Page 96 of Seasons of Love
Tyler shrugs as though that’s just the accepted way of things, like a weathered man who’s seen it all and is doing the best with the little he has.
There are a bunch of tables and chairs stacked up by the wall, so we line them until the hall fills up with rows upon rows, and it looks more like a school cafeteria than an empty space.
“We have a volunteer who comes in at night and cleans the floor, so we always stack the tables and chairs on the side to make it easy for him,” he says. “Let’s get back to the kitchen and see how they’re doing. I think we have bean chili with rice, vegetable soup, some good old fried chicken, and mashed potatoes.”
I’m impressed. And I won’t voice it, but I also feel stupid that I assumed a soup kitchen would only serve soup.
Tyler sets up the serving table in the hall by the double doors for easy access from the kitchen. I’m given the task of putting rolls in baskets and then taking stuff out when it’s ready.
It’s organized chaos. Everyone works around everyone else like they can predict each other’s moves. I feel like I’m mostly in the way, but everyone seems too nice to say anything.
While we’re preparing the serving station, the hall fills with people. There’s animated chatting and some heckling at Tyler, who taunts back without missing a beat.
It’s almost easy to forget that these people are here because they’re struggling financially. This might be the only meal they get today. Or the most nutritious one they get until the next time the kitchen is open.
When the food is ready, Anne, Bob, Cathy, Dave, Emy, and Tyler all line up, each in front of a station. Tyler rings a bell and people form an orderly line.
They pick up trays from one end and make their way along, choosing what they want.
I’m at the very end next to Tyler, just making sure they have cutlery and a roll and reminding them to pick up a plastic cup if they want water from the dispenser.
My job is totally superfluous, but it’s giving me exactly what I want.
An opportunity to get to know these people.
And they’re not people without housing wearing ragged clothes, looking dirty. These are the hardworking people who, for some reason or another, cannot afford to put food on the table, the system failed them, or they’ve had to make some really difficult choices.
As they come around, I recognize a face, and as soon as she sees me, she looks down and gets closer to the person in front of her as if to blend in. She doesn’t even pick up a roll before she goes to a table on the far end and sits with her back to us.
“Tyler, is it okay if I go speak to that lady over there?” I ask.
“Do you know her?”
“She’s the mother of one of my students.”
He gives me a knowing look and nods.
I grab a roll and head over to her table. She looks up when she notices someone sitting in front of her, and her face is full of panic when she realizes it’s me.
“Mrs. Salvador, you forgot your roll.”
She stares at me and then the roll. Her hands shake as she takes it and places it on her tray.
“Do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?”
“Are you going to call child services?”
I’m taken aback by her question. “Why would I do that?”
She shrugs. “Isn’t that what you people do when you think the kids are in a bad situation?”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not worried about your son. He’s a smart boy. He always did his homework, made friends easily, and never thought twice about helping one of his classmates. He’s a credit to you and your husband. I’m sure he’ll do just as well next year.”
She smiles, and I see the pride shining from her eyes before her expression darkens again.
