To his coworkers he maintained the fiction that he worked at the VA hospital twenty miles away making beds and emptying bedpans-but his enthusiasm and hard work habits kept anyone from asking too many questions. He was always willing to lift some heavy furniture or climb a ladder to reach higher shelves.
From time to time, Student #5 would pause in what he was doing and examine the people who came into the store. There were occasional undergraduates from local colleges looking for bargain winter clothing, and there were other young people who found “secondhand” to be chic, but for the most part there were people to whom the words hard times were worn like so many worries lining their faces. These people interested Student #5.
Shortly before his lunch break, Student #5 saw a woman enter the large, warehouse-style building. He wasn’t sure exactly what there was about her that attracted his attention-perhaps it was the seven-year-old child in tow, or the slightly confused look on the woman’s face. He watched her as she hesitated, just inside a wide set of glass doors. He thought the woman was holding her daughter’s hand to steady herself, as if the child was propping her up instead of the other way around.
He was in the men’s clothing section, hanging donated suit coats on racks, making sure that price tags were attached to the out-of-style, worn jackets and slacks. There were many odd sizes-anything in a commonplace 42 regular or long was thoroughly dated, with wide lapels and off-putting colors. The suit coats and slacks that were modern tended toward sizes that wouldn’t fit anyone save the cadaverously thin or the dangerously obese.
He watched the woman and her child go to the adjacent children’s section. He thought she was strangely beautiful-a fashion model’s high cheekbones and a haunted look in her eyes-and the child impressively cute in the irrepressible way that children manage to combine shyness with excitement. The child pointed at a colorful, pink sweater that had a dancing elephant embossed on it and the woman glanced at the price tag and shook her head.
Just the act of saying No seemed to hurt the woman.
Never thought this would happen to you, he thought. So, you are new to the world of belt-tightening and unpayable bills. Not much fun, is it?
Student #5 was about ten feet away, so he barely had to raise his voice.
“We can lower the price,” he said.
The woman turned to him. She had deep blue eyes and sandy-colored hair that seemed to him to be as untamed as the thickets behind his trailer. The child was a mirror-copy of the mother.
“No, it’s okay, it’s…” The woman’s voice trailed off into the echoes of Please don’t ask me to explain all the reasons I’m here.
Student #5 smiled and walked over to them. He held out his hand to the child. “What’s your name?”
The child tentatively shook his hand. “Suzy,” she said.
“Hello, Suzy. That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. You like pink?”
Suzy nodded.
“And elephants?”
Another nod.
“Well, I promise you, Suzy, you’re the only young woman we’ve had in here in weeks that likes both pink and elephants all at the same time. We’ve had some young women who prefer pink, and we’ve had a couple who seem to like elephants, but we’ve never ever ever had someone who likes both.”
Student #5 took the sweater from the rack. The yellow price tag read “$6.” He took a large black flow pen from his shirt pocket, and crossed out the number and replaced it with “50 cents” and pushed the sweater into the little girl’s arms. Then he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed Suzy a dollar bill. “Here,” he said. “Now you can buy it for yourself, because I really like elephants and I adore that color, too.”
The mother stammered, “Thanks, but you don’t have to…”
He shook his head to cut her off.
“First time here?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, it can be a little overwhelming at first.” When he used the word overwhelming he wasn’t thinking about the size of the store. “Do you think you need some groceries, too?”
“I shouldn’t, I mean, we’re fine…” She stopped abruptly, shook her head. “Groceries would be helpful,” the woman said.
“I’m Blair,” Student #5 said, pointing to a name tag on his shirt that displayed his Western Massachusetts alias.
“I’m Shannon,” the woman said. They shook hands. He thought her touch was delicate. Poverty is always soft, he thought, filled with doubts and fears. When you have a job, that’s when your grip gets firm.
“Okay, Shannon and Suzy, let me show you how to maneuver the food pantry. All the stuff there is free-if you can make a contribution, they like that, but it’s not really necessary. Perhaps sometime in the future you can come back and make a donation. Follow me.”
He leaned down toward the child.
“Do you like spaghetti?” he asked.
She nodded, ducking partway behind her mother’s leg.
“Pink. Elephants. Spaghetti. Well, Suzy, you’ve come to the right place.”
Leading the woman and child, he steered them toward the foodstuffs, found a small basket for them to place items in, and walked them down the aisles. He made sure they took two large cans of premixed spaghetti and meatballs.
“Thank you,” Shannon said. “You’ve really been kind.”
“That’s my job,” Student #5 replied cheerily. Not really, he thought.
“I’m going to get back on my feet soon,” Shannon continued.
“Of course you will.”
“It’s just things have been…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Unsettled.”
“That’s what I would have guessed,” Student #5 said. He let a small silence prompt her next reply. It’s remarkable what a little bit of quiet can prompt, he thought. I would have been an excellent shrink.
“He walked out on us,” she said, a tinge of bitterness coloring her words. “Cleaned out the bank account, took the car, and…” She stopped. He saw her bite down on her lip. “It’s been hard,” she said. “Especially on Suzy, who doesn’t really get it.”
“Up at the registers,” he said, “they have a list of the state and local social service agencies that can help you. They have counselors. They’re really capable. See one. Talk to them. It will help, I promise.”
She nodded. “It’s been, I don’t know exactly…”
“But I do,” he said. “Stress. Depression. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Fear. And those are just for starters. Don’t try to handle it alone.”
When they reached the register, Suzy proudly handed over her dollar bill and carefully counted her two quarters in change. Student #5 reached behind the counter and took a printed sheet of paper from a box. It listed all the numbers for help and names of therapists willing to do pro bono work. He handed it to the mother.
“Make a call,” he said. “You’ll feel better when you do.”
You always feel better when you directly address the root causes of your problems, he told himself.
At the front door, he waved as mother and daughter walked toward a bus stop.
They are the people I was once upon a time destined to help, he thought. Until all that was taken away from me.
He glanced around to make sure no one was near enough to overhear him, then he whispered out loud, eyes boring in on the disappearing pink sweater: “Bye-bye, Suzy. I hope you never come this close to a killer again.”
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