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F2K Story

by Sherri Hosieni

As Big as the Heart Can Hold

Shades of Seattle gray, in the sidewalk, clouds, and raindrops, greeted Olivia as she strolled through the brick building lined streets of Pioneer Square, stopping at “Susie’s Posy Shop” to buy a bouquet of daffodils for her desk. Turning left at Cherry Street, she walked up the steep hill to City Hall, where she worked as a legal assistant in the City Attorney’s Office.

Repugnant urine stench met Olivia’s nose as she entered the building. An older man, with sunken eyes and blue veined, transparent skin stood in the corner of the lobby. Filthy, tattered clothing draped his emaciated frame. Olivia hurried past the security desk and sprinted into the first open elevator, hitting the “close” button before selecting her destination. She thought aloud, “I agreed with the decision to use the lobby as a nighttime homeless shelter, but sometimes it scares me.”

Angry citizens reporting barking dogs on Capital Hill and a sleep inducing planning meeting for the expansion of the law library made the morning pass quickly. The hands of the clock struck 12:00, prompting Olivia to think about a lunchtime visit to the free art museum up the street. Immersing her mind in the permanent collection of mostly nineteenth century German landscapes had become a ritual pleasure.

Jackhammers crunched the sidewalk on the north side of Cherry Street as Olivia walked out of City Hall. She always walked on the north side of the street, avoiding the south side’s long line of smelly, dirty people streaming out of a church basement food bank, like rats scurrying from a garbage heap.

“I’m going anyway,” Olivia sighed, as the pull of the museum’s tranquil spaces overcame her revulsion at walking through the ragtag, food bank masses.

She walked slowly up the south side of the street toward the overflowing line of people, picking up her pace as the line grew closer. Salty, hot sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes as she walked faster. Olivia turned the hungry people surrounding her into faceless obstacles, ignoring their very presence by focusing only on the cracks in the sidewalk, and noticing small gray pebbles and stray weeds at the edge of the grass.

Breathless, about midway through the line, Olivia stopped. Fear and panic shook her body. Her heart raced. A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She whirled around wildly. A grandmotherly voice said, “Are you alright, dear?” An elderly woman, holding the hand of a tiny, brown haired girl asked again, “Are you alright, dear?”

Wiping the sweat from her eyes and breathing hard, Olivia answered weakly, “I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to the museum. I was walking a little too fast and needed to stop for a minute.”

“I’m glad you are okay. Enjoy the beautiful paintings,” the woman responded.

Olivia ran to the door of the museum, set down on the steps and held her face in her hands. Hot tears streaked her cheeks. She reflected upon the man in the lobby that morning and the kindly grandmother in the line just minutes before. She thought, “Drug users and alcoholics are the poor and homeless. I don’t understand this.”

She stood up and walked back toward the food bank. An old man, wearing duct taped shoes; a younger man with one leg; and a woman holding a crying infant represented those in the long line. The man she had seen that morning in the lobby sat on the lawn outside of the church trying to chew on a crusty loaf of bread, even though several of his teeth were missing.

Olivia mustered her courage and walked into the church basement. A tall, young, African American man, wearing a nametag that read “Walter” greeted her. He smiled warmly and said, “Would you like some bread?”

“Oh, no,” she replied. “I walked by here on my way to the museum. I decided to learn more about what you do. May I volunteer for the rest of my lunch hour?”

“We can always use extra hands,” he said kindly. “It’s not glamorous, there is no pay, but the rewards are always as big as the heart can hold.”

“What do I do?” asked Olivia shyly.

“Mark!” the young man called out, “We have a new volunteer.”

An older man walked toward Olivia and said, “I’m Mark. It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

“I’m Olivia,” she replied. “I only have about 45 minutes. Is that enough?”

“You bet it is,” Mark said. “Follow me and I will get you a name tag and an apron. Then you can join a group already filling up bags of rice.”

Olivia joined a table of five people pouring two cups of long-grain, white, rice into plastic bags and tying them shut in assembly line fashion. The minutes flew by. She headed back to work, vowing to return soon to help more.

Once a week, for the next three weeks, Olivia walked up the hill to help out, holding her head high and saying hello to everyone she met. Bouquets of daffodils, tulips and sweet peas, donated by “Susie’s Posy Shop,” filled her arms on each visit. They adorned the front desk in greeting of the now very visible food bank clients. She sacked rice, cut up loaves of bread, and sorted donated canned foods onto shelves.

On the fourth week, Walter greeted her at the door and said, “I think you are ready to handle the front desk.”

“I don’t know about that,” Olivia hesitated.

“I do,” said Walter. “Remember, no one is ever turned away. No questions are asked. We greet everyone with a smile, a kind word and dignity.”

Olivia’s heart raced. She had found these people disgusting, ignoring their very presence. Now she would face them directly.

A silver haired man, leaning on a scratched wooden cane, walked through the door. Olivia said, “Hello sir, how are you today?”

He didn’t speak, but motioned for a pad and pencil. Olivia placed them in his hands. He pointed to a tracheotomy in his neck and wrote, “I’m fine. It is good to see a smiling face. I can’t speak since they poked this darn hole in my throat. The doctor tells me that I’m going to die soon. The cancer is growing fast. At least I won’t starve to death.”

Olivia gasped loudly. She saw the breathing device in his throat. Walter saw her reaction and said, “Hello, Mr. Jenkins. We are pleased to see you. I have something special for you today.” Walter gave him a package of nutritional drinks, a bottle of multivitamins, and a variety of smooth soups, specifically selected for his needs.

Mr. Jenkins winked at Olivia and wrote, “I hope I see you soon. Thank you.”

Olivia operated the front desk each week and grew to love interacting with the people. Stories of illness, job loss, domestic abuse, and fear filled her ears. She also heard about free dental clinics, new jobs secured, and children’s birthdays. Olivia always anxiously awaited Mr. Jenkins arrival. He chatted warmly with her via the note pad, telling her about saving a small child in the Korean War, showing her pictures of his long dead parents, and providing strong opinions about the politics of City Hall. Olivia noticed that each week he looked thinner and his skin more ashen.

On an unusually bright sunny day Mr. Jenkins did not show up. Olivia prayed for him as she helped the other folks in line. The man Olivia had first encountered in the lobby of City Hall walked through the door, placed a small wooden box on the counter, and whispered, “He died. He was my friend.”

Olivia took a deep breath and lifted the top from the box. Inside, a note scribbled in familiar hand writing said, “Dear Miss Olivia. The doctor said I won’t see tomorrow. You were so kind to me. I take your smile with me and leave my smile with you.” A small, yellow, 1960’s style smiley face button sat in the box.

Tears fell freely from Olivia’s eyes. She walked around the counter, hugged the man, and said, “I’m so sorry. He was my friend too.”

Olivia rubbed the smiley button with her fingers and pinned it to her blouse. Walter noticed her tears. “Mr. Jenkins passed away, didn’t he?” he asked, placing his arm around her shoulders.

“Yes, he did,” Olivia whispered and pointed to the button. “He left me a gift as big as my heart could hold.”

F2K: an Introduction to Creative Writing teaches the basics of fiction writing. Since 1995, R.J. Hembree's free six-week course has helped thousands of writers from around the world. Writer’s Digest has selected F2K as one of the best sites for writers. F2K has three objectives: To help beginning writers learn the basic terminology of fiction writing (a good refresher for experienced writers too). Writers will also find the elements of fiction useful in non-fiction or poetry. To encourage writers to habitually write without fear. To give writers a chance to meet and develop friendships with writers from around the world. At the end of each session, F2K sponsors a short story contest. Students who post all six assignments are eligible to enter. Each mentor chooses a finalist from his/her room. The finalists' poll is open to the general public for voting. Read the past finalist stories at: http://fiction.4-writers.com/past-f2k-contest-stories.shtml