DaySleeper

Avid and I don’t know how to tell Maggie and Ethel, though we think they know something is up.

Regardless, we have them sit down with us at lunchtime on Sunday.

“What did you two want to talk about?” Ethel asks us. We glance at each other.

“Well, we were thinking, that seeing as the shelter’s grand reopening anniversary is this week,” I begin.

“In two days,” Avid adds on.

“That now would be a good time to talk about what we plan to do when our six-monthers run out,” I say.

“Which is, coincidentally, on the very same day,” Avid remarks.

Ethel begins to cry softly, trying to mask it.

My voice trembles as I speak. “We won’t be signing another six-monther.”

Ethel’s crying becomes more obvious.

“We knew this day would come, when you boys would want to leave,” Maggie says, patting Ethel’s arms. “I want you two’s opinions on who our next live-ins should be, okay?”

“We already talked to Violet and Max. They both agreed they’d love to, if you two approved. And they both really understand the shelter, having lived here with their mom before the fire, you know? We love them, and I think they’d do good work.” Avid says.

“They’re great kids,” Ethel agrees, her voice watery and her cheeks wet.

“Ethel!” I wail, hugging her tightly.

“Don’t cry! You’ll make me cry worse!” she exclaims. I take her hand.

“My mom has a permanent place in Germany teaching, and she offered to let us stay there for awhile, so we could see Europe, you know?” Avid says. We’ve been talking about this for months. We’re terribly excited.

“We can’t promise we’re coming back,” I say, “I mean, certainly to the US, I think, but maybe not here.”

“Everyone outgrows this place. It’s a homeless shelter. That’s what we’re here for.” Maggie reminds us.

“It’s home to me,” I admit. She smiles sadly.

“Home is where you make it, doll,” she says. I nod.

“I know. That’s why I’m not too scared to go,” I say.

~~
It seems that any time the shelter has a reason to celebrate, or just to cry together, we have a big dinner. This time, it’s under the guise of a party, but it’s at dinner time, and there will be food, so we know better.

Josiah is five years old and going into kindergarten in the fall. He can’t stop talking to me about it. I tell him I’m going away for awhile, and he seems unfazed. He does make me promise to come back and see him all the time though, and I tell him I’ll send him postcards. He, like most children, is terribly enthralled by the postal service, and runs off to tell his mom.

Music plays in the dining hall, as everyone gets their dinner and finds their seats. Maggie is giving a short speech, so people find their seats fairly quickly. I look for Avid among the crowd and spot his messy brown hair near the front. I make my way quickly. As soon as I slide into my seat, kissing Avid on the cheek, Maggie is standing at the front of the hall.

“Tonight, we’re here to celebrate our first full year after our reopening,” Maggie says. The residents and investors clap, the kids cheering loudly. “But not only that,” Maggie says,

“We’re celebrating our favorite volunteers. Cadence and Avid will not be working with us anymore, as some of you know. They’re going on a trip to Europe, and we wish them well.”

I look around and see quite a few people crying, mostly residents I had lived here with, but a few other people as well. Avid takes my hand.

“We’re sad to see them go, but that’s what this place is. It’s a pit stop in life. We help you fill your gas tank, we change your tires if need be, and we send you on your way. I have never been prouder of an institution in my life, nor the people I’ve met here. Look around. These are the best people you will ever know.”

I look around. Janelle and Kyle stare at me. Alice, next to me, is crying hard, her head buried in my shoulder.

“I am so proud of you both,” Maggie says, and I look up when I hear the tightness in her voice. I smile at her, willing my eyes to not water.

“But, we can’t forget that this is happy as well. We have new volunteers becoming full time!” Maggie says, hastily wiping her eyes.

The crowd claps.

“Violet and Max,” Maggie begins, “Brother and sister. I knew them when they were seven and nine years old. They got in a lot of trouble here, but they were good kids, very deep down. They’ve pledged the next six months to helping out here, and we can’t thank them enough.”

Violet, a waifish girl with short, curly hair, and her brother, Max, who’s about a foot and a half taller than her and just as thin, both stand and wave to everyone. The crowd claps louder.

“Who knows how long you’ll be with us,” Maggie says, “but we trust that when the time comes, you will know.”

Everyone seems to glance at each other, no one knowing what she means. I do. I feel it inside. I think Avid does too, as he’s squeezing my hand and looking right at me. I find myself smiling. Maggie finally continues on with her speech.

“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live,” Maggie says, “That’s Flora Wittemore. And she’s right.”

We all wait for her to continue.

“Every day, we’re sad to see things around us change, but it’s always leading us all on our own ways to something more meaningful. I’m sad to see you two leave us, but I am so blessed to have known you, and making this step in your lives, leaving the known, the comfortable, is what makes you strong people. I’m overjoyed to know that you’re about to experience great things in life. I really am.

Someday we’ll all leave this building, and when we do, trust that you learned what you needed to while you were here. It might take a month, it might take a year. What’s important is knowing when you’re ready.”