in some way. She’d activated her usual response against
getting attached to a community and had thought of herself as someone too
different from these people to ever truly relate to them. Or care about them.
She’d made a mistake and had made Helen
angry. Jenny rarely had long enough relationships to need to worry about
apologies or fights, and she wasn’t convinced she knew how to handle either of
them, but she didn’t want to back away right now. She wanted to move closer, if
only for a brief time.
She took a huge bite of her second pastry and
turned her attention to Helen. She had spotted her immediately, of course, as
soon as she had looked into the auditorium, but now she let the rest of the
world fade away and saw only her.
Helen was cleaning the grebes’ cages with her
accustomed grace and efficiency of movement. She gently herded the birds into
one end of the pen before she removed the soiled papers from the other. Then
she moved them to the clean side and repeated the process. Pen after pen, with
a quiet and experienced touch. She had developed a routine, and Jenny loved
watching her work. Mostly because she was good at her job and kept the birds
calm, of course. The tempting sight of Helen bending over to pick up a dropped
glove or tie a full bag shut was only a bonus and not the reason Jenny was mesmerized by
her.
Jenny wiped her powdered-sugar-covered
fingers on her jeans and grabbed a pair of gloves from a supply box. She walked
to the pen Helen was cleaning and stepped over the side of it, silently going
to work alongside her. Helen didn’t acknowledge her verbally or even with a
glance, but she subtly altered her rhythm to accommodate Jenny’s presence.
From the start, Jenny had recognized her own
work ethic in Helen. Helen understood the importance of behind-the-scenes work.
She stayed on the grubbier side of the rescue effort, cleaning pens and holding
birds while a special food mash was tubed into their stomachs. Because she was
such a familiar part of their days, the birds seemed to have adjusted more
quickly to temporary captivity here than at other rescue sites Jenny had
managed. She took on the role of assistant now, letting Helen move the birds.
The elegant black-and-white grebes with razor-sharp, slender beaks waddled
silently from one end of the pen to the other as if they’d been following
Helen’s directions their entire lives. Helen might not realize what a difference
she was making, but Jenny did. She’d have to find a way to thank her for taking
care of the chore that was usually the least favorite for the volunteers but
was one of the most vital to the well-being of the birds. Jenny had a few ideas
about how she could thank Helen, but they all involved a more hands-on approach
than Jenny usually took with the people she briefly met in disaster-torn
communities. Maybe she’d have to settle for getting her a gift card instead,
but the other options seemed much more enticing. She kept her thoughts to
herself and wordlessly stuffed paper into garbage bags. Together they finished
cleaning the remaining grebe pens and then carried the trash bags to the
Dumpster behind the center.
The back lot of the rescue center was quiet
in the growing dusk as they lobbed the bags into the huge, rusty container.
Helen led the way back to the building, but Jenny put her hand on Helen’s arm
to keep her from going through the door and returning to the brightly lit,
crowded auditorium.
“I’m sorry,” she said, picking up the thread
of their earlier conversation as if it had just happened. “I shouldn’t have
implied that you had a boring or easy childhood. And I didn’t mean to sound
like I thought I was superior because of the way I was raised or because of the
way I live now. I’m not. It’s just the only way I know how to live.”
Helen shook her head and looked off into the
distance. The fading colors of the sunset gave her skin a peachy glow and made
her eyes glisten. “I’m sorry,
getting attached to a community and had thought of herself as someone too
different from these people to ever truly relate to them. Or care about them.
She’d made a mistake and had made Helen
angry. Jenny rarely had long enough relationships to need to worry about
apologies or fights, and she wasn’t convinced she knew how to handle either of
them, but she didn’t want to back away right now. She wanted to move closer, if
only for a brief time.
She took a huge bite of her second pastry and
turned her attention to Helen. She had spotted her immediately, of course, as
soon as she had looked into the auditorium, but now she let the rest of the
world fade away and saw only her.
Helen was cleaning the grebes’ cages with her
accustomed grace and efficiency of movement. She gently herded the birds into
one end of the pen before she removed the soiled papers from the other. Then
she moved them to the clean side and repeated the process. Pen after pen, with
a quiet and experienced touch. She had developed a routine, and Jenny loved
watching her work. Mostly because she was good at her job and kept the birds
calm, of course. The tempting sight of Helen bending over to pick up a dropped
glove or tie a full bag shut was only a bonus and not the reason Jenny was mesmerized by
her.
Jenny wiped her powdered-sugar-covered
fingers on her jeans and grabbed a pair of gloves from a supply box. She walked
to the pen Helen was cleaning and stepped over the side of it, silently going
to work alongside her. Helen didn’t acknowledge her verbally or even with a
glance, but she subtly altered her rhythm to accommodate Jenny’s presence.
From the start, Jenny had recognized her own
work ethic in Helen. Helen understood the importance of behind-the-scenes work.
She stayed on the grubbier side of the rescue effort, cleaning pens and holding
birds while a special food mash was tubed into their stomachs. Because she was
such a familiar part of their days, the birds seemed to have adjusted more
quickly to temporary captivity here than at other rescue sites Jenny had
managed. She took on the role of assistant now, letting Helen move the birds.
The elegant black-and-white grebes with razor-sharp, slender beaks waddled
silently from one end of the pen to the other as if they’d been following
Helen’s directions their entire lives. Helen might not realize what a difference
she was making, but Jenny did. She’d have to find a way to thank her for taking
care of the chore that was usually the least favorite for the volunteers but
was one of the most vital to the well-being of the birds. Jenny had a few ideas
about how she could thank Helen, but they all involved a more hands-on approach
than Jenny usually took with the people she briefly met in disaster-torn
communities. Maybe she’d have to settle for getting her a gift card instead,
but the other options seemed much more enticing. She kept her thoughts to
herself and wordlessly stuffed paper into garbage bags. Together they finished
cleaning the remaining grebe pens and then carried the trash bags to the
Dumpster behind the center.
The back lot of the rescue center was quiet
in the growing dusk as they lobbed the bags into the huge, rusty container.
Helen led the way back to the building, but Jenny put her hand on Helen’s arm
to keep her from going through the door and returning to the brightly lit,
crowded auditorium.
“I’m sorry,” she said, picking up the thread
of their earlier conversation as if it had just happened. “I shouldn’t have
implied that you had a boring or easy childhood. And I didn’t mean to sound
like I thought I was superior because of the way I was raised or because of the
way I live now. I’m not. It’s just the only way I know how to live.”
Helen shook her head and looked off into the
distance. The fading colors of the sunset gave her skin a peachy glow and made
her eyes glisten. “I’m sorry,
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