The First Ladies

Author note: The unnamed First Lady is completely fictional and does not portray any real person.

The last year has been a whirlwind. Roaming all over the country in a different town nearly every day meeting people, then the election. I wasn’t ready for this. I’m still not. 

Now I’m sitting here in a a beautifully decorated empty void of an office in the dead of night with the haunting echo of a clock chiming my fate. Time’s up. My staff comes in for the first time in a few hours and I have no idea how to be a good First Lady. It’s such an important job. Everyone is counting on me. 

I’m surrounded by the remnants of generations of First Ladies. Elenor Roosevelt’s solid oak writing desk. Just like her strong and wise. 

Abigail Adams’ blue and gold damask sitting chair where she sat with her president husband to give him support and advice. Can I do the same? Is that what I’m supposed to do? 

The cornflower blue taffeta curtains Jackie Kennedy installed on her famous White House renovation flank the darkness while I sip stale room temperature coffee from her chosen china pattern of simple classic gold lines. I wish I had her confidence.

I hand-picked all the treasures I inherited from these great ladies to fill my office with their essence and inspire me. But it’s not working. 

I look down at the stack of papers left for me and throw them in the air. 

What cause should I take up? There are so many wrongs that need righted. What wisdom and comfort can I give to the people? 

“Who am I kidding? I’m just a simple magazine editor. What do I know about… anything?” 

“You know more than you think.” A sweet whispy voice gently blows in on the wind. 

“No I really don’t,” I immediately answer as if I’m talking to someone and then shake my head sane. 

“How do you know? You haven’t tried!” a different deeper female voice fills the room. 

Now I think I’m really going mad. I’m hearing multiple voices in my head. That’s truly a sign of stress. I’m overwhelmed. Maybe I need a smoke. But I quit for the election. And marijuana is still illegal. I think. I have to check today’s news. 

“Above all else, don’t let them see you sweat…” another posh voice says clearly, like she was right in the room. 

Now I know I’m crazy. Maybe temporary schizophrenia. I frantically search my purse for a rogue cigarette and a lighter. And when I look up, there they are as plain as day… my favorite First Ladies. 

I close my eyes and quickly light the cigarette, taking a long drag.  Then inhale a deep cleansing breath and open one eye. 

“Dear, I assure you, there is no need for fright. We are simply here to aid,” Abigail poises on her chair with a kindly glance. 

“You have an opportunity we never had. You need to pull yourself up by your bootstraps!” Elenor urges, her brow furrowed with determination as she pounds on her desk. 

“All they would listen to me about is decorating and fashion. You can have a fresh new voice on any topic and be heard,” Jackie smartly explains as she takes the cigarette from my hand and puffs on it. “OOo. I forgot how good these were.”

But instead of being frightened, I’m suddenly calm, almost soothed by their generous counsel. I don’t know how they got here or if they’re just a machination of my nervous overwrought mind. Still, it’s comforting. 

“Just like I told my John, follow your true path one step at a time,” Abigail’s gentile voice whispers, stitching an embroidery. 

“But that’s it.  I don’t know what my path is.” I state with a questioning quiver. 

“Know your worth! And don’t let anyone get in your way. I didn’t. And women have come so far since then. It’s your duty,” Elenor champions stamping her foot on the floor. 

Jackie hands the cigarette back to me and glides across the room. 

“You don’t need to stay in the shadows behind your husband. You can stand strong in the light. Don’t you want make a real difference?” Jackie pointedly asks in her subtle sophisticated tone. 

“Yes I do!” I enthusiastically answer. 

I feel warm sunlight beaming a beacon light on the desk. It’s a new day offering new possibilities. I turn my head to the window and see the morning dew on the roses in the garden, a small but memorable legacy left by many First Ladies to endure for generations. It reminds me, even something small can evoke change. 

But when I turn back to the room; they’re gone. Or maybe they were never there. 

“I’ll do us all proud. I promise. There are a pile of ideas here and I’m going to champion at least one of them.” I shout into the vacant space. 

Somehow I believe they hear me. And they’ll be there again, when I need them. 

(C) Suzanne Rudd Hamilton, 2025