Anna-Marie (F)

The snow is light, the wind brisk. Anna-Marie pulls her hat down farther over her ears, wraps her coat a little tighter around her body. The #12 morning bus is already late by 7 minutes.

Yesterday her fellow workers shared cupcakes with her in the lunchroom, her 33^rd birthday. Today she may be late and docked an hour’s pay.

After the short celebration, Glenda said, “You are a good person. You should be married. You should have more friends.”

Anna-Marie wiped her mouth with a paper napkin with shooting stars and crescent moons on it. “I don’t have time. Mama needs me so much now.”

“Well, I’m not fussing, I’m just saying. As a friend.”

“I know, I know.”

The bus is coming up the street. Anna-Marie looks at her phone. Too late to clock in by 7:30, she would have to hustle to make the 7:45 line start.

When she arrived in the city she was 19. A woman with the Lutheran resettlement program found her the apartment only one block from the bus stop, found her the job at Willis and Son, found her an English language program.

Two weeks in the plant’s training program. Unpaid.

Teddy Willis asked her out her second month at the production center. Junior is what the girls in production called him.

Glenda warned her by simply pointing at him, shaking her head, and saying “No” in a drawn out manner. The other workers at the station all shook their heads and, too, said “No”.

Machines blend the spinach recipe, squirt the measured glob into the center of the pre-cut layered phyllo sheets, and convey a tray to each of the folding stations. Twelve servings to be folded, 4 seconds to fold each perfectly. The next tray would arrive in front of Anna-Marie in exactly 60 seconds.

Steve, the quality control guy, would pace behind the stations, “his girls” in production meetings he called them. “Nimble fingers, girls. Nimble fingers.”

Mustache man, his girls called him.

The shift started at 7:45. Long white smocks, masks, hairnets, booties, hands washed and sanitized.

The first tray arrived.

Glenda trained Anna-Marie, showed her how to stretch her fingers between trays, how to exercise her fingers and hands at home. At first there is no time as the trays seem to come without pause, but within weeks with nimble fingers she might have 15 seconds between trays.

One hour, 60 trays, 720 spanakopitas folded. A second hour, then a 15-minute coffee break. Uniform adjusted, hands cleaned, and back to the station.

First tray, 10:00.

“A little tighter, Anna. Tighter,” Glenda coached.

“Nimble fingers, girls. Are we having fun?” Steve clapped twice. “Nimble fingers.”

Two hours, then a 30-minute break for lunch.  

First tray, 12:30. Another round.

First tray, last round 2:45.

“That tray not so good, Miss Gomez.” Steve dumped the contents on the trash conveyor line. “Nimble fingers, girls.”

Done. Quickly to the changing room. The bus home stopped at the corner of the plant on the West Street side. Miss it, the next one would not arrive until 6:15.

One shift, 4,320 spanakopitas folded.

After 90 days, a 14-cent an hour raise.

After a year, a 7-cent raise. She learned to stop thinking about each piece folded, to just attend to the tray in front of her. Just the one tray, not the 360 a shift.

Junior approached Anna-Marie for the last time when she celebrated her 22^nd birthday with her co-workers. She whispered “No.” “Not ever?” he asked. “No.” She took a last bite of cake and walked away.

After 9 years, Anna-Marie became a trainer. One hour following her regular shift for two weeks. “And get better shoes,” she told the girls in front of her. A 15-cent bonus for the extra hour worked. Not home until nearly 9:00.

Days counted.

Glenda, now the quality control manager, suggested adding a fancier crimp to seal the spanakopita. Management did not approve, would cut production rate to 54 trays per hour per worker.

In the summer dandelions sprouting under the bus shelter bloomed. Sometimes pigeons would be pecking about.

Junior gone to manage a UPS store, younger sister Liz in his place.

At home, palms flattened on the kitchen table. Each finger lifted independently. Left hand. Right hand. Left hand. Right hand. Hands up, fingers flared, hold, hold, hold. Soaked in a bowl of warm water with Epsom salt, left, then right.

Mama gone.

The years, and counting.

Lyman 2022