WFOL 2022
BBTV Round Robin
THE FIRST OF MANY
By
Alyssa G.
It had been a long day, followed by a long night, and an even longer second day. Whenever one of the children caught a cold or a stomach bug, it was guaranteed to make its way throughout the community, spreading from one child to another and then on to their caregivers.
Three kids were still in the Hospital Chamber, as well as two adults who had come down with the same symptoms tonight. Father had finally sat down for his first meal of the day after his five patients were fed, and well after the time that the rest of the Tunnel dwellers were fast asleep.
William had pulled out the dented and battered pot from the back of the cupboards that he reserved for when he only had to make soup or stew for a small group of people. Father touched the pot gently, the warmth of the memories it brought forth warming him more than the soup had.
With a tired smile, Father walked to the desk in his Library, and removed the wood box from the back of the bottom drawer. He placed it on the desk, opened the box, and removed the faded shawl that protected what had once been his great-grandmother’s Bible.
The Bible was a family treasure, and one of the few things from his life Above that he had brought with him when he moved Below. His great-great-grandmother Sarah had given it to her daughter Hannah as a gift on her wedding day, with instructions that all of her most favorite memories and joyous moments should be recorded in it, but that not a drop of sadness should be added to it. Her personal philosophy had been that life had enough sad moments in it, and that forgetting those was sometimes for the best, but the times that brought joy to one’s life should never be forgotten.
Over the years, the Bible had been handed down from mother to daughter on their wedding day, until his mother, having no daughters to give it to, passed it down to him on the day that he married Margaret. The dates of all the family weddings and births were recorded, and some of his ancestors had seen fit to place between its pages a few choice letters and notes that were of special value to them. These included a telegram telling of the birth of a grandchild, an acceptance letter to college, and a love letter by his grandfather to his grandmother on their 25th wedding anniversary.
Many years ago, he had added a note of his own. He opened it now, handling the torn-out piece of notebook paper with the greatest of care, and read once again, as he had on many other difficult days, the words it contained:
To the people who live in the hole behind the dumpster:
I’ve seen you coming and going out of this hole all through
the Summer and the Fall. I didn’t say anything to anyone
because I figured you weren’t causing any harm, and if you
wanted to live on the streets, that wasn’t anyone’s business but
your own. But, it’s winter now, and I see you have a couple
of kids who have joined you. I will still keep your secret, because
it’s still the right thing to do, but I thought you might want something
to help you stay warm. I’m a good cook – I help my grandma
all the time with the cooking, because it’s hard for her to do
everything on her own. I still had a bit of my last paycheck
left from my after school job, so I bought some
extra vegetables and things and I made
you this soup. I figured that if I left it inside your hole
with this note attached, you’d know that it was for you.
I hope it helps.
P.S. – My grandma says you can keep the pot.
Father carefully placed the note back in his Bible, rewrapping it and tucking it back into its spot for safekeeping. As he went to make one last check on his patients before turning in for the night, he thought of their long-ago anonymous benefactor, and the fact that during that winter they had been gifted something even greater than a pot of soup…they had been gifted their first Helper.
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