Chapter 3 - January 2008

I had just read an email from my brother Mike and hopped in the shower, when my phone rang. Assuming it was work, I let it go to my voicemail.

            As I climbed off the elevator and out into the frigid winter air, I froze, much like the icicles that hung from the window sills and roof. Pressing the keypad on my phone, I huddled by the door and listened to the message again.

            Hi. Mr. Pitello. This is Prince. Prince Cauldwell. We sat down several weeks ago to talk about my mother. Well, I just wanted to let you know that we are at Faith Memorial Hospital. Mama’s had a minor stroke. I thought maybe, if you wanted to come by and see her. Ff… For your story. I don’t know. I just thought you should know.

            Prince was as big and gentle as everyone had said. He and his wife owned their own business providing tech support for vet hospitals across the country, and he took some time away to see his mother and speak with me about my project.

            “I don’t want to say that I was her favorite,” he had said, pulling the onions off his burger. “But she and I clung to each other for a long time. I still remember her staying up with me when I was seventeen and cramming for finals. I had a bad head cold and she’d run back and forth to the bathroom to make sure the cloth she held on my neck stayed cold. Not to mention I had three performances that weekend and a few directors from the college were going to be in attendance. Yeah, she was my rock.”

            I rushed through the ankle-deep snow to the bus stop, hopped onto the 22 Bus and headed west toward the hospital.

            Hospitals were and still aren’t a place I would normally go running too. After making the hard decision eight years ago to let my father go, I avoided them as much as I could.

            As I walked through the main entrance, everything came back to me. The sound of muffled voices in the waiting room. The smell of sterilized equipment. The look on a young nurse’s face as she ran down the hallway, her hands gripping the ends of her stethoscope. Even the orange glow of the exit signs above the doors sent ripples across my skin.

It’s for the story, I told myself, stopping at a desk to ask where I could find the Cauldwell family.

Prince sat next to his brother Aaron outside the room. He was slouched in his seat with a

leg propped up on his knee, while Aaron typed away on his phone, ignoring the passing hospital beds and sick patients.

            “How is she doing?” I asked as I approached.

            Prince sat up quickly, wiping his face with his hands. “She’s alright. Pops said she slid out of her seat like a wet noodle. Her eyes rolled back and she lost consciousness.” He paused to look at his brother. “Aaron carried her to the car and dad called ahead to let them know they were coming.”

            Aaron flipped his phone shut and looked up. He seemed as old as his father just then. White bristles covered his cheeks and chin in a thin beard and his eyes sunk deep in his head. He looked a man lost at sea; he still smiled, only this time with more effort.

            “The doctor said he’d like to keep her here for a few nights, but she should make a ‘full’ recovery,” Aaron said. “She’ll need help regaining the strength in her legs.”

            The door to her room swung open and a petite, blonde nurse with a dimpled chin and horizon grey eyes stepped out. Her face was flush, her hands balled into tiny fists and she took several slow, calming breaths. “I can’t do my job if he is going to be in there acting like that. Can one of you please explain to him that I need two vials of blood so we can run more tests?” She turned and went back into the room.

            Aaron followed her in and I sat with Prince, listening to Allan jaw back and forth with his son.

            “He’s taking it pretty hard,” I said.

            “You’re telling me. I don’t blame him. He’s spent the last sixty years with her and now he has to watch her slowly disappear. I can’t say I would react differently.” Prince shook his head slowly.

            “Don’t you remember what we talked about?” I asked, unwrapping a piece of gum. “This time with her will mean less if you focus on how she’s changing, and not on the amazing life she lived. You’d be saying the last seventy years meant nothing.”

            “I hear you, but if it doesn’t make it any easier for me, it definitely won’t make it any easier for him.” Prince stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Would you like to go in and see her?” he asked.

            The shades were pulled closed. The small lamp next to her bed was only a dim glow, the shadows spreading like branches across the ceiling. The walls were blue. The floor, a cold white tile. The nurse was just finishing the second vial when Allan turned and saw me. I tried to share a comforting smile but the tears that streamed down his face were like bullets, each one finding their way to his heart.

            Mary-ann looked peaceful beneath the tubes. Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell as the air passed gently through her nose. It may have just been me, but it looked as though her lips were curled ever so gently at the corners.

            We all sat in silence for a long while, only the sound of her heart monitor dancing gently off the walls, telling us that she was still fighting.

            My phone buzzed. Looking down, I saw that it was a text from Ryan, one of the copy editors, updating me on a story.

            “You don’t have to stay here all day,” Prince whispered.

            I looked up from my phone and nodded.

            “It’s likely she’ll be asleep till tomorrow morning,” he said. “They gave her a sedative to help her rest. I just didn’t know, with the story and all.”

            “No, of course. I’m glad you called. There’s always something that can be used. If her condition changes, or you take her home, be sure to let me know.” I leaned over and whispered in Prince’s ear. “Make sure your father gets something to eat, okay.”

            Prince shook his head.

Aaron walked me out into the hallway.

            “What did you mean by, ‘there’s always something that can be used?’” He leaned against the door.

            “Aaron. I know you’re not fully on board yet with this whole thing, but I promise, I won’t write anything that will affect you or your family in a negative way. People love a story about families coming together,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And the fact that you are here with Allan, sitting bedside to your sick mother, goes a long way to not only sell books, but relay to this community how much you all care.”

            “That’s fair,” he said, nodding his head and walking back into the room.

            I pulled my coat tight around my neck as I walked out. Sheets of snow fell from the sky so thick I could hardly see my hand in front of my face. I followed a faint set of footprints down the sidewalk and back to the bus stop.

            “What took you so long?” Ryan said, walking into my office behind me.

            “I was at the hospital.”

            “S**t. Is everything alright?” he asked, taking a seat.

            “It wasn’t me. It was Mary-ann Cauldwell. She had a minor stroke and her son called to let me know.” Ryan looked at me sideways. “The story I’m writing about Alzheimer’s for the May send out.”

            “Oh right. The deal you made with K&A.”

            I hung my coat over my chair and sat down. “Yeah, that one. What is this?” I asked, lifting a small, thin box.

            Ryan smiled, the way he always did when he was up to something. “It’s a laptop computer.” He held his hands up to stop me from talking. “Look, I know we can’t convince you to get one for your house, but you’ve gotta use one here in the office. It’s 2008 man, the world is changing. And, you have to understand that it’s a hassle having to wait for you to get us your work. With this, you can just attach your story to an email and in seconds, I’ll have it.” He threw his arms in the air as if he had just invented the cure for cancer.

“Do you know how long it’s going to take me to learn all of this?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. If you only use it for writing your stories and sending them to

Kendal and me, I can teach you in ten minutes.”

This is what we get for hiring twenty-somethings straight out of college. “Fine. But I swear if I have to call you every five minutes because I can figure out what the hell I’m doing, you’re going to watch me light this thing on fire.”

“Deal,” Ryan said, slapping his hand on the desk.

I reluctantly opened the box, not having any feelings of Christmas morning. I had seen

them around for years, but the thought of having to learn about its usage was daunting. But to my surprise, it only took him eight minutes and forty-three seconds, (yes, I timed him), to explain the basics of Microsoft Word and how to attach a file to my email.

            “You shouldn’t, but let me know if you run into any trouble,” he said as he left.

            I spent the next fifteen minutes fiddling around with some of the other options before I realized I may actually enjoy the damn thing.

 

<> 

            Days later, I sat in my office, a steaming mug of coffee on my desk and the phone resting comfortably on my shoulder.

“Hello, may I speak with Ms. Sharice?”

            “This is her, who’s calling?”

            “My name is Sal Pitello. I’m a writer down at the Star Tribune. I was hoping I could speak with you about Mary-ann Cauldwell.” I spun a pen across my knuckles, then tapped in on the notepad on my desk.

            “You’re the man who’s been leaving messages on my answering machine.”

            “Yes. I’m sorry. It’s just that you two opened the soup kitchen together and I thought, who better to get an idea of who she was than her best friend.”

            “Well, I don’t get over there very often anymore. My daughter Alise runs the place, but I know they miss seeing Mary-ann.”

            I made a quick note about her daughter, circling her name several times. “Would it be to much to ask if I could meet you there to talk?”

            “I suppose that would be alright,” she said through a sigh. “I’ll try to be there on Friday, before lunch. That way I can welcome the people as they arrive.”

            I looked over my calendar. I’d have to cancel my dentist appointment and send someone else to the ribbon cutting ceremony at the park.

“That sounds great. I will swing by on Friday.”

            “Before lunch,” she said.

            “Yes, before lunch.”

            “Good. I’ll expect you to help me at the front door,” she said with a laugh.

            “I think that’s a fair trade. Take care and I’ll see you Friday.”

           

 

<>

 

            The face of the brick building was covered in artwork. A forest landscape stood in the background with a river running along the trees. Famous black figures in history held hands and carried signs that read, Freedom and Equality, along a dirt path. Martin Luther King Jr. led the march, with Harriet Tubman at on his left and James Baldwin to his right. Above the door was a large sign painted red and black that said, Full Bellies Soup Kitchen.

            As I entered the building, a young woman walked up and handed me a shovel.

            “Ms. Sharice said get to work,” she said with a smile.

            I chuckled, slipping my gloves back on. I piled the snow in an alley to the left of the building and went back inside, tapping my boots on the door. I could hear the clang of pots and the soft thump of music coming from the kitchen. Setting the shovel against the wall, I made my way to the swinging door. A half dozen women in hair nets swayed back and forth, waving ladles and spatulas through the air as they sang.

            “So, you’ve met my daughter?” a voice said behind me.

            I turned to find the woman who had handed me the shovel, pushing Sharice in a wheelchair. She smiled widely.

            “I certainly did,” I said, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. “And she put me right to work.”

            “As she should have,” Sharice said. Her fingers were frozen in fists and she’d lost sight in her left eye, but beneath the wrinkles and drooping features, I could see that she had once been a stunning woman. “Go on and wash your hands. I know the girls would love some help in the kitchen before the folk come for lunch.” Alise wheeled her mother back across the cafeteria and into a room.

            “You better hurry up and start washing those potatoes,” Katrina, one of the women said. She was in her mid-forties, had wide hips, a cleft lip and a tattoo of a pair of angel wings on the back of her neck.

            “Yes ma’am,” I said with a laugh, rolling up my sleeves and plunging them into the cold water. “So how long have you been helping here?” I asked, scrubbing the potatoes and handing them off to be cut and dropped into a pot of boiling water.

            “I’ve been coming here since I was eight years old. My momma was in and out of prison and I’ve never met my father. Sometimes in the summer I’d have lunch and dinner here. Started volunteering as a sophomore in high school and I haven’t left since.” Katrina was like a machine with the knife, quartering each potato before I could get her the next one.

            “So, Mary-ann and Ms. Sharice were a big part of your life?”

            “Oh yes. Mama. She let me and my sister stay with them for a few months so we didn’t have to sleep in the car. They fed us, bought us clothes and gave us lunch money for school. I don’t know what would have happened to us if they hadn’t been there.” Katrina wiped her head with her forearm and set the knife down to clean off the counter top.

            I finished the potatoes and moved to a large square island to help make peanut butter and jelly, and ham sandwiches. “What about some of the other ladies?” I asked, turning back over my shoulder.

            “Most of us have a very similar story. Abusive homes, poor neighborhoods, parents in and out of the house. Maxine,” she said, pointing to a short woman with beautiful, light brown skin, and a scar that ran from her elbow to the palm of her hand. “Her father kicked her out the house when she was fourteen. Said if she wasn’t going to bring home some money, she couldn’t stay. She wound up on Sharice’s doorstep with a shattered arm and two bullet holes in her shoulder.”

            I looked over at Maxine who was stirring a large pot of gravy, her hips snapping back and forth to the sound of Michael Jackson. If I hadn’t been told; if she didn’t bare the scars, I would never have guessed the life she endured.

            “What happened?” I asked, spreading peanut butter.

            Katrina dried off her hands and moved to the island to work alongside me. “Pimp got ahold of her and when she refused, he broke her arm. She tried to run, but he gunned her down. One of the strongest women I’ve ever met. She crawled eight blocks in the middle of the night to Sharice’s front porch.” She shook her head and I could see she was trying to hold back tears.

            I realized I was doing the same.

            I think that was the start. The start of me realizing how much of the world I was missing out on. I had done a feature story about a kid who was gunned down. I flew out to California to write about the riots in the 80s. I sat in the courtroom when the Juice was on trial for double homicide. I’d done it all. But, nothing up to that point felt all that real to me.

            “What brings you in here?” Katrina asked. “It’s not every day a bald, white man shows up to lend a hand.” She let out a heavy, chest rattling laugh.  A few of the other women turned to look and I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. “Don’t mind them, they’re all jealous I get to work with you,” she said a little louder. The women sighed sarcastically and turned back to their work.

            “I’m a journalist for the Star Tribune. I’m writing a story on Mary-ann’s life and the struggles her family are having now that she’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”

            “Hmm. So sad. Mama was the light of this place for so long. Shame she won’t remember all she’s done.”

            “But you will,” I said, flipping the last slice of bread over.

            “Yes, that’s right. I imagine she’ll find a spot up on the wall too,” she said.

            The kitchen began to empty as the women brought food out into the cafeteria. Ms. Sharice and I met at the front and she asked me to hold the door open.

            “Be sure you say our famous words when they walk through,” she said, raising a fragile hand in the air. “Hope you’re ready to fill that belly.” Her mouth opened into an infectious smile.

            “Hope you’re ready to fill that belly,” I said softly as the first person came through. The look on their face was one of confusion. Mine, I assume looked just as out of place.

            “You gotta say it so it means something,” Sharice said.

            It took some time, but I eventually loosened up. I shook hands with some, hugged others and soon, said the words as if I had been doing it all my life.

            We closed the doors at noon to a packed cafeteria, bustling with laughter. I made my way around the room, introducing myself and learning a bit more about the people of East Brooklyn, and the impact Full Bellies has had on the community.

            I met a veteran who had been homeless for over twenty years. A mother and daughter that lived in the shelter run by the church. Looking at the little girl, I pictured Katrina at the same age. Tattered clothes, knotted hair and head plunged into her mother’s side, weary of strangers.

            By the end, I felt the muscles in my back and thighs tighten. It was more physical work than I’d done in years.

            “You did well,” Sharice said as I sat.

            “Thank you. I’m glad I came.” Sweat dripped off my arms and onto the floor.

            Alise pushed her mother up to the table, locked the wheels and walked to the kitchen to help clean.

            “September 1937,” Sharice started. “We were in fifth grade at Jefferson Elementary. I still remember her pigtail braids and red lunch pail as she sat down the first day. I was new to the school and she was the first one to say hello. Mouth wide as a river and teeth white as snow.”

Katrina brought over two cups of water and a small plate of food. I nibbled, listening as intently as I had the first time I sat down with Allan.

“We were attached at the hip. My mother said there wasn’t a day that went by that we weren’t at one house or the other. We were the dainty type, dressing dolls up in our homemade fabrics, and braiding each other’s hair. We even wore the same outfits to school. Our teacher’d say one name or the other and we’d both turn around. We were twins born from different wombs. Help me would you,” she said, gesturing at the water.

I lifted the cup to her lips and wiped her face with a napkin when she finished.

“That was until she met Allan?” I asked, putting her cup back on the table.

“You’d be dead wrong,” she said with a laugh. Her hair bounced in curls around her

brow. “For a while there, I’d go on dates with them. Got Allan all bent out of shape when Mary-ann would pay more attention to me than she would him. He was good for her though. Kind, sweet. Dumb as a bucket of stones, but he’d have done anything for her. I made a deal with him one day.” Sharice coughed.

“A deal?” I said.

“Yes. I told him that he could have her as long as he didn’t move away. We’d talked about opening a place together, to help our folk get back on their feet, times being what they were.”

“You interested in a piece of pie Mr. Pitello?” Katrina asked from the kitchen.

“No, thank you,” I said, turning back to Sharice.

Her eyebrows narrowed and she snickered. “You’re gonna have to learn how things work around here if you plan on coming back. When someone asks you if you want dessert, it’s not a question, it’s more of a warning that it’s coming.” She smiled and shook her head in sympathy.

“Here you are,” Katrina said, sliding a plate in front of me. “Key lime. Hope you like it.”

“See. I told you,” Sharice said.

It was sour, but made my mouth salivate and it was gone before Sharice could continue

talking.

“When did you open this place?” I asked, wiping my face.

Sharice thought for a moment before saying, “Full Bellies doors opened in 1953, but we got started in my parent’s garage in ‘46. Boiled hot dogs for lunch. Mac and Cheese and ground beef for dinner. We gave out over four thousand meals in our first year.”

“Wow. That’s incredible. How were you able to fund the project?”

“The church helped us out for a while. Then we considered how we could turn it into a

non-profit, you know, like some of those shelters. They gave us the run around, saying, ‘black folk should get jobs and not rely on the government so much. Funny thing is, half of the folk that came through for meals were white.” Sharice took a deep breath, as if still releasing the stresses of early America for blacks.

            “I’m sure I can use common sense to understand the meaning behind the name Full Bellies, but was there any other significance?” I asked, taking a sip of water.

            “Mary-ann can tell you the story, but really we just wanted to make sure people left with their bellies full. But more importantly, Mary-ann wanted their hearts full.” Sharice held her hand over her mouth, her eyes bubbling with tears.

            “You two have done an excellent job over the years,” I said, placing a hand on her arm. “I’ll make sure who ever reads the story knows that.”

            “Make sure you get in there that Mary-ann was a snob and loved to boss people around too,” she snickered.

            “I sense there was a little tension between you.”

            “Only the kind best friends of over fifty years would have.” Her smiled faded slightly. “I hope she’s not upset I haven’t been by to see her. I’m not sure how I would react if she didn’t recognize me is all.”

            I sat in silence for a moment. “I should head into the office for the afternoon.” I stood, again feeling the soreness in my legs. “You shouldn’t wait too long though. There will come a day when she doesn’t.”

            Sharice nodded, then yelled for Alise to come bring her home. “I hope you’ll come back here again.”

            “Of course. I’m sure there’s a photo album or two you could take me through,” I said, leaning down to give her a hug.

            “Have a blessed day Mr. Pitello,” Katrina said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen drying her hands with a towel. “Hope to see you soon.”

            “Hope to see you soon!” a few of the other women shouted mockingly from the kitchen. Katrina turned to throw the towel and the room rumbled with laughter.

            The cool afternoon air hit my lungs as I stepped outside. Cars drove by sloshing wet snow up onto the sidewalk. Pigeons squawked as I walked, looking back at the mural on the side of the building, imagining both Mary-ann and Sharice walking side-by-side.