Bella Bonavieve was our third new hire this month. No sooner had I dutifully finished training Benjamin and Dakota the week prior, they both chose to skip their first full shifts, neither of them to be seen again. Training felt pointless. It felt insincere to show such fabricated energy and enthusiasm for a job that under paid and forced you to endure unfit working conditions. But what choice did we have? The answer was none. No one had a choice anymore.   I sighed. I didn’t want to do this again. Marching myself into Audrey’s office, I sat down across from her, her nails clicking against the keys as she typed out what I assumed was another manic email. A year ago, I would have politely waited for her to finish and to properly acknowledge me. But this profession wasn’t exactly one for its quaint pleasantries. To work in a kitchen was to be direct. “I don’t want to do this again,” I said, my heartbeat rising as she stopped typing and brought her hands together, her thumbs resting on her chin. She was as exhausted of hearing my arguments as I was of hearing the rules. It was a cry for help, and while she always repeated the rules of the company’s policy to me, I saw the same exhaustion and sympathy in her eyes. We were _both _tired. “Tell you what,” she said, “Just train Bella for me, and I promise you it’ll be the last time. _And _I’ll make sure you receive that wage increase.” It was the wage increase I was due months ago, but I agreed to it as if I were hearing of it for the first time. We sat there in silence, me contemplating whether I was on the right path, and Audrey returning to typing away on her computer, placing me and everything else, into a void out of her mind.   A knock against the wall startled us both. A woman stood there, a chef coat hanging limply from her frail body. Audrey jumped up from her chair, anxiously shaking the woman’s hand. Her enthusiasm would’ve been seen as overkill in other companies, but we were going through what Audrey called “an employee drought.”  “Bella, this is Liz,” she said, leading her over to me. “Your trainer.” Training Bella was far more uncomfortable than I had anticipated. It topped the guy who asked if I would like to be the third in his marriage two hours after meeting. Bella was _old._ Far too old to be working in a kitchen. It was a dangerous work environment, even for those of us who were able bodied._ _I was tempted to ask for her age, but each time I got the courage, something inside of me forced me to stop. After giving her a tour of the kitchen’s layout, I introduced her to our dish machine. I explained that a large part of being a dietary aide including washing dishes, how to be fast and efficient. Like a actor rehearsing her lines, I gave her the same speech I’d done with so many others. “You want to make sure each dish has adequate time to dry before putting them away,” I said, setting various containers on our drying rack. Bella nodded and I wondered if she felt that I was patronizing her, explaining why wet dishes cannot be put away right away. “But you probably already know that,” I said, without thought. “Is it really that obvious?” she asked, tugging at the loose skin atop of her hand. Bella didn’t take herself seriously, and in turn, neither did I moving forward. The days that followed, I wasn’t sure who was training who anymore. While I showed how to be most efficient, without straining herself with additional lifting, she trained me on food preparation. What knife skills were useful in a commercial kitchen, versus what worked best in a day-to-day scenario. “You’re a hard worker,” she said beside me as we prepared a fruit salad. She sliced the tops off the pineapples with speed that certainly didn’t belong to her. It always impressed me. Bella preferred to work with music playing, and it seemed to be universally orchestrated that our music tastes lined up perfectly. “Harvest Moon” played softly as we worked in comfortable silence. Normally Bella complimented me and I gave a nod of acknowledgement with a smile. I scooped out the insides of the cantaloupes I was slicing, nudging her with my elbow. “It’s not just me.” “You remind me of me when I was your age. Except…” something in her expression shifted. Something I couldn’t read. “Except?” I prodded. She placed her wedges of fruit alongside the edge of the platter in front of us, keeping her eyes focused on the ideal layout. She stopped, looking over at me. “I worry you don’t see what’s happening to you.” I crinkled my brow crinkled and tossed the scraps into the trash. “Like I’m going to overwork myself and wake up and look like you?” We both laughed. Bella wasn’t insecure about her age, or the difference between us. She typically used it to make light in situations. She looked at me, her lips pressed into a line, and I desperately ached to know what she was really wanted to say. _What did she really mean?_ __ Because Bella was hired in as part time, it had been a few days since I’d last worked with her. I previously thought her age would be a deficit to both her and to the company, and yet the opposite had become true. She was decades of knowledge and wisdom, and sharing it was as second nature to her as breathing. She made the workspace livelier. We all laughed when she was around. We didn’t take ourselves as seriously, even Audrey had become lighter. No longer were we a group of strangers who worked together, we were becoming a family in our own right. And it was because of her. On a particularly humid afternoon, Bella and I were washing dishes together, her re-telling me stories of her youth. “Did you ever expect to be working at this age,” I asked, handing her another pan to be set aside to dry. She thought about it for a moment before nodding. “I suppose I was always open to the possibility.” She wiped the water off her hands on our shared towel, “I knew I wouldn’t retire at the same age as everyone else. Do you remember what I told you, about how I worried about you?” I wiped my bangs off my forehead. “You said I reminded of you of your former self.” I paused. “But you left your sentence unfinished.” More dishes began piling up, and I mentally prepared myself to efficiently bust through them. Bella reached for my hand, stopping me. “I’m hungry. Let’s stop for lunch, shall we?” She said it without a care in the world, as if completely oblivious to the mess that was quickly piling up. She pulled me behind her, never once looking at the remaining dishes that would be waiting for us. “I think something deep fried would hit the spot, don’t you?” Twenty minutes later, Bella and I sat in her parked car, each with our own coney dog and onion rings on our laps. Each bite was better than the last, and it shocked me that I hadn’t realized how hungry I had been until now. On instinct, I kept my eyes on the screen, watching the minutes pass by, despair slowly creeping in. Bella watched my intense stare, before blocking the time with her hand. “Stop that. Don’t focus on that. Focus on this,” she said, motioning to the remainder of my lunch. I knew she was right, but that didn’t make the guilt any less. “How do you do that?” I wasn’t sure what exactly I was trying to say. I just knew that she had an air about her that seemed to make her immune to stress. I’d never seen her get angry, or stressed, or partake in any of the gossip that flowed so freely throughout the kitchen. She sat thoughtfully, as if any further explanation wouldn’t be needed. “When I was your age, I worked myself nearly into an early grave. I came into my job ready to give of myself in any capacity. My boss idolized my work performance, and it soothed a chronic ‘need to be needed.’ I was dependable, and always had extra to give. Others trusted me with their secrets and problems,” she shoved her wrappers into the bag. “They valued my advice, and before I knew it, work had become my entire life. I had dreams of a life that would all be because I worked so diligently. I was frugal, I declined opportunities that I didn’t think were in my best interest, and was a one-track mind for much of my earlier years.” Her expression turned somber. “Eventually the ‘shine’ wore off, and I tired of being everyone’s go-to for everything. My emotional cup had emptied and I didn’t even know it until it was too late. I was a prisoner and I didn’t even know it.” A lump in my throat began to form. I wanted to cry, but not for Bella. She reached for my hand, and the gesture split my heart in two. Tears began to fall down my cheeks, silently dripping onto my pants. “I’m so tired,” I whispered. I said it again, this time louder. “I’m so tired of being everything to everyone. I can’t fix others’ lives, I can’t make this company run the way it should. I work tirelessly and…” Bella reached behind the seat and pulled out a tissue and handed it to me. “It’s not your fault, dear.” Her voice was soft, sincere. “I didn’t know what was happening when it happened to me.” Our break was technically over, but rather than return, I remained in my seat, like a baby step in reclaiming a lost part of myself. “What did you do?” I asked, “how did you get yourself back?” “I separated who I was, from the job I did.” Her response was curt, like she’d thought about it over for years, and this was the perfect response. “You’re not this job. You’re far more than that.” She pointed toward my chest. “And deep down, you know that too.” Without saying anything else, Bella got out and returned inside the building, leaving me alone with her words. Glancing over at the screen, for the first time, I felt content, without guilt knowing the exact time.  I followed Bella’s concrete advice for the rest of the week: I left on my scheduled time, and I stopped overextending myself to everyone. I practiced the meditation strategies she taught me, and I returned to what brought me happiness. The kind of happiness that wasn’t dependent on others. It wasn’t without its uncomfortable trials, as saying no wasn’t exactly in my arsenal, easily accessible. But it became easier to say, the more I said it. I said no to staying after for extra hours. I said no to coming in on my days off. I said no to obligations that would require more of my time.   I said yes to practicing hobbies that brought me joy. I said yes to new experiences. I said yes to going on a few dates. I said yes to truly living life.   Bella’s time with the company was short lived, as life directed her in another direction. While her absence in the kitchen was felt by everyone, myself included, I was grateful for the lessons she had shown me. While I trained her on how to properly complete the job, she trained me on how to truly live. Had it not been for her, I would never have known I was a prisoner. But how could I? I was unaware of my own captivity.