JOSLIN

Joslin is death on friendship. She won a photography contest in the sixth grade and everyone loves the pictures she takes of them. She works in “Photo” at Walgreen’s. She once made enlargements of an elderly lady’s grandchild and whispered, “Nope. This one is on the house.” No one knows this because Joslin didn’t buy orange juice or cereal that week to cover the cost. She married for love eight years ago when she was eighteen and Marcus was twenty. Their daughter Diana followed two years later. She knows her husband loves her because he takes her Honda to be serviced. It bothers her that she doesn’t know how to change a tire. No one ever taught her. Her husband promised “the next sunny Saturday.” In October, she was surprised when she became Star Employee. They gave her six red roses with baby’s breath, and she “about died.” Marcus left work that day to be with her during the announcement. He wore a suit and tie. Her picture is still up on the wall behind the main cash register.

Advertisements