Small as an Elephant

  “Well, then, you wouldn’t know. We’re encouraged to plant one row of vegetables for the food pantry. That way, those in need can have fresh vegetables. Not just Hamburger Helper.”

  “Sorry,” he said again as the woman sized him up.

  “Tell you what,” she said. “I can’t drive any longer. Stubborn son took my car. So I have no way to get these vegetables into town. If you’ll pick this row and take ’em up to the pantry, I’ll let you bring some home for your family. That way, I’ll get my vegetables harvested before the frost, and you’ll get more training: heavy lifting,” she said, trying not to smile.

  No way! Jack thought. He didn’t need to be gardening and running errands for some old lady he didn’t even know. He had a mother to find. He glanced off into the woods, considered bolting. But his stuff — it was still up in the loft. And what would she do if he ran? Would she know he was lying about living nearby? About school? Would she be suspicious enough to call the police?

  He looked down at the garden. There were green beans dangling right next to the ripe tomatoes. The woman did say she’d give him food. . . .

  And while he was back in town, he could go back to the library, get online. It was Tuesday; the library would surely be open today.

  “It’s a deal,” he said.

  She gave him instructions on how to pick the last of the summer vegetables — green beans, red peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, zucchini, basil, carrots, and potatoes — and then she went back to hanging clothes. Jack was tempted to eat as he picked, especially the carrots, which didn’t look like the ones his mother bought from the store but were palm-size and curled a little, like wiggly goldfish pulled from the ground. He used his fingers to wipe away the dirt on one and glanced at the old woman, who had now moved on to watering her flowers.

  She was looking right up at him, as if his guiltiness had called her. Jack went back to picking.

  The next time he looked up, the woman was walking toward him. She placed most of the vegetables into a large, netted bag. “Bring these to the pantry,” she said, tying the top. “Tell them they’re from Mrs. Olson. And tell them I need a box of dried milk — they can spare one.”

  Jack nodded.

  “When you get back, you can take this home with you,” she said, tossing the rest of the vegetables into a paper bag, which she set by the front porch. “Ask your mom to make you a harvest stew. Maybe it’ll inspire you to plant some tomatoes next year.”

  With permission, he filled up his water bottle at the hose and took off.

  It wasn’t until he had walked for about ten minutes that he realized a tomato wasn’t exactly the most filling of breakfasts and that, well, he could just hide this food in the woods and tell the woman he’d delivered it. Or not tell her anything at all — just sneak back and get his stuff from the loft and the bag of vegetables from the front porch.

  But what about the dried milk? asked a voice inside his head.

  He remembered the woman’s half smile. I was just what-iffing, he answered. He wasn’t going to take these vegetables. He didn’t have to steal this time. She was giving him food. No, he was working for food.

  But boy, was he hungry. Really hungry. Suddenly, something new occurred to him. This food he was carrying? It was for people who couldn’t afford to buy food. He couldn’t buy food. It was for people like him.

  He thought about the homeless people that he recognized in Jamaica Plain: the woman who sat outside the Laundromat and sometimes asked passersby to brush her hair, and the man who was dressed in a suit — a ratty suit, but still, he always wore a tie — and offered to write a poem for a dollar. Once, Jack had paid him, and the man had written this:

  We all wear bifocals

  Some invisible

  When looking down, remember to look up

  the view might be clearer

  And vice versa

  How had those people ended up so needy? Were they living comfortably one day and on the street the next?

  And now he was one of them. No food and no money to buy it. That being the case, the people at the food pantry probably wouldn’t mind if he ate just one carrot. Just one. So he did. One fresh, wiggly carrot.

  And, walking along, chomping on that carrot, trying to make it last as long as he could, he realized two more things: one, he had no idea where the food pantry was located, and two, he was heading right back into Bar Harbor — the place where just yesterday he had run from.

  The outside of the Jesup Memorial Library, where Jack knew he could find directions to the food pantry, looked like half a dozen libraries he and his mom had visited: it was a small brick building with large, decorative windows.

  He didn’t think walking in with a big sack of vegetables was wise — not if he wanted to remain unnoticed — so he hid them to the right of the book-return box, behind some low shrubs. He doubted anyone would notice them.

  The inside of the library surprised him. It was elegant, like a mansion — all polished wood and heavy furniture, the kind of fancy furniture that filled his grandmother’s house. The ceilings were high — way high — with massive chandeliers. I must stick out like a sore — Like my sore pinky, he thought, looking down at the mess of a bandage. It was tattered and covered with dirt from the garden, and so loose he could easily slip it off — which he did, tucking it in his pocket. No use bringing more attention to himself.

  There were a few old people in the main room, and one family with little kids heading into the children’s room, but no kids his age. Of course not; they were all back in school. But that was OK — he was from Massachusetts, and school might start later there, or heck, his mom could have kept him out of school for their vacation.

  He tried to act as cool as possible when he approached the librarian. “Excuse me.”

  She looked up.

  “Hi, I’m visiting from Massachusetts, and I was wondering —”

  “Aren’t you lucky! Kids in Maine went back to school today.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Are there — is there a computer I can use?”

  She looked as if he’d just presented her with an insurmountable problem. “Well, normally you have to have a letter signed by your parent,” she said.

  He waited, trusting she’d give in.

  “Oh, I don’t think it could hurt,” she said, moving from the back of the desk to the front. “Follow me. I’ll log you on.” Jack followed the librarian down the stairs to a small room with more book stacks and three computers. “There isn’t room for all our books upstairs, but we can’t bear to part with them. We call this room our treasure trove,” she said.

  Jack glanced at some of the titles that had been considered too precious to let go of while she leaned over and logged him on. When she left, Jack slipped into the chair and typed Rebecca Martel. It took him longer than usual because his big, fat pinky kept hitting the wrong keys. He figured that Big Jack and the bartender were right, that his mom was on her way to the Bahamas, but he still wanted to put his mind at ease, to know for sure that she hadn’t been hurt or arrested.

  He began to read the entries, several of which he’d seen before. There was a lawyer in Washington, D.C., named Rebecca Martel, and a real-estate broker in Iowa. He skipped ahead a few pages, making sure that her name wasn’t in the news. It wasn’t, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders relaxed. Then he clicked on his mom’s YouPage, wondering if she had access to a computer and, if so, whether was she making entries — or leaving messages on other people’s pages? On his page?

  He couldn’t look while the page was loading. Instead, he glanced over at the woman at the next computer, who was typing with a baby in her lap. A pacifier popped out of the baby’s mouth and rolled onto the floor. The mother leaned over, picked up the pacifier, sucked on it herself, and then slid it back into the baby’s mouth.

  He made himself look at the page. Not a trace of recent activity anywhere.

  He clicked on his own YouPage. A message would say so much — that she’d been
thinking about him, that she knew he’d be smart enough to get to a computer. It might even tell him what she was thinking or, at the very least, what he should do next.

  Nothing. Jack’s throat dried up. He took a swig of water from the bottle he was carrying, hoping he wouldn’t get in trouble for drinking in the library.

  Maybe it was better that his mom hadn’t written. Leaving a note would mean that she wasn’t spinning, but was rational and making decisions. Decisions like, I’ll write Jack a note. Decisions like, I’m going to leave Jack in Maine.

  Don’t be stupid, he said to himself. She wouldn’t decide that.

  It was like the elephant he stole yesterday. Right now, it was sitting on the box back in the barn. He had no intention of leaving it there — that elephant was special. It was like it was meant to belong to him. But something could happen, right? Something could prevent him from going back to get it. Mrs. Olson could discover his things and call the police, who would arrest him when he returned. Or maybe the woman from the gift shop would be standing right there on the sidewalk when he walked out of the library, and she’d grab him. Then Jack would have to leave the elephant. These things happened.

  Thinking about the elephant, his elephant, made him feel anxious. He wished he had put it in his pocket when he woke up.

  A message screen popped up on his YouPage. It was Nina!

  Nina: How come ur not in school?

  Jack: How come UR not in school?

  Nina: I am! I’m hanging out in the computer lab.

  Jack: Bingham will kill u if he sees u on UPage

  Nina: First day of school. He’ll go easy. Answer my question.

  Jack: Long story

  Nina: Once upon a time . . .

  Jack laughed. He was always saying long story, and she was always getting him to talk. But this time he didn’t know what to say. He began tentatively.

  Jack: We decided to stay awhile longer

  Nina: Your mom’s letting u skip again?

  Jack: Yeah, u know her

  Nina: So everything’s OK?

  More than anything, he wished he could tell Nina — could get her to help him figure things out. But he couldn’t tell anyone this time. Not even his best friend.

  Jack: Course

  Nina: Hey! Did you see the elephant?

  Nina had been with Jack when he discovered that there was actually an elephant in Maine — an elephant right off the Maine Pike, the road they’d taken north. The elephant’s name was Lydia. It was what he and his mother had argued about.

  Jack: Nah. My mom wasn’t feeling well —

  That summed up a lot, and was probably true.

  Nina: Is your mom with you now?

  Jack: Affirmative

  Nina: She isn’t, is she?

  Jack: Gotta run. TTYS

  Jack closed the screen before Nina could say anything else.

  Thinking of her hanging out in the computer lab just frustrated him more. He typed in the Curley Middle School address and read the welcome-back message from his principal and a note about the upcoming Fall Fling. The Fling was a blast last year, and he wanted to be back there, back there with Nina. At least at home, he knew how to do things. He knew if he needed to, he could go over to Nina’s house for dinner. Or he could walk to Ten Tables restaurant, where the owner was a friend of his mother’s. There he’d be pulled into the kitchen and fed something yummy. Here in Bar Harbor, there was no one to help him.

  Another woman came into the room. She walked behind Jack and sat at a computer at the far end of the table. The mom next to him greeted her. “Hey there. Was work crazy this weekend?”

  “You know it! You wouldn’t believe what happened yesterday,” said the woman.

  Jack recognized that voice — it was the woman from Sherman’s! The one who had seen him steal the elephant! The one who knew his name.

  Jack huddled closer to the computer, turning his back toward both women. “I’m glad summer is over,” the woman continued. “I’m tired of the crowds.”

  He held his breath. Would she mention a boy who had shoplifted? And if she did, would the mother suddenly look over, wonder who this kid was, sitting here in the middle of a Tuesday morning?

  Jack wondered if he should try to sneak out another way. Was there another way? Or maybe he should move back into the book stacks until the woman left.

  “I’m so tired of the restaurant business,” said the woman.

  Restaurant? Jack got up the courage to look at the woman and let out a long breath. She wasn’t the woman from Sherman’s. She was the waitress from Geddy’s. Laurie.

  So it wasn’t so close a call after all. But he knew one thing. He’d go crazy if he stayed in Bar Harbor.

  He searched for directions from Bar Harbor to Jamaica Plain and pulled down the arrow to walking time. According to the site, it would take him three days and thirteen hours to walk home. Of course, he’d have to stop and sleep. But still, he could probably be home in a week. He had his sleeping bag. Who knew — maybe he would even get brave enough to hitchhike.

  But wait! The Island Explorer! The free bus didn’t just go around the island. It went over to the mainland, too. Jack typed in island explorer, and sure enough, there was a bus leaving the village green for Trenton every half hour. Trenton was the town just on the other side of the bridge, but it was a start. He’d bring Mrs. Olson her milk, collect his things, and be on the mainland by tonight.

  He searched for food pantry bar harbor, and a link popped right up. It was in the basement of the YWCA — and it was only two doors down! He remembered passing the sign.

  He thanked the librarian, grabbed the vegetables, and went next door. To access the food pantry, he had to go around to the back of the brick YWCA building. There were discarded screens and a Dumpster back there, but there was also a little parking lot, making it easier, Jack figured, for people to pick up food without feeling like everyone in the whole world knew they needed it.

  According to the website, Tuesday morning was one of the few days that the pantry was open, and there were lots of older people and mothers with little children waiting to sign in. When it was Jack’s turn, he explained that the vegetables were from Mrs. Olson and that she needed powdered milk.

  “She’ll need lots more than that,” said the man, pulling out the vegetables and placing them in plastic bins, “now that the growing season is over. Come on,” he said. “We’ll refill her bag.”

  Jack followed the man around as he filled the bag with pancake mix and syrup, spaghetti, toilet paper, and canned tuna, turkey, and salmon.

  “We won’t need to give her canned vegetables; she’ll have her own. But we’ll throw in some of this fruit cocktail.”

  Jack knew he’d be tempted to take a can of something from Mrs. Olson’s bag on his walk back to her farm, but he wouldn’t let himself do that. The pantry was counting on her having this food. And who knew how long this food had to last her? He was beginning to see the spiderweb that his mother was talking about: Mrs. Olson used her garden to connect to the food pantry, and now he was one of the strands that helped make that web stronger.

  He wished there was a way he could ask for food for himself. But even food pantries had their rules. He’d watched people fill out forms or sign in. The pantry staff would have to know something about him. He couldn’t give them facts, and he didn’t think he was clever enough to lie — not to fool these people. An eleven-year-old kid coming in for food? That was just the sort of thing that would put them on his trail.

  But maybe he could suggest something extra. Something they wouldn’t have put in the bag otherwise. Something for him.

  “There,” said the guy, putting the dried milk on top.

  “Hey,” said Jack, the words practically catching in his throat. “Do you think she would like some cereal bars?”

  The man smiled. “Well,” he said, “I wouldn’t have thought . . . but who knows?”

  Jack began to reach for his favorite strawberry brand.
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  “But let’s choose those over there. They’re more nutritious.”

  The day had grown hot — or at least it seemed so to Jack, who was carrying an incredibly heavy bag back to Mrs. Olson’s farm. The cans were forever rolling around in the bag, shifting the weight from one side to the other. Twice, the netted bag had caught on his broken finger, causing pain to pulse right up through his arm. He had to stop every five minutes or so to rest. He wished Mrs. Olson had given him a wheelbarrow or something. He was tempted to break into the cereal bars, but, knowing how long the trip back home would take him, he vowed to be careful with food. He would wait until he was back at the farm.

  He couldn’t wait to see Mrs. Olson’s face when he gave her this bag. He felt like Santa delivering a sack of presents. But before going to her door, he snuck into the barn. He dropped the bag and grabbed the box of cereal bars, then climbed into the loft. There he devoured one bar in four bites. A few crumbs remained in the package. He remembered an elephant his mom once told him about, who was captive but each day put aside a little of his grain for a mouse to eat. Jack made a little mound with the crumbs on the spot where he had slept.

  He dumped the five remaining bars into his backpack, hid the cardboard box under the wooden table, and placed the toy elephant securely in his pocket.

  On Mrs. Olson’s doorstep was his bag of vegetables, with a little note that said Thank you. Jack rang her doorbell, eager to show her all he had brought, but she didn’t answer. Maybe she wasn’t home, but he suspected otherwise. He suspected it was something else that kept her from opening the door. A kind of pride, maybe.

  Jack picked up his vegetables, threw on his backpack, and started his 248-mile walk home.

  As the bus traveled to the mainland, Jack read the schedule and tried to decide on the best place to get off. The farthest point the bus traveled to was the IGA in Trenton. He was pretty sure the IGA was a supermarket; he and his mother had gone to one in Mattapan. He remembered because they had tried to guess what the letters in the name stood for: