Dinner for All

 

            The little boy lay alone on a single blanket on the laminate floor, hidden behind another blanket that had been pinned to the ceiling, creating a type of private room all of his own. The light that bled through the bedroom window was enough to allow him to read the small pile of comic books his mother had found in a dumpster a few blocks from their apartment. The apartment was absolutely silent, a painful reminder of how common it was for him to spend his evenings cold, hungry, and longing for company.

              He knew he had been alone for many hours, prompting him to slip out from behind his blanket to see that the clock in the living room had finally reached the ten o’clock hour. The sound of a key in the front door lock triggered a fight or flight response in him, pushing him to hurry back to his tiny, cold, and empty space. He curled up on the thin, single blanket that served as his sleep space, to hear his mother and a random stranger stagger into the apartment and enter the other bedroom.

              The banging on the wall, the sound of his mother’s labored breathing, and the bestial growls of the random stranger assaulted his hearing, bringing up images of his mother from so many nights just like this one. Little Jesse drilled his fingers into his ears to drown out the horrible sounds, the slaps and the punches that always left his mother begging for mercy.

              Evenings like this one were common, one bleeding into the next, until Jesse could no longer keep track of how many men followed his mother into their apartment, abused her, paid her cash, and then left after about an hour. Every evening was the same, she would arrive around ten o’clock with one stranger, to then leave shortly after he departed, to then return an hour later with another stranger, and repeat the cycle over and over.

              The following morning Jesse woke to an empty apartment, cold, hungry, and confused about the absence of his mother. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered to himself. “She is always here in the morning to make me breakfast, to hug me, and to make sure that I have everything that I need.” Following his usual routine, he took a quick shower, dressed appropriately for the cold weather, and searched through the kitchen in hopes of finding something to eat.

              The only fruit from his searching endeavors was a mostly empty box of breakfast cereal and a single bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator. He warmed up a cup of water in the microwave to pour over the meagre portion of cereal, which would barely begin to satiate his raging hunger. He finished his meal, searched through his mother’s bedroom to find a wad of cash, which would allow him to make a trip to the grocery store only three blocks away.

              He slipped on his shoes and jacket to brave the cold walk, stepping over homeless people, garbage, and countless syringes. He reached the opening of an alleyway and saw a pair of bare legs sticking out from underneath a pile of cardboard. He recognized a tattoo on the left leg which perfectly matched that of his mothers. “Oh, no, this is not good,” he said under his breath. He hurried into the alley, pulled the cardboard away and looked into the face of his mother, motionless and slightly blue.

              A wave of nausea passed over him as he wondered what would become of him now that he was truly alone. He hurried from the scene, found a police officer and led him back to his mother. “Oh, little man, I am so sorry,” the officer said. “Here, come with me back to my police car. You need somewhere safe to be, while I call child protective services.” Jesse sat in the back seat of the car and pressed his forehead onto his knees, terrified at what was going to happen next.

              Within a few minutes, a middle-aged woman arrived and took him to a beautiful, warm, and safe home. She introduced him to a woman a few years older than his mother, who was clean, kind, and gentle. The three of them sat down at the kitchen counter for a snack, of which Jesse was utterly thankful, as he was still hungry from his small portion of breakfast cereal.

              He watched the two women fill out some paperwork and then the middle-aged woman left, which was followed by the kind woman in her beautiful home showing Jesse his own room with an actual bed and a private bathroom. Before the woman had a chance to leave, he hugged her with intensity and flopped down on the soft and warm bed.

              “I was about to start making lunch,” she said. “Come downstairs in about twenty minutes and we can enjoy a meal together. You can call me Carole.”

              “Thank you, Carole,” Jesse said. “You have beautiful, warm, and comfortable home. This is nothing like the home my mother provided for me. Do you live here alone?”

              “No, my husband James is at work right now,” she said. “He’ll be back around five o’clock and the three of us can enjoy dinner together. I know that the three of us will get to know one another well. I am excited to hear about you, what things you like, and what we can do to make you feel safe and comfortable.”

              Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and during all of this time, Jesse grew in a loving, kind, gentle, and generous young man, well-educated with a heart toward helping people. He graduated from high school and began a series of classes at a local culinary school. His cold, lonely, and empty childhood before coming to live with Carole and James, moved him to find great joy in creating wonderful meals for other people.

              He graduated at the top of his class and began developing the idea of starting his own restaurant in the oldest, poorest, and most troubled part of the city. James and Carole offered to buy everything he would need to establish the restaurant and hire workers to assist him.

              “James and Carole, I was thinking that I would just serve breakfast and lunch,” he said. “But in the evenings, I would provide free meals to the homeless people and the prostitutes that fill our city. So many people look down upon these poor souls and treat them as if they were less than human. If I can do good, help them, and feed them, their lives will be that much better.”

              Jesse spent the next two weeks visiting multiple different locations for his restaurant until finally deciding on one that perfectly satisfied his ideas. He hired a group of college students to empty the building, clean it, and bring it up to code for the health department. Once everything was ready, he ordered the kitchen equipment, the tables and chairs, and created an account with a food delivery service. Within two weeks of everything arriving, he began advertising and saw a wonderful flood of people visiting his restaurant.

              After establishing a good name and reputation, he began to interact with the homeless people and the prostitutes, inviting them to his restaurant anytime they were hungry during the dinner hours. Breakfast and lunch hours were always remarkably busy, which led to an abundance of income, allowing him to provide free meals for those who were truly in need. Each time he watched a young woman enter the restaurant, he was reminded of his mother and the suffering she went through so many evenings.

              He greeted each person as they entered his restaurant, speaking softly and kindly, offering them any meal they desired. He could see every bruise, every tattoo, and the heart-rending hollowness in their eyes. The occasional person would stick out as unusual and he could see potential in some, hoping they would turn away from their poor life choices, occasionally offering them a chance to work in his restaurant, as a greeter, a dishwasher and sometimes as a waiter.

              He could see the emptiness and coldness melt within them when they spoke. “If only someone could have offered my mother something like this,” he thought. “But if they had, I wouldn’t be in this situation to help these people in this way.” Finally, one young woman accepted his offer to work in the kitchen and her work ethic was exceptional, her attitude and thankfulness were surprising. The joy that filled him as he watched her slowly transition into a healthy person with hopes and dreams now within her reach, moved him to offer her more opportunities to grow, to learn, and learn how to love and care for others.

              Many years passed and Jesse watched his restaurant continue to blossom, allowing him to open other restaurants around other difficult places in the city. In each of them, he continued to hire more homeless people and prostitutes, giving them the opportunity to improve themselves, grow, and learn. As he continued to grow older, he became friends with many of these people who had never truly known love or kindness. Jesse never married but he established his string of restaurants under a board of directors who would continue the work after he grew too old to eventually pass away.