Benji and I were used to the nice ladies at the food bank who gave us Dum Dums. Where were they today?
The mean lady with stringy gray hair yanked a shopping cart and moved toward the first aisle. Momma followed, dragging us along to keep up with Meanie, as I had named the gray-haired lady.
“I suppose you’ll need diapers?” Meanie said, shaking her head.
“No. My boys are toilet-trained.”
I’d been using the potty for years, and Benji hardly ever had an accident anymore. We were big boys. Why did Meanie think we needed diapers?
“Milk, I suppose, for the kids.”
“Yes, please, and some Strawberry Quik.”
Meanie scoffed. “You’ll get milk. Strawberry Quik is a luxury.”
“But we’ve gotten it here the last several times,” Momma says, still using her polite voice.
I wanted her to yell at Meanie. Meanie deserved to be yelled at. Momma should give her a time-out.
“We don’t have any. This is a food pantry, not a convenience store.”
Momma said nothing, just followed Meanie to the next aisle to get a couple of loaves of bread. “Peanut butter or jelly?” Meanie asked.
“Both, please.”
“You get one or the other. Like I said—”
“Yes, this isn’t a convenience store,” Momma finished for her. “I get it. We’ll take the peanut butter, please.”
“I want jelly!” Benji cried out.
“Peanut butter is more nutritious, Benji,” Momma said. “We’ll get jelly next time.”
We walked through aisle after aisle, Meanie snarling at Momma as she filled up the grocery cart with cereal, spaghetti noodles, cans of food, tissues, toilet paper, and finally, a package of raw hamburger. That meant beef stew. Yum.
“You’re done,” Meanie said. “Get on out of here. We got more people to deal with.”
Momma smiled at Meanie. “Thank you very much. We appreciate your hospitality.”
“Where’s my Dum Dum?” Benji said sadly, his eyes wide.
“What’s he talking about?” Meanie demanded.
“The volunteers always give the boys a sucker,” Momma said. “Don’t be rude, Benji.”
“Candy?” Meanie said. “To rot their teeth so you’ll have to take them to a dentist you can’t afford? I don’t think so. Go on, now.”
Momma held her head high. “Come along, boys.”
We took the cart outside, and Momma loaded up our old car. She called it a station wagon. But she didn’t get in the driver’s seat. Instead, she grabbed our hands once again, and we walked back to the door of the food pantry.
“Brady, hold Benji’s hand,” she said to me. “You can see me through the glass. Stay here, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
As long as I could see Momma, it would be okay. She walked back into the food pantry and talked to a different volunteer. I held tight to Benji and waited. Soon a man walked up to Momma. They talked for a few minutes, but of course I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The man left for a minute, and then he c
ame back and handed something to Momma. They shook hands.
Momma returned to us. “Were you good, boys?” she asked.