanish, and reflecting on the weight of “sorry” as both an apology and an extension of his identity, acknowledging the brutal realities of labor, the fragility of bodies, and the lingering gratitude toward those who sustain him.