Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I grab a shopping cart. “This place means a lot to me. Come on, Skye. I’ll show you the ropes.” I take the cart to the person at the head of the line. “I’m Braden.” I hold out my hand.
A young woman carrying a toddler places the child in the buggy seat and then shakes my hand. “Elise.”
“How many people in your household, Elise?” I ask.
“Just Benji and me.”
Benji.
The name shifts me back in time. Benji. My mother called my brother Benji. Brady and Benji.
Each of us took one of her hands when we came here to get free food from the volunteers.
“It’s Brady and Benji!” someone always said, handing us each a Dum Dum sucker.
We lived for those sweets each week.
I have happy memories of this place. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized we came here because Mom and Dad couldn’t afford to feed us.
This Benji has light-brown hair and blue eyes. “And how are you today, Benji?” I hold out my hand to him.
He looks away.
“I’m sorry,” his mother says. “He’s shy.”
“Not a problem. I was a shy kid myself. This is Skye.”
“Hi.” She holds out her hand to Elise. “Nice to meet you.”
Elise shakes her hand weakly. She’s a pretty young woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Benji’s hair is combed and his face is clean. Elise takes pride in her little family, like my mother always did.
“You’ll need some powdered milk for Benji,” I say. “We’ll have fresh milk soon, once the new refrigeration unit is installed. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. Refrigeration is down during installation.”
“Benji doesn’t like milk,” Elise says. “I wish he’d drink it.”
“Not a problem. We can give you some sugar-free chocolate flavoring to put in the milk. Guaranteed to please.” I should know. I hated milk, too, as a kid. Strawberry Quik was its own food group as far as I was concerned.
I lead the way down the first aisle. Skye follows, walking next to Elise.
I don’t wonder about Elise and Benji’s story. I already know. Life is tough sometimes. I don’t ask questions because people don’t want to talk about these circumstances. Benji’s father may be in the picture or he may not be. It’s not our business at the shelter to ask. We simply supply food and let our patrons keep their dignity. That second part means more than most people know.
Skye smiles at Benji, and he smiles back. He’s an adorable kid.
“What do you like to do, Benji?” Skye asks.
He looks away then.
“He’s not talking much yet,” Elise says. “Benji, you should speak to the nice lady.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. He’s a beautiful child.”
“Thank you.” Elise smiles.
I pull items off the pantry shelves and put them in the cart. Powdered milk, canned fruits and vegetables, sliced bread, peanut butter and jelly. Pasta and sauce, boxed macaroni and cheese, and some apple juice. Down another aisle I find cereal, oatmeal, and instant coffee.
“Is Benji potty-trained?” I ask Elise.
“Yes and no. He still wears a diaper at night.”
I turn down a new aisle and pull a pack of toddler-size diapers off the shelf. “Anything else you need from this aisle?”
Elise shakes her head.
“Is there anything special that you’d like today?”
“No, I don’t need anything,” Elise says. “Just the food is fine.”
I’d be very happy to write Elise a big fat check, but I don’t push. Pride and dignity are important to her, as they are to most. I help her bag her groceries, and then Skye and I pack them in the little red wagon she left outside the pantry.
“Do you live near here?” Skye asks.
“About twenty blocks away,” she says. “It’s a nice walk.”
“There’s a bus stop right there.” Skye nods. “Let me give you—”
“No, thank you,” Elise says. “Benji and I enjoy the walk. Thank you very much for the food.”
“You’re very welcome,” I say. “You come back anytime.”
Elise smiles and nods and then places Benji in the wagon among the bags of food and begins the walk home. Skye watches them for a moment. Benji pulls a loaf of bread out of the bag and squeezes it. I shift back in time once more, remembering my own Benji squeezing the day-old loaves we got at the food pantry. Mom admonished him every time. He promised never to do it again. Until the next time we got a loaf of bread. My little brother couldn’t resist.
Skye smiles. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“No need to thank me.”
She looks over my shoulder. Cheryl is leading another woman with a small girl hanging on her hand into the panty. Another volunteer takes a young man from the line.
“Why this place, Braden? You could volunteer anywhere.”
“Because,” I say, “my mother used to bring Ben and me here when we were little to get food.”
Skye’s mouth drops open.
“Apparently I’m full of surprises today,” I say.