by Lily Zante
“Scared of what?” Her tone suggests that my question is stupid.
“That someone might turn on her? Do something scary, or stupid or both?”
She looks at me aghast. “These aren’t people on death row, Brad. These people are hungry.”
I lift a hand to the back of my neck, feeling foolish. Kyra seems to have always been aware of the suffering of others, because her mom highlighted it to her. Not because she had to live it. It’s admirable. It makes what I am, what I have become, seem all the more lousy in comparison. I’m supposed to know better, but somewhere along the line I lost the ability to empathize.
“We’re going to need more crackers,” says Simona. “More water bottles too.”
“I’ll get them.”
I busy myself, and everything comes together. Everyone works like one large, well-oiled and efficient machine.
The crowd is growing bigger. It’s way bigger than the usual Wednesday night one. I, for one, am relieved that we have security. Tonight’s fight is at an earlier time than usual. I wonder if it’s because Cardoza has managed to get the networks to show it earlier, because these people wouldn’t wait all night for it. Surely he can’t wield that much power?
Everything seems to be going according to plan. The line of people slowly worms across the length of the tables. A constant murmur of “Thank you” fills the silence as we serve.
“There you go.” Simona’s voice is chirpy and cheerful as she doles out food. Yvette disappears to refill a food container. I glance over at her kids. They seem shy and quiet, handing out cereal bars and crackers, but avoiding eye contact with the people they are serving. The boy looks young … almost like … I bury the thought, even as guilt ricochets off my chest. For a second, I struggle to breathe.
I look away and stare at the screen in relief. There’s a fight going on, but it’s not the main one. People take the food and walk away, sitting on pieces of cardboard, on sleeping bags, on bags, watching it.
It’s impossible for me to watch anything properly because the line for food keeps growing. Every few seconds, I have to put some food on someone’s plate. Or refill the containers, or relieve someone else who wants to take a break. Fredrich comes over later and asks me if I want to trade places. I tell him I’m okay.
Kyra walks past, asking all of us if we need anything, if any of us want to take a break or help out with something else. Everyone seems content.
After an hour has passed, the line of people has dwindled. A cheer goes up and I see that the main fight, Elias’s one with Trent Garrison, has started. People here become animated watching their hero walking into the ring. I glance over at Kyra, see her face turned up, her eyes glued to the screen. An arrow of something sharp and painful hits me. She seems completely glued to the screen. Jessica must be salivating over this man too.
Cardoza takes off his robe, his tattooed physique on display. The crowd’s roar turns deafening. And still Kyra’s face is upturned. She can’t look away even if she tried. My teeth clench involuntarily.
I busy myself by looking over at the tables and checking to see if we need anything else. And then I hear more cheering. Cardoza looks fit and strong. He sends a powerful left hook into Garrison’s face and the crowd cheers. Kyra is clapping and cheering.
A part of me wishes I’d taken Jessica up on her offer. I could be drinking champagne, eating the best canapes, and mingling with the likes of Jessica and her friends.
“Elias!” the boy cries jubilantly, no longer invisible. His eyes are glued to the screen. He’s frozen. The cereal bar remains in his hand while the person he is serving patiently waits. I take it from his hand and give it. “Don’t forget why you’re here,” I remind him.
“Sorry.” He chews his lip and gets back to the task, still without giving me any eye contact. His sister watches him, turning all protective, like I used to be once.
“Do you want to watch this?” I ask him. “I can do this if you want to.” I feel bad, as if I’ve ruined his Saturday night for him. Who knows what horrors this kid has suffered? I’m guessing this is a respite for him, and guilt heats my face to think that I’ve rebuked him.
“Nah, it’s okay,” he replies, in a somber voice.
“Hey, buddy. Watch the fight. I can do that for you, or your sister can. Watch the fight, okay?”
The boy is about to hand out another cereal bar and I’m about to take it from him, when a memory shoots at me out of nowhere. He’s about the same age as Kane was when I left him. I try to suffocate the thought, putting it out as if I’m throwing a wet blanket over a fire. Killing it before the flame blazes out of control.
“It’s okay,” he says, and continues to hand out cereal bars, and watch the fight. I let him.
Yvette returns briefly to check our containers and refills them accordingly. She asks the girl and boy if they are okay, then disappears again. I ask him who he wants to win tonight.
“Elias,” his sister replies, as if I’m asking her a silly question.
“What about you, buddy?”
“Elias.” The boy’s focus is singular, handing out a cereal bar one at a time, his gaze going only as far as the hand of the person he is serving.
“Elias, huh? Everyone wants Elias.” I want Elias too. He’s the city’s hero, but something about him working with Kyra and Redhill, and ignoring my company, has given me a sour taste in my mouth.
Another shriek from the crowd makes us all look up. Elias staggers backwards as Garrison pummels him to the mat. Gloomy disquiet spreads around the air.
The boy shrieks as if he’s in pain. The girl moans with disappointment.
And then a chant breaks out. “Elias, Eli—yus, Eli—yus.”
Yvette returns just as the line starts to thin out even more. People are now scattered around the open space, eyes on the screen.
“We might get a bit of a break now,” says Simona. I forget she’s a good few years older than us.
“Why don’t you sit down?” I suggest, knowing that we’ve all been standing for a long time. “I’ve got this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Go on, you have a break now.”
“Mommy, can we eat something?” The boy asks.
“I don’t know... uh...”
I turn to face Yvette and her kids. “Sure, they can eat. Your son wants to watch the fight.”
“I wanna watch it too,” the girl chimes in.
Yvette remains silent, her gaze trained on my face as if she’s waiting for authorization.
“How about you all hop over to the other side and let me serve you?” I suggest.
“But how will you manage?” Yvette asks.
I’ll manage because I don’t want her kids to go sit by themselves. “I can manage. Look, the line is dying down now.”
“Can we watch the fight, Mommy?” The boy. The damned boy. He’s smaller than Kane would have been. I turn my head away, desperate to push the sudden rush of unwanted memories back down into the ground where they belong.
“Please go,” I beg, needing them to go so that I don’t have to look at them. I drop my voice. “Your kids are hungry, Yvette, and you must be too. It’s been a long evening. Eat and let them watch the fight.”
Her eyes beam with gratitude and she thanks me. She is thanking me for letting her go and eat food with her kids. We’re serving at a fucking homeless food station. How the hell is this my world all of a sudden?
In no time, they’re on the other side and I’m serving them. I make sure to put an extra helping on their plates. Their quiet ‘Thank yous’ are reward enough that I have done the right thing, here at least.
The crowd shrieks with delight, and I look up to discover that I’ve completely lost sight of the fight. I have no idea who’s winning, but Garrison is drenched in blood.
One of the other helpers comes up to me and asks if she can take a break. She asks me if it’s okay for her to eat. I don’t know. Is it? We don’t eat the food we serve, not on the weekly f
ood night. Seeing my confused expression, she tells me that Kyra said it was okay to. So I tell her to go ahead and then I take charge and coordinate the rest of the servers to take turns having a break.
It’s not until now, when the lines have slowed down, that I take a breath and realize how relentless tonight has been.
Kyra is over by the side of the screen talking to a couple of the security guards. Sharing a joke, it looks like. Something sharp and pointed slices through me. She’s laughing, and so are they. It look like she’s having a great time.
We’ve run out of all the food in most of the containers and a couple of the helpers are refilling them. Having stood for a few hours, I could do with a hot drink, a hot bath and a bed.
I can’t wait for this night to be over.
A huge cheer goes up from the crowd and a few more lights come on, illuminating the parking lot so that I can see everyone clearly.
The fight is over. I glance up at the screen and see Cardoza collapse in a heap on the floor.
He lost?
Shock zooms through my core, but then I see it’s a victory pose, of someone who has fallen to his knees with the enormity of what he has done. He jumps up and fist pumps the air. The crowd here erupts, clapping and cheering. It’s the most energized I’ve ever seen them.
Caught up in this moment, in the pride that engulfs us all, I nod as Cardoza walks around the ring jubilant, his fists punching the air. In this moment, it doesn’t matter that he’s ignored dealings with Hawks Enterprises. This guy has taken back his belt and his title. This man has made the city proud. Blood streams from his face, he looks beat up, but when the camera pans over to his opponent, ‘The Tank’, and the guy looks worse.
I’ve missed what looked like an amazing fight and I’ll have to watch it properly at home again and catch the fight highlights. Kyra is hugging Fredrich, and the two of them—his biggest fans, it looks like—are jumping for joy. I’ve never seen Kyra look so excited. Never. She’s glowing with happiness.
A sliver of anger burrows deep into my chest.
Why can’t I do that to her? Why do I want to do that? I shake my head, dispelling this thought. I’m hungry and tired and not making sense.
Hope and excitement blanket the air, and I am swept up in the uplifting moment. It’s not such a bad place to be. Yvette’s kids are doing a happy dance in the crowd. The boy and girl are delirious with joy.
Kane’s face hovers in front of my face again. The air turns thick and heavy like tar as I remember a time when we were starving. I remember grabbing his hand and running away. I took him to a park and we hid in a wooden play hut; it had dark green chipped paint. I can see it now as vividly as if it was in front of me. We hid there for hours, but hunger had made Kane so weak, that I got scared. I rummaged through the trash cans desperate to find something. His face lit up when I returned shortly with the crusts of a sandwich and a half-eaten donut. We shared it, but I gave him more, because he was stick thin and I was older, and I was supposed to be the stronger one. I was supposed to take care of him.
The past steamrolls over me making me feel sicker than I have in a long time.
“Is it okay if we leave now?” Yvette asks. She seems to think I’m in charge. “The kids are tired and—”
“Go,” I tell her, trying to push away the memories which have bubbled up and lodged in my throat. Breathing becomes harder and heavier.
“Are you sure? I can help you clean up a—”
“Go, please.” From my periphery I see her boy and girl standing behind her staring at me. I can’t look at them. I want her to take them and go. “You don’t need to stick around. There are enough of us to clean up. You go on home.”
She bites her lower lip as she hesitates. I understand in that instant and take out a few takeaway boxes, getting ready to fill them up. “Tell me what you’d like. We’ve got plenty of food here.”
She can’t bring herself to meet my eyes, and I am now accustomed to that look of embarrassment that I see on so many people’s faces who come here for food. I spare her the discomfort and fill the boxes up, then fill up another two extra ones. She tells me that she has enough.
“You have a good night,” I tell Yvette, knowing that this will help her get through tomorrow. I can’t bear to look at the kids. My heart is in my throat as they walk away.
I head towards the van, then open the doors and look inside, pretending to be busy looking for something. Instead, I rearrange some containers inside.
“There you are!” Kyra’s voice cuts through the air like a firecracker, only I’m in no mood to celebrate. I can’t hide because she’s suddenly by my side. The elation in her voice is hard to ignore. I so don’t need this right now. She slaps a hand across my back. “He won! Did you see? It was a knockout!”
“I was, uh … I was cleaning up...” I say, turning to face her.
Excitement rolls off her in waves until she looks at me. Her face peers closer. “What’s wrong?”
“What? Nothing. I, uh ... I was just, uh... I’ve been standing the whole night and it just got to be too much. The crowd and the ...”
Her quiet stare, her sudden silence. “It can get overwhelming at times.” She doesn’t ask me or pry, and I like that. She steps back. “I’m going to start cleaning up. The sooner we can leave, the better.”
I cough. “Great idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
KYRA
* * *
“I can take over now. You’ve been working hard all evening,” I say to Brad. He’s fiddling around in the van, and I’m not sure exactly what he’s doing, but he’s been working like a fiend and he hasn’t stopped. I pick up on his subdued mood. I can tell that something is wrong, but I don’t want to push him to tell me.
We don’t have that kind of relationship.
“I’ve got this.” He doesn’t even bother to turn around. I wonder if he’s annoyed that he was stuck serving behind the tables all evening. It’s not as if I didn’t give him the chance to walk around and mingle with everyone. Guilt pinches me. Maybe I should have checked in on him more than I did.
I got carried away by the energy and the sheer excitement of the night. It was so potent, so palpable. It was electric. I couldn’t pull myself away. “Hey, Brad. It’s not okay. Let me do something. I’ve done nothing but watch the fight and walk around talking to everyone.”
“Couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, huh?” There is a rough edge to his voice but I can’t gauge the expression on his face because he’s still got his back to me.
“It was an amazing fight,” I counter.
He turns around slowly. “Yeah, I’m sure it was.” Just as I’m about to ask him what his problem is, and why he’s so testy, he says. “Why don’t you supervise getting everyone to clear the tables so that we can get everything back as fast as possible?”
I almost choke with surprise. He’s giving orders as if he’s in charge, but for now, I’ll let this slip. He’s on his A-game, and I’m caught up in the giddiness of Elias’s victory.
This has been a great night, not just for Elias. It was a great night for these people to be able to watch him fight. For many, this will be the closest that they get to a night of celebration and I’m super thrilled that we made this possible.
Maybe that’s why Brad is quiet. He’s feeling sheepish that he was so wrong. He thought we were all crazy for putting on something like this, and I, for one, am glad to prove him wrong.
I set about getting the area cleaned up quickly. As soon as the fight was over, people started to make a quick exit. A few had gone back to the serving tables to get some more food to take away—which is fine, because we have plenty. The place empties much faster than I expected.
Over the next hour, the tech guys are still busy dismantling the screen, and our people have almost cleared everything away. I’ve sent most of the employees home. Simona was one of the first to leave. I appreciate that it’s been a long day for her. Yvette and her kids must have gone
home, too.
Fredrich takes a few of the employees with him to return things back to the restaurants. Brad and I, and a few others deal with the storeroom.
When everything has been put away, I send everyone home. It’s very late. Brad doesn’t heed my advice. I feel bad because he’s been here and done the most, which is surprising to see. I don’t understand why he won’t leave. I like to do a final quick check and make sure that everything is back, because ultimately, this is all my responsibility.
I attempt to make conversation. “You didn’t see much of the fight.” I saw it all, even wandering around in the midst of the people, making sure everything was okay, but I’m aware that many of the helpers didn’t.
“I can watch it again. I’ll catch the highlights later.”
“It was a great fight.” I’ve come away feeling buoyed up by what we did. Feeding people, getting them together, seeing that we might have made a difference, all of this elevates my soul. I feel light, and bright, and warm. But seeing Brad’s somber mood makes my enthusiasm over Elias’ victory float to the ground like a lead balloon.
He has been silently putting things away. Everyone has left, and I don’t see the need for him to stay. I want to do a quick inventory check, so that I know that we have enough for the next food session. For one thing, I don’t want to have to come in again tomorrow. I try to shop during the weekend.
“I’ll stay behind and finish off,” I say, making another attempt to reach him, but he isn’t giving me anything. Not even his usual bout of sarcastic verbal ping-pong. I would love some of that now. A reaction. Any reaction would be better than his silence.
“Is something wrong? Are you annoyed that you were stuck behind the tables all night? I did give you the chance to be on the other side, if you remember.”
His brows push together as if he doesn’t understand. “I’m not annoyed. It’s fine.”
I nod, but I don’t believe him. He doesn’t seem like his usual self. “You probably feel like this was a waste of your Saturday night.”
I’m sure he has places to go to, and people he would much rather be with. I can’t put my finger on who Brad Hartley is, but the scent of his aftershave lingers with me for longer than is comfortable.
