It's My Life - Melody Carlson [27]
So anyway, before we drove the Bug over there, I stopped by the kitchen to beg a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread, and while the main cook wasn't looking, Beanie even threw in a few oranges that were getting slightly spongy as well as some dark-skinned bananas. And after we finished at the orphanage, guess where we went?
Beanie looked at me kind of skeptically and asked, “You sure you're up for this, Cate?”
“Yeah,” I answered as I determinedly drove the Bug over the lumpy, dusty road. The dust around here is so thick it coats you like a scaly skin, even your teeth get all gritty from it. “I need to do this, Beanie.”
“Okay.” She still didn't sound convinced. “I just don't want you to fall apart on me. I don't even know how to drive a stick shift. If you go to pieces, we might just have to spend the night here.”
Ugh, the thought of being stuck at the dump all night literally made my skin crawl! But I tried not to show how badly her words affected me. “I'll be fine, Beanie. This is something I need to do. Like conquering your fears, you know?”
“Yeah, but maybe we should've brought Alex too.”
I considered this. She might be right. “Well, why don't we just say a prayer on our way. I think God can help us do this.” So Beanie prayed as I drove, and suddenly I wondered if this wasn't such a good idea after all.
So there we are, barely out of the car, and the kids begin flocking over to us. As fast as I can, I begin smearing peanut butter on bread slices while Beanie attempts some crowd control. And I must admit I probably wasn't as fast as Alex (he's had lots more experience). But one by one, I manage to hand the pieces out to the grubby little hands, not even cringing as their skinny, filth-encrusted fingers touch mine. They remind me of brown birds, scrappy and grabby and worried they might not get their fair share. But somehow (not unlike the story of loaves and fishes) all are fed. How quickly the bread and peanut butter disappear! Then I remember the fruit in the car. But I think perhaps first we should sing a song or two (like Alex had done).
And so we all sit in a circle (right there in the gross dirt that fringes the dump), and the children cooperate beautifully. (I'm sure to show their appreciation for the food and in the hope that there might be more.) So we sing several songs (in Español, no less), ones that Beanie and I learned at the preschool, and then we teach them a couple of finger-plays that we did with the preschoolers each day. This seems to delight the children, and one little girl (I'm pretty sure she is a girl because she seems to have on what may have once been a dress) actually climbs into my lap. And–here's the miracle–I don't really mind. (Okay, maybe a little at first, but then I am all right, really!) Then I mentally count the heads in our circle of children and realize there will not be enough fruit for everyone to have their own piece, so I know we need to divide it up.
I explain my concern to Beanie, and we both reach into the bag and each take out an orange and begin peeling. The children watch us with wide, hungry eyes as we separate the orange sections, juice dripping on our hands. Then one by one, we hand the pieces out to the kids. We do this over and over until all the fruit is gone. Then I show the children the empty bag and hold up my hands saying, “No hay más.”
So then we're not really sure what to do next. We stand up with the kids all clamoring around us, like they don't want us to leave or are hoping we'll pull another bag of food out of the car. And that's when I notice several suspicious (and I must admit sinister) looking men gathered nearby, standing just outside the circle of children, and probably wondering what two gringo girls are doing out at the garbage dump and alone. And that's when it occurs to me that they may think nothing of mugging and robbing us and throwing us onto the garbage heap as they make off with our