The Country Club
by Linda Carter
At the edge of my
small town, near the sun drenched lake called Kampeska, sat the gathering place
for the city’s elite. The Country Club dominated the top of a slight hill,
giving its inhabitants a feeling of superiority that did not fit the reality of
the overall situation. I was working class, just turned 15 and eager to work
hard.
Dishwasher, $1.60 an
hour. And I was good at this, my first job.
I can still picture bright
red lipstick marring the edges of dainty white cups. I sprayed them with
steaming hot water and watched the dregs of dinner disappear into the drain
just below my waist.
I knew just how to
create a motion that allowed plates to glide smoothly into their designated
trays. Tubs of silverware soaked for only a moment, tumbling into the waiting
bins where spoons found their brethren and forks tangled for control. Knives
floated effortlessly from my soapy fingers into their upright positions. The
water was warm, cleansing.
For the first time in
my life, I was in control.
Parents, siblings,
friends, glided into my subconscious and I was one with this simple task. Clean
it, wash it, slide it into the steel cubicle and let the hot steam make a new
beginning. On the other side, heat hurt my hands as I deftly plucked the clean
plates and silverware out of their bins, sorting quickly, expertly. The heat
felt good. It was almost as if I was cleansing something inside me, the burning
signaling a new beginning. For a few hours, I was the master of all around me
and I was good at this, my first job.
Sometimes I wish I
could go back to those days, plunging my hands into hot water, grabbing the
spray nozzle with a sure grip that wasted no movement.
As I worked, my mind
filled with dreams of the future, an education, a career and great success. And
yet this was all I needed at this very moment, the water, the steam, the heat
and the grace of a job well done.
Story by Linda Carter
@2014
