Torch Red: Color Me Torn with Bonus Content (8 page)

“Hey, it’s okay, Zoë. I think I understand what you’re saying.” He nods as we reach the kitchen. “In fact, I think I’m in total agreement with you.”

“You mean that I don’t need to come to church?” I feel hopeful now. Like maybe I’m about to get his blessing to keep skipping out on church. Maybe I can even get him to call my parents or maybe send an excuse note home.

“Oh, no, I’m not saying you don’t
need
to come to church,” he says. “I’m just saying maybe you’ve got your priorities straight.”

We’re in the kitchen now and the other workers have stopped their usual chatter, like they want to hear what we’re talking about. “What do you mean?” I ask in a quiet voice.

“Well,” he says in a not-so-quiet voice. “God’s Word says that true religion is to go out to visit poor widows and orphans without getting yourself defiled.”

“But what does that mean?”

Now he smiles this really coy kind of smile, like he knows this really good secret, but he’s not going to tell me. “I guess you’d have to come to Sunday worship service to find
that
out.”

This makes the kitchen crew laugh, as if they get the joke and it’s on me. But I don’t really mind since I probably deserve it. And what he said is almost intriguing enough to make me want to come to church. Well, almost. Sleeping in on Sunday mornings still sounds pretty tempting to me.

“Here you go, Zoë,” says Mavis Malheur, queen of the soup kitchen, as she hands me a potato peeler and nods to a mountain of potatoes over by the sink. “You know what to do, girl.”

“Is this my punishment for not coming to church?” I ask over my shoulder, but Mavis just laughs.

“No, child, it’s just that your young fingers can do it much faster than the rest of ours.”

And so we all joke and laugh as I stand over the sink peeling potato after potato. And I think that if this was what church was like, it might not be so bad. Pastor Leon did get me to thinking a little. I do wonder what he meant about that visiting widows and orphans thing. It just sounds pretty weird to me. I mean I sort of get the widow and orphan part because I think a really good person would want to help people who are down and out. And isn’t that kind of like the soup kitchen? But I don’t get the “without getting defiled part.” I mean what’s up with that? I know that being defiled is like being really dirty, or worse. But besides getting all grungy and smelling like onions, how could helping in the soup kitchen possibly defile me? Very mysterious.

Soon it’s time to serve the meal, and as usual, I am asked to go out to help. Now you’d think I would like this part of the job since putting food on plates is lots easier than peeling potatoes or washing dishes, but it always makes me a little uneasy. In fact, I usually try to get out of it.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have me start cleaning up back here?” I offer.

But Mavis just shakes her head. “No, Zoë,” she says. “I think these hungry people would enjoy seeing your pretty, smiling face.”

“You say that every time,” I remind her.

“That’s exactly right.” She smiles. “So why do you even bother to ask me?”

I roll my eyes at her. “I just think you want to get rid of me so that you ladies can sneak back into the kitchen and put your feet up
while I’m out there working,” I tease.

“That’s right. And we’ll probably sample some of that apple cobbler while we’re at it.” Then she gives me a little push.

I go out and stand behind the big table that’s full of big pots and aluminum trays of food. Even though they call it a soup kitchen, they rarely serve soup here. Today it’s meat loaf, potatoes and gravy, and other things. I see the line of people and it looks longer than usual. They’re waiting for Pastor Leon to welcome them in and then bless the food. I try not to look at them too closely. Their clothes are always pretty old and worn and often unwashed, but it’s their eyes that tend to haunt me. They can’t hide their sadness or hopelessness, and I can tell they’re embarrassed by their poverty and wish they could be anywhere but here. It usually gets better after they get their food and sit down and begin eating. People begin to visit and lighten up, and Pastor Leon goes out of his way to make everyone feel comfortable. He often has someone perform music or some special kind of entertainment.

But it’s always hardest at the beginning, as they first come into the room and approach the serving table. And this is when I usually find myself wanting to just stare down at the food.

Fortunately, I’m a pretty good actress. So once the people start coming up to me, I force a smile to my face and I say the things I think they might like to hear. Just shallow things like how cold it is today or how great this meat loaf is or whatever. But, believe me, it’s
not
easy. The worst moment is when this girl who seems to be about my age walks up. The first thing I notice is this beautiful auburn hair that goes clear down her back in a long braid that’s tied with a ratty-looking piece of yarn. But it’s her expression that gets to me. She keeps her eyes downward and looks totally miserable about being here. And who can blame her? I mean how humiliating
would it feel to be so desperate that you have to come to a church for free food? Even so, I try to think of something nice to say.

“I love your hair,” I quickly say. This makes her look up and study me with what seems a bored or maybe unconvinced expression. “Really,” I try again. “The color is so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she mutters as she looks back down at her tray and moves through the line. But I watch her as she goes to find a seat. And I feel really bad for her. I mean not only is she eating at a soup kitchen, but the outfit she’s wearing is so bad. She must’ve gotten it out of one of those free clothing boxes piled up in the back of the church. But, honestly, her fake-fur-trimmed ski jacket looks like something my grandma might’ve worn for one season then thrown out because it was so ugly. But I conceal these thoughts, keeping my sunny smile pasted across my plastic face. Believe me, I often leave here feeling more drained than after a two-hour performance where I’m starring in the lead role. I know it sounds weird, but it’s the truth.

Finally, the serving is done, including seconds (which didn’t last for long), and I am relieved to go back into the kitchen where I can begin cleaning up. But as soon as I start scrubbing a big pot, I hear some music starting to play, and I realize that it’s really pretty good. It sounds like a live band and so after the pot is clean, I decide to stick my head out for a quick peek.

But I am shocked to see Nate Stein up there in the center of the little makeshift stage. He’s singing and playing lead guitar, along with a few other guys who are playing bass, drums, and keyboard. I stand there in my dirty apron next to the kitchen door, just listening until the song ends, and then I enthusiastically clap along with everyone else. These guys are really good.

That’s when Nate notices me and gives me a surprised little nod before he introduces his band and his next song. I listen a bit longer
before I feel guilty about neglecting my work and return to the kitchen.

Just as the last tray of dishes is slid into the big industrial dishwasher, I hear Mavis calling me.

“Someone here to see you, Zoë,” she says with this sly grin.

“Hey, Nate,” I say as I wipe my hands on my apron and push a stray piece of hair from my eyes.

“What’re you doing here, Zoë?”

I hold up my hands. “What’s it look like?”

He laughs. “Who’da thought?”

“Your band sounds great,” I tell him.

“Thanks, I’ve been promising Pastor Leon that we’d come play once we got our drummer replaced.”

“You know Pastor Leon?”

“Sure, this is where I go to church.”

I nod. “Oh.”

“But I haven’t gone here for that long.” Then he kind of frowns. “Do you go here too?”

I give him a sheepish smile. “Oh, not so much. But my parents do.”

“But you work in the soup kitchen?”

“Yeah. I’m told that’s kind of weird.”

“Actually, I think it’s kind of cool.”

We talk for a bit longer, but then his band buddies call for him to come and help them pack up.

“I better go,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah, me too.”

Then I go back and finish wiping down the counters, turn in my apron, and finally leave.

I feel kind of funny when I leave, like I’m wondering what I am
really doing there. Not that those people don’t make me feel at home, they totally do. And I really like Mavis. Okay, Pastor Leon too. Maybe I’m just questioning why it is that I’m not interested in going to church. Especially after hearing that Nate goes.

As I get into Mom’s car, I remember that it hasn’t always been like this. There was a time, back when I was about seven, that I actually liked going to church. But it only lasted about a year. Our Sunday school teacher was this sweet little lady named Mrs. Fieldstone. She was a great storyteller, and she always brought homemade treats and told us how much God loved us. She made Bible stories seem real. Come to think of it, it was in her Sunday school class that I invited Jesus into my heart. Or at least that’s how I remember it. But that was nearly ten years ago and I’m not even sure if it was for real. Besides, I have a strong feeling that whatever I did back then has nothing to do with who I am now. In fact, I’m sure that’s the way I want to keep it. I mean my life seems pretty okay to me. It’s not like I’m doing anything that’s really wrong.

I turn toward the mall and tell myself to stop thinking about such weird stuff as I search for a good parking spot. Even Pastor Leon said he wasn’t trying to lay a guilt trip on me.

“Just forget about it,” I tell myself as I lock Mom’s car and hurry over to Banana Republic (where my gift certificate is for). Okay, I’m not that crazy about Banana Republic anymore (that was last year), but how can I expect my grandma to keep up with such things? Besides, as I’m sure she or Mom would tell me, you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Like I know what that’s supposed to mean.

So I’m walking through Banana Republic in search of something totally amazing to wear to the party tonight, and I suddenly remember the girl I’d noticed at the soup kitchen today. I remember the look on her face—total hopelessness—and the pathetic-looking
jacket she had on. Even so, I tell myself, at least the jacket’s warm, right? And why am I thinking about this anyway?

But it won’t go away. And as I’m walking through the perfectly arranged shelves and racks at Banana Republic, it’s like I cannot stop obsessing over this poor girl and wondering about how miserable her life must be and how awful it must feel to be in her shoes (which were a nasty pair of old cheap tennis shoes).

And finally, these thoughts just totally spoil this whole shopping experience for me. Feeling upset and ridiculous, I hand the sweater I’ve just picked out back to the smooth-looking salesgirl.

“Do you need a different size?” she asks.

I just shake my head. “I need a different heart.” Naturally, she looks at me like I’m totally crazy. Maybe I am.

So I leave Banana Republic and get into my mom’s car and actually start crying. Now what’s up with this? I mean really, my life’s been going pretty well lately. I’ve got a good role in the school play. I’m dating a totally cool guy. What the crud is wrong with me?

I start the car and tell myself it’s probably just PMS or maybe I need a good long nap. Whatever it is, I’m sure it will go away eventually. And so I go home and take a shower to remove all the soup kitchen crud then fall into my bed and sleep soundly. So soundly that I don’t even wake up until after seven!

Now I’m totally frantic when I realize how late it is. Not only do I have
nothing
to wear tonight, I haven’t even taken the time to call Emily about this whole Todd and Shawna thing. And now I’ve got to scramble just to come up with something halfway decent from my own closet before Justin gets here. Oh, how I wish Amy still lived at home at moments like this. She always had a closet worth raiding.

I finally manage to put together an outfit that’s not too lame. In fact, as I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I’m thinking,
Not bad!
I’ve never tried wearing these boots with this skirt before, but I must say, it looks pretty hot.

It’s like ten minutes before eight and I think maybe I actually have time to call Emily, especially if Justin is running late. So I quickly dial her number, but her mom tells me that she’s on a date with Todd.

“Tell her I called,” I say in a disappointed voice.

“Is everything okay, Zoë?” her mom asks with her typical concern. Emily’s mom is the sweetest.

“Oh, yeah, everything is great,” I assure her. “I just need to talk to Emily about, uh, about
something
.” I try to make my voice sound cheerful as I tell her goodbye.

But I really want to ask Mrs. Schuler where Emily and Todd went tonight, and then I want to go there myself, and I want to grab Emily and tell her that Todd’s a total jerk and that she should dump him right now. But it’s too late for that. At least for tonight. Poor Emily!

J
USTIN AND
I
DON’T TALK MUCH AS HE DRIVES TO THE PARTY
. I’
M PROBA
bly being quiet because I feel sort of guilty for lying to my mom.