Bruce Tuesdays

Muleskinner Journal/Fall 2023

She watched the line stretch down the block from the front windows. Cars passed in a stream, unrelenting. Business people, regular people, those who did not need a free meal, crossed the street to avoid the crowd. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d seen them, the poor, the hungry. On a trip into the city with her grandmother for the Christmas show all she remembered afterwards was the homeless man shivering on a steaming grate, the elderly woman with smeared lipstick poking through the garbage, a dirty sleeping bag unrolled under a tree in the park. Before sleep each night, those images lingered. She worried and wondered about them all. She dreamed about the poor. 

“C’mon in, everybody!” She propped open the front door and waved, welcoming the line. “Starting to rain. Dinner’s almost ready! Get a cup of joe and a seat!” 

“Hey, Bethie, how’re ya?” John took her hand.

“I’m good, very good, glad to see you!” 

She glanced once more out the door before closing it. Horns honked, someone gave someone else the finger. Life continued in the outside world of oblivion. Inside, she enjoyed a better view: her team of volunteers preparing a meal for the poor, all for free. 

This was Beth’s dream come true, her nonprofit soup kitchen, “The Table.” The dream that mystified and disappointed her parents, repulsed her older sister, and destroyed her social and sex lives. How many people are living their dream? she often asked herself. Not many, she answered, not many at all.