“I’ll be here.” Mama Dot let her know with a smile.
Cyren scurried off to the restroom towards the back to wash her hands and secure her hair in a net. When she returned, the line had grown some, so she put a pep in her step. Sliding on her gloves, she traded places with Mama Dot, grabbing the spoon for the rice just as the next person stepped up.
“Hi, Josh. How are you today?” Cyren asked the young boy.
Josh looked to be maybe eight or nine, standing with his hands tucked inside a hoodie with it pulled over his head.
He shrugged. “Coo’. Just hungry.”
“Well, we have plenty of food for you to eat. Would you like some green beans?”
Josh’s large brown eyes peeked into the pan, and he quickly nodded. “Yeah. They good?”
Cyren giggled. “Yes. If you try them, and you don’t like them, I’ll give you five bucks.”
“Bet!” His face lit up.
She added a little extra without making it noticeable, then handed him his plate. “Enjoy!”
“Tell your mama I said come see me,” Mama Dot added, sliding him a piece of cornbread wrapped in plastic. She’d forgotten to bring them out from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, already turning to go.
Cyren watched him for a second before moving on to the next person, falling into the rhythm she’d perfected over the weeks.
“His mama still hasn’t been back up here?” Cyren asked in a hushed tone.
“Nope, and I know what it is. She’s embarrassed, but there’s no need to be. I just wanna love on her and those babies. That’s it.”
Josh’s mama was pregnant again, adding one more to her crew of three. Josh was the oldest, and she’d just gotten back full custody of him three months ago. Mama Dot knew all of this, yet she didn’t feel right coming to face her. At least not yet.
“Hopefully, she comes around. You want me to take some plates around there when I leave?” Cyren asked.
“Oh no. That’s alright. I’ma have Mr. Joe take me around there so we can drop Josh off. That temperature is dropping, and it’s too cold for him to be walking.”
Nodding, Cyren couldn’t help but agree. November had made its presence known, bringing chillier winds than she wasprepared for. Thankfully, Mama Dot had tons of hats, gloves, coats, and even some blankets for those in need.
Cyren continued passing out plates, noticing the people who’d been by weekly, the ones who smiled when they spoke, the ones who avoided eye contact, and even the ones who stayed just to talk to her a little longer to catch her up on all the happenings of their day. It was the small things, and Cyren was grateful to experience them all.
After the rush slowed and the line thinned out, Cyren stepped away from the table, tossing her gloves in the trash and grabbing a bottle of water. She watched as Mama Dot moved toward the back, checking in on one of the older women seated at a table, her hand gently resting on her shoulder as she spoke.
The way people softened around Mama Dot, the way she listened, and the way she poured into them made Cyren emotional. It’s as if all guards being held up came crashing down in her presence. It was comforting in a way that Cyren missed. That motherly love that you felt without Mama Dot even touching you.
Cyren walked over once Mama Dot finished, leaning against the counter nearby.
“How’d you do this?” she asked, her tone inquisitive but genuine. “What made you want to start a pantry?”
She’d read the about page on the website, but wanted to know the full story. She knew people gave out of the kindness of their hearts, but there had to be a motive behind it. Cyren was curious. Mama Dot looked at her for a second before turning her attention back to the tray she was covering.
“Life just became too much,” she simply said. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
Cyren rubbed her glossed lips together, not sure how to respond to such a vague answer.
Mama Dot glanced at her with a soft smile. “I used to cook like this for my own house. It’d be way more than we needed, and sometimes, I’d cook more on purpose.” Her eyes softened at the memory. “At first, it was just me sending plates out around the neighborhood to families I knew could use a bit of help or a warm meal. Or to that little boy with younger siblings who had, on more than one occasion, gotten caught stealing food from the local grocery store.”
There was an older sibling somewhere in the world, still making sure the youngest were taken care of. Still taking on the role as a parent when they were still a child and needed guidance themselves.
Mama Dot kept reminiscing, going down memory lane. “It didn’t take long before folks started depending on the meals. Kids were knocking at my door before and after school. Women who were too tired to cook, but still trying, showed up. Older folks came through when their stamps ran low.”
