First Gig, First Boss

I recently found an old scrapbook that I had kept during my high school years. And came across a faded photo I had forgotten about.

First Gig, First Boss

I

Old enough for a summer job

at sixteen: assistant camp cook.

Fancy cakes and icings laced

my thoughts: dreams in overdrive.

Plain brownies and dishwashing:

the reality.

A salary of $100 total: checks

cut for the season at the wrap up.

That paystub: scotch-taped

alongside a snapshot of my boss.

II

A farmwife in a washed-out apron,

escaping into the background

like a cheshire cat without the grin.

I never knew, or more likely, never

held, Cookie's real name. I never saw

her taste a smile even on picture day.

In her fifties or forties? A son fighting

in Viet Nam? Why the need for extra

cash? Unpaid bills? Widowed? Children?

An authority figure soon forgotten by this

teen. But her photo, haunting the adult me,

offers only a figure in shadow.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor