Chapter 4: FriendlyA Chapter by Shannon Leonard's warnings It’s my last week of summer vacation and I hope Leonard and Edgar are in. I have a plan for the fall, because everything changed this year. Leonard is on his stool. The kitchen smells really good, spicy and rich. “What’re you making?” I ask, while washing my hands in the nearby sink. “Chili and salad” Leonard replies, “Lots of vegetables with soft spots donated.” I pull out a cutting board and get to work on trimming some of the beat up radishes, before I launch into my plan: “This whole year is different! I am going to a school way up in the east side of town. Better science classes and computers and no uniforms. Plus the academy, isn’t as expensive as people think, but it is does cost some money and we don’t have lots. New one’s a public school. It’s a long bus ride. I get off early once a month on Thursdays, because teachers have a staff meeting. And swimming is Monday, Wednesday and Friday now. So I am thinking Thursday makes the most sense. Then sometimes I can be here early enough to set up or even cook. But even if I get here just on time, do you think Bev will still let me help out front?” Leonard opens his mouth, but I’m not done. “Oh, and I am trying to convince my grandpa to drive me when he isn’t working up north or my aunt when she is on evening shift, because it’s practically on her way. So maybe, most days, I won’t be so late anyway.” “I’m sure she’d let you help anytime you get here,” Leonard answers my earlier question. He always keeps track like that. Most adults forget what I have been saying half way through, at least sometimes. Satisfied that Bev will like my idea, too, I start telling Leonard about the trip to the lake last week. Where I drove the boat for a friend tubing. Didn’t tell my friend I hadn’t driven a boat on my own and had to figure it out, while my friend got a wild ride! As I am talking with Leonard, a small frown pulls his lips down and eyebrows together briefly, before disappearing. So quick, it would be easy to miss, had he not been laughing at my story. By the time I turn to see what’s happening, Leonard has pulled himself to his feet and is limping over to meet Edgar on the way into the kitchen. Edgar’s normally large strides, are careful and small today, measured. Then Edgar leans to the right, stumbling to catch his balance on the slightly inclined ramp into the kitchen area. Leonard intercepts the taller man before he reaches the main part of the kitchen. A short but intense conversation happens between them. Leonard is gesturing a bit, pointing back to the dining area, while Edgar seems bewildered and slow to move. At Leonard’s urging, Edgar cautiously retraces his step out of the kitchen. Stopping by the stainless steel shelf where clean dishes are kept, Leonard picks up a bowl and large plate, which he hands to Rob. “Get some of that chilli, ok? And a piece of bread and some salad.” Robs nods his head, completes the requested task and takes the full plate out to the dining room. “Sarah, you’ve set up the front on your own, hey?” “Yes.” When Edgar isn’t here. ….But Edgar is here... “Ask one of the dishwashers to help you? Denise?” Leonard says, the last word louder, directed at towards the dishwashing area. A young woman, working the dishwasher, looks up at Leonard expectantly. Her face is red and puffy from the heat. Her long dark hair is pulled tightly back, except bangs that nearly cover equally dark eyes; she wears jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, despite the heat of the late summer kitchen. “Have you opened out front, before?” I ask. “Nope, what do we do?” “Make coffee, make sure sugar and creamer are full, make Kool-Aide, get pitchers of water, find out if there is a bread bowl and ask someone in the kitchen if there are desserts. Make sure there are enough dishes, cups, spoons and stuff.” I say, ticking off the list on my fingers, “It's really easy. What do you want to do?” Denise looks at me from under her bangs and shrugs her shoulders. So I tell her, “You fill the coffee pot, I’ll do the Kool-Aide, then we can work on the stuff out front together, okay?” “Sure.” Denise replies flatly, but walks with me to get the empty vessels. “Do you like cherry?” I ask, making conversation. I plan to make cherry if we have it. “Yeah,” Denise smiles a bit, “It’s my favourite.” “Mine, too,” I reply. As we are using the giant sinks to fill both the coffee percolator and the juice cooler, I see that Denise’s arm is covered in thin raised lines. Dozens of them really close together, in groupings, sort of like light coloured barcodes, on the inside of her forearm. Some are white scars, others newly healed pink, a few are still scabbed. She pulls down the sleeve of her hoody when she sees me looking. I smile at her, hoping it looks reassuring and not judging; judging doesn’t make anything better. We work together smoothly, but largely in silence. On one of my many trips into the kitchen, Leonard asks, “Is the coffee ready?” “Almost,” I reply cheerfully, proud that everything will be ready for opening. “Want to grab Edgar a cup before he leaves? And grab his dishes?” I nod, but I am nervous. Why would Edgar come here like that? Knowing from past breaks together that he takes his coffee black, I pour a cup and approach where Edgar is sitting, not sure what to say. “Thankss, Scharah,” he mumbles as I approach, “Guess I bedder ge’ goin’ soon.” Edgar’s normally lazy way of talking blends together, making him hard to understand. “Okay, see you next week?” I ask. “Soundsh goo’.” When I come out of the kitchen next time, he is gone, empty coffee cup in the correct bin. Denise and I take care of things up front during service too. Denise seems nervous to talk to people. She keeps looking down, mumbling when she has to tell them which bins the dishes go in. One of the regular patrons comes in, eyes darting, walk unsteady and cautious. She begins to hold her hands out in front of her, as though she is trying to see straight, like after an amusement park ride. Her face red and puffy, despite her thinness, and her lips are permanently chapped. Her long dark hair, run though with grey, is neatly braided. She looks 60 or older, but is probably much younger. Drinking Lysol makes people old fast. I meet her in the dining area, “I’ll get some for you; you just take a seat?” She nods, still looking at the worn floral carpet directly in front of her, so I continue: “Coffee or tea?” She raises her head, glassy eyes meeting mine, and smiles widely, her two bottom front teeth missing or broken, “You ga tea? That’d be nis.” Most people take milk and sugar, at Meals Shared. They seem to have learned to say if they don’t, so I make her tea with both and bring her tray to the table. The chilli is nice and hot; the salad cold. Gives her options. The patron looks at me, misty eyed. I guess in her intoxication, she is touched by the food. Smiling, still with tears threatening to fall, she says, “You are nis. How’d a white girl like you ge’ so nis?” She has just drawn attention to something that we don’t usually talk about at Meals Shared: most of the patrons and volunteers are of Indigenous descent. I am not. While I am attempting to find an answer, something that will tell her that difference is amazing, that we are all equal, something that will reassure her that not all white people are judgmental, she turns her attention to her tray and begins to loudly eat the chilli. Looks like she forgot about me. ***** Bev is in the kitchen instead of Leonard. As I am washing my hands, Rob joins me, waiting his turn at the sink. “Leonard’s back is bad,” Rob answers my unasked question. “Not in today. Been using his cane some, too.” “So you’re helping Bev?” I am trying to figure out if Rob is here doing fine option again. It’s better not to ask those kinds of things. “Sort of, but there was this fine from a long time ago….” “Well, nice to see you. What should I do?” “Soup’s on. Wanna help make grilled cheese?” Rob and I use six frying pans on the old stove to to the grill part of grilled cheese, while other volunteers smear margarine on the backside of each slice of more than day old white bread from the Safeway across town. Rob and I develop a rhythm. We each put down one slice, followed by cheese, followed by another slice of bread, flip the one in the next pan and take the third one off. Then we do it again. Rob tells me he is going to school three days a week, needs one more class, then can start his course to be a commercial cook. ***** Thursdays are working out well. I almost always get here in time to help set up. And Edgar and I have worked together nearly every Thursday since school started. The table for the dish tubs is set up perpendicular to the alcove used for desserts and drinks, making an L shape. Typically, Edgar and I stand behind the short end of the L. We talk about all kinds of things between patrons. He has great stories about all the places he has worked, his daughter and his granddaughter. From where we stand, we can keep an eye on the desserts, make sure water and coffee supplies are stocked, help people get their dishes in the right bus tub and keep an eye out for people that need help carrying food or drink to their tables. Edgar is in the kitchen, having carried a bus tub to the dishwasher, when a man called ‘Taz’ comes to the back side of the table, where I am standing, to put his dishes away. He comes in often; he knows that dishes are usually put away from the other side of the table. I don’t think Taz is very old, and he and his friend seem better dressed than most other patrons. Today he is wearing a black leather jacket and a fitted red ball cap, with an NBA logo on it, over his short black hair. The “colours” rule only applies to volunteers. He smiles widely at me as he puts his dishes away. I take a step back, giving him room, he takes one towards me, matching me. “Hey, sweetheart,” he breathes fumes in my face. It’s alcohol, but hard for me to know what kind. Maybe beer and something else? It’s not like I am going to ask. “It’s Sarah,” I remind him. * A few weeks back, on a day when Edgar came in, but couldn’t work, this man had stopped to talk to me as he had put his dishes away and helped a little boy carry a drink one back to his table, while I cleaned up a spill. He had asked me my name back then; told me he was Taz. “Sarah’s a nice name, goes with your hair,” Taz said. “Thank you,” I responded politely, not sure exactly what that meant. He asked other questions, too. Keeping in mind Leonard’s rules, I hadn’t told him my last name or what school I went to. “You must have changed schools this year? Seems like you come at different days and times now,” Taz comments. He follows up with, “Are you in highschool now?” I’m not yet, but, as I was deciding whether to answer, Taz smiled and said, “Talk to you another time.” He went to his table to get his friend and they both left, just as Leonard had walked over, limp barely showing, to get a cup of coffee. He never asks anyone to help him even on bad days, but sometimes when it’s bad, we just do it. His face was set in a scowl. But I didn’t think it was pain. Pain looks less….intimidating. “What was he saying, Red?” “Just asking about school and stuff. He was helping too.” “Okay. Be careful how much you tell him?” “Sure, I remember.” “Good.” Again, with the period, no questions invited. * So Taz knows my name. Even said he liked it. “Yes, Sarah, I know,” Taz says, again stepping forward. I don’t like this. I am getting closer to the wall behind me. I look around, thinking to catch the attention of someone serving food. Oh, good, Edgar is coming back. He will get Taz to go sit down, finish his dessert and leave. Edgar almost always handles the drunk people, if they are not being loud, he just gets them food and asks them to be quick. If they are disruptive, he asks them to leave. They listen to him. But Edgar is not approaching us in his normal casual way of walking. His steps, always long, are rapid and purposeful. Edgar steps behind the table, right between me and Taz, forcing me to back up a few more steps. “Time for you to leave,” Edgar almost growls, looking down at Taz. I see Taz’s hazy eyes widen, I guess he is as surprised as I am. “I’ll just finish my coffee…” Taz begins, meeting Edgar, almost chest to chest, despite Edgar being much taller. “No, you are leavin’ now.” Edgar is talking low, voice intense. Then he starts moving forward, forcing Taz to back up, like Taz was doing to me earlier. After a few steps, the younger man turns and begins to unevenly walk away. Edgar follows him closely, towards the front door. Making sure Taz leaves, I guess. © 2017 ShannonAuthor's Note
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9 Reviews Added on October 22, 2016 Last Updated on February 13, 2017 Author
ShannonCanadaAboutI like to explore the world through the human experience, at once both varied and singular. Reading, writing and meeting people makes one's world larger. I enjoy connecting with people, learning.. more..Writing
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