“I sure feel like it.” Rebecca giggled, then remembered the hair items she’d snagged at the grocery store earlier that week. “Oh, hang on a sec!”
She darted in the back to her purse, grabbed the plastic bag, and raced back, holding out a handful of the modern-style elastics in her hand, plus one of the pastel combs.
“I picked up some of these,” Rebecca said, suddenly feeling shy. “I figured maybe the ladies could use them. Some of these black combs and drab colors get a little, well, depressing.”
“Hey, thanks, baby doll!” The woman grinned, her tanned face creasing and showing one missing tooth, right on the side.
How old was she? Rebecca’s age? Older? Rebecca couldn’t tell. Time and rough living had a way of aging people far beyond their years.
“I’m Rebecca, by the way.” She held out her hand.
“Shayna,” the woman shook it, her dishwater blond ponytailswinging with the motion. She shouldered her backpack more securely, took the elastics and comb. Rebecca noticed her biceps were amazing, then mentally chastised herself. Of course she’s strong and fit, you idiot—she lives on the street, not in some cushy house with some cushy job. You’ve got to be strong to survive out there. Though what Shayna would need in order to survive left her curious.
A man came up behind Shayna, patted her arm as he dug through the men’s clothing.
“Hey, Roy. Hot enough for you lately?”
“You sure are, honey,” Roy said, an exaggerated leer on his face as he found a T-shirt and folded it into a tight rectangle.
Shayna gave him a look. “Baby, you know you better knock that out. You been warned.”
The man just laughed. Rebecca got the impression they did this often.
When the man walked off, Rebecca couldn’t help but blurt, “Do the guys do that a lot? Bother you?”
Shayna laughed, waved a hand, biceps flexing nicely. “Nah, they’re more like brothers, most a’ the time, anyway. It’s like with dogs, you know? Gotta show ’em who’s boss once, show ’em you’re the Alpha, the one what’s in charge, and other than a bit of teasing here and there, you ain’t gotta worry ’bout it again. Usually.”
That made sense, in theory. “I bet you have some stories, huh.” Rebecca began to fold some of the clothes that had gotten ransacked, neatening the piles somewhat.
“Oh, girl, I got some crazy stories. You hang around me enough you’ll hear ’em so often you can prob’ly tell ’em yourself!”
Rebecca grinned at her. “That a promise?”
“Maybe.” Shayna grinned back. “Ooh, hey, look at these!”
She spotted a pair of overall shorts in Rebecca’s hand.
Rebecca passed them across the table. “Cute!”
“They are cute. I might have to take me some of these! They gotpockets, too. I love me some pockets.” Shayna held the overalls to her slender frame, her shoulders bony behind the muscles. “Now if you only had a pink T-shirt to go under these, I’d be set.”
“Pink’s your favorite color?”
“Pink’s my signature color.” Shayna mimicked an old-fashioned screen siren as she daintily put a hand to her head, thrust out a hip. Rebecca couldn’t help but think of Tiff. The women were light years apart on the surface, yet they shared a favorite color.
Then again, she mused, surveying the room, wasn’t that the way with everybody? You take away their job, home, and social status, and it just came down to the basics, really. Are you a survivor? Do you make time for play? Do you have faith, or are you steeped in darkness?
“See ya around, girl.” Shayna waved as she stuffed the overalls in her bag and moved off toward the food table as someone settled behind the big piano and began to play. A familiar Billy Joel tune filled the room.
As she continued to look around at the tables, watching people just be people, it hit Rebecca suddenly what Granny had meant when she talked about ministry with, not to, people. Maybe that’s what had always bothered her about volunteering: the notion that she’d be swooping in with some Miss Fix-It persona, patronizingly saving the day as she doled out soup or canned goods, the ultimate power trip. Here’s me, who has everything, doing you, the “poor” person, the supreme favor of giving you what you need. That never felt right to her.
But giveaway night was more like a giant party where people hung out and ate together, plus gathered up stuff they needed in order to live. None of the volunteers were shoving advice and judgment down anybody’s throat. There was no ridiculous paternalistic power play. Even the crazy drunk guy who’d stumbled in last week and made a mess of the front entrance had simply been cleanedup and ushered to a table, where they gave him some cornbread and lemonade. No biggie. Come to think of it, she hadn’t even heard the name “Jesus.” People just, well, hung out with each other, whether they were a volunteer or someone who came to snag some free stuff.
Serving with, not to, Rebecca nodded absently. There is a difference. She wondered if that’s how it was with other ministries, like the ones Granny helped with, or if this one was unique. Is that why Christians seemed to be doing stuff for others all the time? Because it felt human to be helpful, even when your own life wasn’t exactly perfect?
She shivered, wished for a moment Devon was here, so she could share the thought with him.
“Earth to Rebecca,” a voice said and nudged her.
