By Dwayne Phillips
Short Story 2008-12, 21 March 2008
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* * * Monday Morning * * *
The syrup dripped out of the spout and down the side of the Aunt Jemima plastic squirt bottle. Tony licked the end of his pointer finger, and wiped it on the bottle, trying to get every bit of the drip. He put his finger back into his mouth and consumed the sweetness.
Tony turned his attention back to his plate. He had two biscuits open face on his plate drenched with butter and maple syrup. Tony used a fork to cut a portion, leaned over his plate to contain the inevitable spill of syrup, and put the calorie drenched bite into his mouth. A few chews, a drink of milk, and he repeated the process.
This was a butter and syrup day. Some days Tony ate the biscuits with peach preserves, some days with strips of bacon, and some days with his favorite – peanut butter and syrup.
Five minutes and the biscuits, syrup, butter, and milk were gone. A sigh of pleasure ended breakfast.
Tony thought, “This is stuff is really bad for me, but it tastes good and puts me in a good mood for the day. Besides, I get enough exercise to make up for it, and it’s my only vice.”
It was Tony’s only vice. A couple of homemade biscuits in the morning, boneless, skinless chicken for lunch, and lean meat and vegetables for dinner. That, combined with an hour workout each evening and eight hours of sleep. Tony led a boring yet healthy lifestyle.
The Bisquick biscuits each morning were about the only trace of his southern upbringing left. The rest – the healthy food, the apartment living, the workouts at a health club – were all things he adopted when he moved to Washington D.C. for a career. Walking barefoot through the woods was replaced by riding the subway, walking the sidewalks, and sitting in meetings with a room full of dark blue suits.
Tony didn’t mind the city life. There were some things about it that he liked. No lawn mowing, no weeding fields, and the ladies suited him well. He wished he had more occasion to pull his pickup truck out of the parking garage and go to the blue ridge mountains, but so far he had adapted.
On his walk from the subway to the office was one thing that bothered him more lately. It wasn’t the walk or the weather that was 15 degrees cooler than “back home.” It was the homeless people. Tony met a dozen each day. He had hoped that with fall and the approach of winter that they would disappear. Maybe they would migrate south to places that were more survivable. That wasn’t happening. How could they arrange transport if they couldn’t arrange a place to sleep at night? He couldn’t understand his earlier hopes.
Tony worked on the second floor of one of the many office buildings downtown in the capital hill area near the Library of Congress. The view was great in the springtime and summer. The ladies often walked the sidewalks on the warm sunny days wearing small, light, warm-weather clothing. This was a capital city, and it was still true about government centers and the greater-than-one ration of single women to single men.
The view changed as the weather turned cooler. The ladies with the flimsy clothes disappeared. Homeless men with unshaven faces and layers of clothes appeared. There were grates that vented relatively warm air from the Metro outside Tony’s office window. The homeless sat on the grates as long as they could. They scattered when police were in sight. Tony didn’t know if they were breaking the law or just naturally frightened by police.
Tony felt a biscuit crumb on his shirt. It was the morning of the coolest day of the fall. The crumb was glued to his shirt with Aunt Jemima’s maple syrup. Guilt struck Tony. Stuck to his shirt was maybe more food than those guys hugging the warmth of the grate may eat all day.
Tony knew what he could do.
* * * Monday Mid-morning * * *
“I don’t know what you do in Mississippi,” exhaled Billie, “but you don’t leave food on the street in Washington D.C. Are you crazy?”
“What’s the harm in it?” asked Tony. “It’s just some biscuits. I make biscuits every morning and it won’t take two minutes longer to make a dozen than it will to make the two I have every morning. All I do is drop them up against the building next to the grate. Those guys will scoop them up in five minutes and that will be it. What’s the big deal. I’m sure I’m not the only person in the city who gives food to the homeless.”
“I wouldn’t be sure of that,” replied Billie.
Billie was the office secretary. She had lived in the district all her life and worked in this building for 20 years. Tony always went to her for advice on local customs. He was surprised to hear her dismay of his idea of leaving food for the homeless. She had to be exaggerating, it was only a few biscuits. He would do it anyway.
* * * Tuesday Morning * * *
Tony was up a half hour early. He was excited and woke up far before his alarm. He couldn't sleep, so he showered, dressed and went to the kitchen. “I'll make two dozen biscuits this morning. I've got the time.” Tony was talking to the radio that was playing the morning news and weather. “Sure, I've got time and plenty of fixings.”
The evening before, Tony had skipped going to the health club to work out. Instead, he went the grocery store for Bisquick, milk, eggs, and sandwich baggies. Now he was standing in his kitchen, radio blaring, talking to himself, and reading the directions on the Bisquick box. He had never made more than two biscuits, so he needed the recipe for a full batch or two. This all took more than the two extra minutes he predicted, but this was his first time. After today, it would be a small effort – learning curve and all that. After 15 minutes he had two dozen plus two biscuits in the oven. Ten or 12 minutes was all they needed per the recipe.
“Now,” said Tony still talking to the radio, “How to package these. These simplest thing will be the best thing.”
Tony let the biscuits bake and set them to cool on the stove top while he ate his two biscuits for breakfast. This morning he had peach preserves and a glass of milk. After eating, Tony placed each biscuit into a sandwich baggy and put all the baggies into a plastic grocery store bag. Simple.
* * * Tuesday Mid-Morning * * *
“What are you doing glued to that window?” asked Billie. “You know it's too cool out there for the ladies to be walking the sidewalks in little, short dresses.”
Tony exhaled slowly in disappointment. He looked at his watch; he had been sitting on the window sill in his office for an hour. He had lost track of time.
“What's the matter?” asked Tony as he stood and paced back and forth in front of the window. “They haven't touched a single one.”
“A single what?” asked Billie.
Billie walked across the office to the window and looked down to the sidewalk.
“You didn't! You did!” yelled Billie. “You put food on the sidewalk. I told you not to do that. What are you doing?”
“Of course I did. I told you I would,” replied Tony. “What's wrong? I've seen have a dozen of those guys pass the biscuits. Each one of them stops, looks, and walks on. What is it?”
Tony had placed the plastic grocery bag of individually packaged biscuits on the sidewalk next to the grate where the homeless people warmed themselves. He rolled the sides of the bag down exposing the biscuits.
“They aren't hidden,” explained Tony. “They are in plain sight, just sitting there for those guys to pick up. I know they are hungry, but they won't eat them. Billie, you've lived here all your life. What is happening down there?”
“Why are you asking me? I'm not homeless. I don't know what they are doing,” answered Billie. “Those men are probably wandering around wondering who was crazy enough to put food on the sidewalk.”
“Wondering, maybe that it,” said Tony quietly to the window. He turned to face Billie and continued, “Wondering, that is it Billie. They don't know why the biscuits are there. They are wondering. I'll think of a way to let them know why the biscuits are there. Yes, that is what I'll do.”
* * * Tuesday Evening * * *
At 6PM Tony left his office and went to the warming grate on the sidewalk. There were biscuits in the bag on the sidewalk. Tony picked up the bag and rummaged through the biscuits. All 24 were still in the bag.
Tony exhaled slowly while looking up and down the sidewalk. Not only had no one taken a single biscuit, the homeless had avoided the warming grate all day. It was as if the biscuits were toxic and scared them away.
Tony extended the bag of biscuits to the trash can next to him. He stopped short. “No, I'm not going to throw these away. I can't do that.” thought Tony.
Tony took his bag of biscuits with him to the health club for his daily workout. Several men asked him about the biscuits in the locker room. He couldn't bring himself to explain to anyone, but he couldn't keep the truth inside himself. He needed to talk to someone.
Tony spoke to Sarge, the towel man.
“Sarge” was a retired Sargent – 30 years in the Army. He lived comfortably on his pension, but tired of staying home and watching his wife watch daytime TV. “Sarge” worked mornings and evenings at the health club. He was able to work out in the middle of the day when there were few paying customers around. The exercise, activity, and conversation kept him out of his wife's way and kept his mind busy.
“Sarge,” started Tony. “Do you know what this his?”
“Yea,” replied Sarge. “That is a bag of biscuits. Everyone that has walked past here has commented about that Mississippi fellow walking about carrying biscuits. They thought it was some sort of Mississippi custom or something.” Sarge shook his head and continued, “I went through Mississippi a few times, but I never saw anyone walking around carrying a bag of biscuits.”
Tony stood still and told Sarge the story of the past two days. He ended with him standing in front of Sarge holding a plastic bag with two dozen individually wrapped biscuits.
“I don't know about feeding the homeless,” concluded Sarge. “It seems that you have your heart set on doing something for them, and that sounds like a good thing to do. I hope it works for you.”
“But what do I do with these?” asked Tony. “I cannot bring myself to throw them away, and they have been sitting out on the street all day, so I'm not going to eat them. What do I do?”
“Well,” replied Sarge, “I'll take them. My wife has a dog, and my neighbor has two. Dogs like biscuits. I'll feed them to the dogs. That's not as good as feeding them to the homeless, but it is better than throwing them in the trash.”
Tony stood silently for a moment. Sarge was right. Feeding them to the dogs would be better than the trash.
“Okay,” said Tony as he gave the plastic bag to Sarge. “Take them to the dogs.”
“Thanks,” said Sarge. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”
“I'm not sure yet,” answered Tony. Tony looked up at the ceiling and exhaled long and slow. He saw the “EXIT” sign out of the corner of his gaze. “But maybe, yes, that's it. I think I have it.”
* * * Wednesday Morning * * *
“What did you do now?” asked Billie. She pointed down to the sidewalk, the grate with warm air rising, and a plastic bag. “What is that thing next to your bag of biscuits?”
“It's a sign,” answered Tony.
“I can see that it is a sign,” said Billie slowly, emphasizing the last four words with a punch on each word. “What I want know,” continued Billie, again speaking slowly and punching each word, “is why did you put a sign next to the biscuits? And on top of that, why did you put biscuits on the sidewalk again? Didn't you learn anything yesterday?”
“Well, what,” stammered Tony. “Yes, I did learn something yesterday. I learned that the homeless guys didn't take any biscuits because they didn't know that they could. You see Billie, they were distrustful. They must have thought it was some sort of trap. That's why they didn't even sit on the grate to get the warm air. Yeah, that's it, they thought it was a trap.”
Tony and Billie both walked away from the window. “So,” continued Tony, “I put a sign next to the biscuits. The sign reads 'FREE.' They will know that is it okay to take a biscuit.”
“I don't know about you sometimes Tony,” said Billie. “I suppose your heart is right, but I don't know if you have any sense. What makes you think those fellows thought yesterday was a trap? What makes you think they will believe some scrawl on a piece of cardboard? What are you thinking?”
“That had to be the reason they didn't get any biscuits yesterday,” answered Tony. “What else could it have been?”
“It could have been lots of things,” answered Billie. “It could have been they thought some crazy person put poisoned food on the sidewalk for them. That's the kind of things crazy people do. I don't know what they were thinking, and neither do you.”
“Well,” said Tony slowly as he turned and went back to the window. “I'm not sure why they didn't pickup any biscuits yesterday. But I think this will help. I think this will tell them that the biscuits are there for them. There are two dozen nice, warm, fresh, homemade biscuits down there for them. I even put a slice of bacon in each one. Yes, this will work. They will read the sign, understand, and take the food.”
* * * Wednesday Evening * * *
“Sarge,” signed Tony. “They didn't take a single biscuit again today.”
Tony held out today's plastic bag that once again held two dozen fresh, individually wrapped biscuits with a slice of bacon in each biscuit. Sarge took the bag from Tony and set it on the floor next to him behind the towel stand.
“And I made a sign for them,” said Tony.
“You made a sign?” wondered Sarge.
“Yes, a sign,” said Tony. “I figured they didn't understand why the biscuits were on the sidewalk. They must have thought it was a trap or a mistake or something. So I made a sign. It read 'FREE.' I leaned the sign on the building next to the bag. I was sure they would read the sign, understand, and take a biscuit or two. They didn't take a single biscuit. There are 24 biscuits in that bag, just like yesterday.”
“Well,” started Sarge, “the dogs will like these.”
“That's some good,” said Tony. “But Sarge, why didn't they eat any biscuits today? The sign was plain as could be. I checked it out the window off and on all day. It didn't blow away or fall over or anything. It was right there next to the biscuits all day. Plain as could be.”
“I don't know Tony,” mumbled Sarge. “Maybe they couldn't read.”
Tony stopped, thought a moment, he lowered his brow in curiosity, and asked Sarge, “What was that? What did you say?”
“Nothing,” mumbled Sarge as he continued folding and stacking towels.
“No wait,” continued Tony. “What did you say? What did you say about reading?”
Sarge finished folding the towel in his hands, set it down, looked up and Tony, and spoke slowly, “I said, maybe they could read. You know Tony, not everyone went to college, not everyone has a soft office job. Maybe they cannot read.”
“Really?” questioned Tony in amazement. “Really? Not be able to read?”
“Tony,” said Sarge forcefully in a tone that a Sargent would use. “You mean to tell me that you are from Mississippi and have never met someone who couldn't read?”
“Well,” answered Tony. “Okay, I have met people who cannot read, but I guess I never thought, it never occurred to me that, well I guess I didn't think this through all the way. I guess I assumed too much.”
“Yeah,” concluded Sarge. “And if you keep assuming too much, my wife's dog is gonna eat too many biscuits.”
* * * Thursday Morning * * *
Billie walked through the door of Tony's office reading papers she held in her hand. Without looking up she started talking, “Tony, these papers are for you. The boss wants...” Billie stopped talking in the middle of the sentence, halted, and stared at Tony. He was standing next to the window with his hands in his back pockets. Every few seconds he would raise his body onto his toes and lower himself slowly.
“What are you doing?” asked Billie.
Without turning to face her, Tony pulled his right hand from his rear pocked, extended his pointer finger, and started tapping on the window with his finger tip. “This will work,” he said. “I know it. I figured out what was wrong with my 'FREE' sign yesterday. This will work.”
“What,” started Billie in that familiar slow rhythm punching every word, “is this?”
“I have a new sign today,” started Tony.
Before Tony could finish his answer, Billie hit him with another round of questions. “You have a new what? Did you put food out there on the sidewalk again? What are you thinking? Have you lost your mind?”
“No, no,” answered Tony. “This will work.” He turned from the window, his pointer finger still extended, this time tapping against his chin. “This will work. You see, I assumed the homeless guys could read. They probably couldn't, so the 'FREE' sign didn't mean anything to them. I fixed that though. You see Billie, I thought about it several hours last night. I needed an ideogram, an icon, some sort of picture symbol that they would understand.”
Tony turned from Billie and went back to the window. He placed his nose against the glass and tapped the window with his finger.
“That,” started Tony, “that is what I have down there today. They will understand this.”
Billie, half from curiosity, half from disgust with this young man, walked over to the window. She looked at Tony every step she took wondering if he was out of his mind. She looked down at the sidewalk. There sat another plastic bag filled with individually wrapped biscuits. Next to the bag, leaning against the building was a cardboard sign.
“What is that on the sign?” asked Billie.
“It,” answered Tony, punching the 't' with pride, “It is an ideogram for eating.”
“It looks like a pie with a piece missing,” blurted Billie.
“Yes, I know Billie,” answered Tony. “It is the Pac-Man symbol. You know the game character that rolled along eating everything in front of it – Pac-Man. They will understand. Everyone understands the Pac-Man symbol.”
Billie shifted her gaze from the sidewalk to Tony. She didn't say anything.
* * * Thursday Evening * * *
Tony sat silently in a booth at Chipotle's. He stared at the large beef burrito in the plastic basket before him. His right hand grasped his red Coca-Cola cup, his left hand rested on the table palm down. Next to his right foot was today's plastic bag of biscuits. It still held 24 individually wrapped biscuits.
“Tony. Tony.”The voice was soft, pleasant, and concerned.
Tony blinked out of his trance and raised his eyes. It was Gloria. She sat across from him, fork in hand, still chewing on chicken, beans, and rice from her burrito bowl. Gloria looked at him with her large, dark brown eyes. She brushed a few strands of her black hair from her brow.
This was their first dinner at Chipotle's – an upscale fast food place, but still a fast food place. This was their third date, so it was okay to come to a place like this. Tony stopped thinking of the homeless and the biscuits for a moment.
Three dates with the same lady in two weeks. No dates with anyone else since their first date. Now eating burritos with rice and beans in a fast food place. Concern flashed through Tony's mind, but it was erased by comfort. He was comfortable sitting here with Gloria.
He felt comfortable enough with her to bring his plastic bag of biscuits. He didn't feel foolish with her and his biscuits. He felt frustration, anger, disgust, disappointment, but he didn't feel like a fool. He wasn't embarrassed.
“Tony,” Gloria said again. This time she placed her right hand on top of his left. “Tony, are you there?”
Tony blinked, shook his head to chase the fog, and leaned back. He took his right hand from his drink and rubbed his eyes with the cool condensation. He made sure to keep his left hand where it was, under her hand.
“Yes,” answered Tony. “I am here now. Sorry about that.”
Tony picked up his burrito with both hands and started to eat.
“You were telling me about the biscuits and the homeless men who gather under your office window,” said Gloria as she too resumed eating.
“Yeah,” sighed Tony. “Three days in a row now I have put out food for the homeless, but they haven't taken any of it. I put out a sign that said 'FREE' yesterday and one today with an ideogram on it. I thought they felt it was a trap, then I thought maybe they couldn't read. Now, now I don't know.”
“Well,” said Gloria between a bite of food and sip of water. “It is sweet of you to think of them and go to this much effort.”
“Sweet,” repeated Tony in his mind. “I hate it when women say 'sweet.' Can't they think of something else to say? Why do they say sweet?”
“I can tell you are caring and have a big heart,” said Gloria.
“Well,” thought Tony. “That is a little better than 'sweet.'”
“Gloria, what are they thinking? Why don't they take some of the food? They must be hungry, so why don't they take some of the food?” asked Tony.
“You are really concerned about them, and you are frustrated, aren't you?” asked Gloria.
“And I'm tired,” concluded Tony. “I haven't slept well the past couple of nights. I keep trying to figure out this thing. There has to be an answer.”
Tony rubbed his face with both hands. Then he ran his hands through his hair trying to wake up and think clearly. Gloria watched him.
“He has such a good heart,” she thought. “He is such a child, but a good, loving child.”
Tony finished rubbing his eyes and opened them wide a moment until his vision cleared. Gloria was smiling at him, some kind of smile he had not seen from her.
“What?” asked Tony. “What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing,” she answered.
The two ate their food quietly, not saying anymore until they had both finished. After sitting quietly for a few more minutes Tony stood and gathered the plastic baskets, trays, and paper wrappings from the table. Gloria also stood, picking up their empty paper cups. The two walked over to the trash can and slowly placed the trash into the can and the plastic items onto the shelf above it. The sign there read, “Do not put plastic baskets into the trash.”
Tony froze. He stared at the sign. Gloria, not noticing Tony becoming a statue, went back to their table, picked up her purse and his plastic bag of individually wrapped biscuits, and started towards the door. She expected Tony to join her, but he didn't. He was still frozen at the trash can. She walked back to his side at the trash can, but he didn't move.
She placed her hand in his and softly said, “Tony.”
Tony blinked back to the present and turned to face her.
“How are things for you Tony,” she asked.
“Okay,” he said. After a pause he continued, “Okay. I think things will be okay.”
* * * Friday Morning * * *
Billie walked into Tony's office as usual carrying a stack of papers, reading them as she walked.
“Tony,” she started. “These papers are for you. The boss wants you to sign some of them. Just look at the little read 'SIGN HERE' stickies and so on, you know.”
“Yes,” answered Tony. “Sure, thanks.”
Billie placed the papers in the box on the corner of Tony's desk. Tony was seated, tapping his pencil on his desk. He was whistling a song and smiling. Billie stood in front of him for a moment. Tony continued his whistling, tapping, and smiling.
After another minute, Billie interrupted, “Wait a minute. What are you doing?”
“Who, me?” answered Tony.
“Yes, you,” said Billie emphasizing the word you and stretching far past its norm.
“Why aren't you...” Billie stopped herself before completing the question. She turned, walked around Tony's desk, and went to the window.
“Why aren't I what?” concluded Tony.
“What's going on down there?” asked Billie as she looked down at the sidewalk and the grate with the warm air rising.
“Oh,” said Tony as he spun his chair around and rolled it to the window. “Nothing special. Just the usual. Why do you ask?”
Billie turned to Tony, placed both hands on her hips, and tilted her head to the side. “You know why I ask, Mr. heart of gold with the biscuits on the sidewalk all week. What's going on down there?”
They both looked at the sidewalk below. Three homeless men were crowding one another on the grate absorbing the heat from below. Two more were nearby leaning against a trash can. They all had something in their hands that they were eating.
“What did you do today?” asked Billie. “They are eating your biscuits down there. What did you do?”
“Well,” said Tony as he smiled broadly. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “I had a vision last night.”
“You had a date last night. I saw it on your calendar.” said Billie.
“Yes, that too. I had a vision while on a date,” said Tony. “It came to me after dinner. I was throwing the trash in the can and it came to me.”
“Wait there,” interrupted Billie. “You had a date in a restaurant where you had to throw away your trash. Sounds like a fast foot date to me. You don't go on fast food dates unless...”
“Unless what?” blurted Tony.
“Unless nothing,” answered Billie. “I'm not going there.”
“What? Anyway, it came to me Billie. Where do those guys find food? Where do they look for food? Where do they get everything they have?”
“I don't know,” answered Billie.
“Don't you see Billie?” asked Tony. “The trash can. They get everything they have from the trash can. That is where they find their food. If it is anyplace else, it is out of place.”
“What?” exclaimed Billie.
“Just like I said,” answered Tony. “You and me, we wouldn't think of pulling food out of a trash can. For them, they wouldn't think of getting food anywhere else.”
Tony stopped talking, stood, went to the window and pointed down at the trash can where several of the homeless men where leaning.
“You see,” started Tony. “I wrapped each biscuit nice and clean in its own baggy. Then I put them in the plastic bag, just as before. Except today I put the plastic bag in the trash can.”
“What?” exclaimed Billie again.
“I did it carefully Billie. Very carefully and neat. Everything is sanitary, everything is wrapped just right. It is all okay. If they weren't down there eating away, I would go down myself and get one right now.”
Billie walked away from the window and stopped in the doorway of Tony's office. She turned to look at Tony. He had placed the palms of his hands on the window sill and was leaning forward so that his forehead was on the window. He was grinning like a small boy looking in the window of a pet shop at puppy dogs.
“You...” started Billie, but she stopped herself. “You little...” Billie started again, but stopped herself again.
Without turning from the window, Tony spoke to Billie. “I was scheduled to meet some of the seniors at the bar on the corner at 7 this evening. Please let them know that I cannot make it. I have other plans.”
“Going some place special, are you?” asked Billie.
“What? Oh no, actually Burger King or something near my apartment,” answered Tony.
“Oh,” said Billie. “Sound like a special evening to me.”
Go to Dwayne's Home Page
Email me at
d.phillips@computer.org