Stories

Level 10

By Jody J. Little

Tap tap tap.

“Come on!” Joel cried, hunched over his keyboard, peering at the surfer on his computer screen.

Tap tap tap. Joel hammered on the arrow keys.

“Stay on, dude! Come on!”

Tap tap tap.

Music rose from the monitor. The computer surfer scrambled to the beach.

Joel pumped his fist. “Yes! Level 8!” He bounded onto his chair, posing like a surfer.

“Joel?”

Joel jumped down, “Yeah, Mom?”

“Still playing?” She frowned, entering his room.

“Check it out, Mom! I made it to level 8 in Max Surf.”

“I see,” she said. “You remember Chris from the food bank?”

“Yeah,” Joel answered. He pushed the return key, watching the computer surfer paddle to deep water.

“He needs volunteers to help deliver Thanksgiving meal boxes to the local pantries on Saturday. I said you’d do it.”

“Sure,” Joel readied his fingers, his hazel eyes locked on the mini-surfer. “Wait! You said what?” He swiveled his chair to face his mom, his mouth agape.

“I said you’d help Chris on Saturday.”

“Mom! Mike and Derrik and I planned our computer game tournament for Saturday.”

“You’ll be done by noon, Joel,” Mom pointed out. “You can play after that.”

Joel sighed loudly, flipping his shaggy hair to the side. That’s great, he thought. I’ll be delivering food boxes while Mike and Derrik battle for the Max Surf championship!

Early Saturday morning, Joel’s mom dropped him off outside the food bank. Chris was loading boxes into a van. He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Thanks for coming, Joel. Looks like it’s just you and me,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“My other volunteers couldn’t make it, so this may take a while. Grab a box!” Chris said, moving up the van ramp.

Joel groaned. They’d never finish by noon. Mike and Derrik will reach level 5 long before I get there, he thought.

Joel hoisted a box. “Man!” he gasped. “Is this lead?”

Chris laughed. “It’s just food. Each box has a frozen turkey, stuffing mix, sweet potatoes, stuff like that.”

“All this food comes from the food bank?”

“That’s right.”

Joel thought about the food bank. He and his mom had volunteered a few months earlier. He remembered leaning over a giant bin of pinto beans, scooping out cupfuls of beans and packaging them in bags.

“Who gets these boxes?” Joel asked.

“Anyone who needs them. You keep loading. I’ll be right back.” Chris stepped inside the warehouse.

Joel lugged box after box up the ramp into the van. He noticed a thin, hunched man creeping near the pile. He wore ripped jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. His hair and beard were grizzly. The man eyed Joel. Then quickly, he reached down, snatched a can of cranberry sauce, and scurried away.

“Hey!” Joel shouted. “You can’t take that!”

Chris appeared.

“That guy stole a can!” Joel cried.

Chris peered at the man. “That was Tenth Street Pat,” he said. “He shows up occasionally and grabs something.”

“You let him steal?”

“I don’t really think of it as stealing. Looks like he could use some food, doesn’t he?”

Joel lifted another box, watching Tenth Street Pat, wondering if Pat had a family.

“Okay, I think we’re ready,” Chris said a moment later. “Jump in the cab, Joel!”

Joel climbed in the van next to Chris, latching his seat belt, “What happens next?” he asked.

“Well, we go to the food pantries and hand out the boxes.”

“Will that take long?”

“Hard to say. I never know how many folks will be waiting.” Chris raised an eyebrow. “You got plans, Joel?”

“Uh, kind of.” Joel glanced at his watch. His mind pictured the Max Surf game. He imagined Mike and Derrik guiding the surfer over the waves on level 3.

They pulled into the parking lot of St. Mary’s Church. Joel stared. “This is a food pantry?” he asked.

“Yep! Most food pantries are housed at churches,” Chris said. “The churches tell their parishioners and neighborhoods when the food is available. Today is pick-up day for Thanksgiving meals.”

“Oh,” Joel said, wondering if his own church had a food pantry. He climbed out of the van, peering around for people like Tenth Street Pat.

“Let’s tell the volunteers we’re here,” Chris said.

Joel trailed Chris into the church social hall, and then stopped short. A line of people circled the room, but no one looked like Tenth Street Pat. These people looked…normal, like the families Joel saw every Sunday at Mass, mothers and fathers and children of all ages. He tried not to stare.

“Chris,” Joel whispered, “these people don’t look homeless.”

“They’re not,” Chris whispered back. “A lot of these folks work full-time. They just need a little help until the next paycheck arrives—and with special holidays like Thanksgiving.”

The volunteers hauled the food boxes into the social hall. Joel and Chris stood behind a long table. One by one, they handed out the boxes.

Chris asked each adult how things were going. Joel watched as he tickled the babies’ toes, ruffled the little kids’ hair, and handed out pieces of candy from his pocket.

Joel began to smile. He introduced himself. Some people just took the box, saying nothing, but most smiled back and said, “thanks.” For a while, he didn’t even think about the time or the tournament.

But then Joel felt an elbow. Chris leaned over and whispered, “We don’t have enough boxes. We’ll have to go back and get more.”

Bad news. Joel looked at the line of people still waiting for Thanksgiving boxes. At the end of the line, Joel noticed a boy with spiky black hair. The boy’s arms were crossed tightly. Joel blinked hard and looked again.

“Derrik?” he yelled.

Derrik glanced up. He saw Joel, and then looked away quickly.

Joel hollered again and waved for Derrik to come over.

“Hey! I thought you’d be at Mike’s. Are you volunteering too?” Joel asked.

“Uh, not exactly,” Derrik said.

“What are you doing here?”

“Same thing everyone else is doing. Getting food. My dad’s been out of work for a while, remember?”

Joel felt like he had been punched. “I forgot about your dad,” he said.

Derrik shrugged his shoulders.

“Are you still going to Mike’s for the tournament?” Joel asked.

“Yeah, after I take a box home,” Derrik said. “Are you coming?”

Joel didn’t answer. He glanced behind Chris. The food boxes were gone. Derrik didn’t have one. Neither did the other folks still waiting in line.

Joel whispered in Chris’ ear. Chris nodded and winked.

Joel turned back to Derrik. “Hey!” he said. “Chris and I need some help picking up more boxes. Why don’t you join us? We can get Mike to help, too.”

Derrik was quiet. He scuffed his high-tops on the floor tiles. “Okay,” he finally said.

“Cool!” Joel smiled, pushing his fist toward his friend.

Derrik smiled back, knocking his fist against Joel’s.

If this day were a computer game, Joel thought, I’d be on level 10.

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