Soda
Tomek KruszecThe sweat poured down my face in the heat. It was the kind of heat that you would only find in Florida. The canary yellow house in front of me was the reason I was here. The yellow pain on my hands was proof of the hard work I had put in. I was tired, hot, and thirsty. In a few minutes, a two liter bottle of soda would show me how helping another person would really help me.
The youth group from my church had planned a volunteer camp in Orlando. We were there to help paint someone’s house. The excitement of my friends and I was clear as we drove the sixteen hours to the high school that we would call home for a week. We joked, teased, and made the time fly. When we arrived, the pink walls of the school looked inviting and seemed to welcome us with open arms. It felt right to be there. The classrooms we slept in were cramped. The temperature was unbearable; nevertheless, we were excited. The next day our work began.
The house was located in a neighborhood that should have been on a movie set somewhere in Cuba. Every house as far as you could see was like an assortment of Skittles Candy colors. Lawn ornaments strewn about with no semblance of order dotted the landscape. While driving up to the house, a sense of joy and life was apparent everywhere I looked. Children were playing in the street. Two old men were sitting and chatting on a front porch. It was peaceful. “There it is guys,” our team leader said. When we pulled up in our fifteen passenger van, the condition of the house was a sight for sore eyes. Blue paint was peeling off in ribbons from the siding. The lawn was missing clusters of grass exposing patches of black dirt underneath. The metal rood had seen better days. Spots of rust were scattered all over. An old lady stood on the front porch. She was probably seventy years old. Her oversized bifocals hung menacingly on her face as if they were trying to swallow her whole. The bright floral sundress hung loose from her thin frame but fit perfectly with the air of the neighborhood. It was her smile that still stands out in my mind. She had the biggest, happiest smile I had ever seen. Any doubt or fear that we had that this would be a large task for a couple of eighth and ninth graders melted away.
We asked her what color she wanted the house to be painted. “Canary yellow,” she said in a thick southern accent. “The brightest yellow that you can find; I always wanted a yellow house.”
We spent five days stripping and painting the house. Every night pain dust was in our hair and covered our bodies. We were tired, but we kept going. We were excited to see what this house would look like. We wanted to see the fruits of our labor. The first coat of yellow was dull, but with every coat, the house became brighter and brighter. The house came to life right in front of our very eyes.
The last day of the painting brought both joy and sadness to my friends and me. No one wanted the fun to end; however, we shared a sense of pride in our accomplishment. The house was finished. The paint was so bright that you could definitely see it from space. It seemed our hard work brought both the house and that woman back to life.
It was the hottest day we had worked so far. We were making our goodbyes and gathering our tools and brushes when this little old woman stopped us. “Ya’ll come here,” she said. “I got something for ya’ll just to say thank you.” She went inside her house and came out with two liter soda bottles. “Now I don’t have much, but…here.” She handed me a two liter bottle of Pepsi. “Thank you so much.” The tears welled in her eyes as she handed each of us a soda.
We rode back to school in silence. We were done. The fun was over, and we all knew it.
Looking back on that time in my life, I realize that the “thank you” from that woman means more to me now than it did then. I always wondered why a woman who had so little would spend what she did have just to say “thank you.” I think in our world of “right now” and “hurry up,” we often forget that the one thing we are running out of is time. A “thank you” is now replied with a “no problem.” Kindness seems to be a thing of the past. Then it struck me. As we took the time to help a stranger, she showed us in equal measures the same with a “thank you.” That night, while sitting on my inflatable mattress in our cramped classroom, I drank the best tasting Pepsi I ever had.