People often say that 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder,' and I say that the most liberating thing about beauty is realizing that you are the beholder. This empowers us to find beauty in places where others have not dared to look, including inside ourselves.
- Salma Hayek
Belle stared at the silverware drawer in front of her. The spoons were there, all stacked on top of one another - all exactly the same. Carefully she selected two, tucked them in her pocket, and headed out the door.
The email that Alex had sent out earlier that week had been entitled: Pudding Party: Bring Your Own Spoons! Inside, Alex had detailed her trip to the local Costco to get the largest pack of pudding they sold. She would work it into the theme, she promised Missy and Mikhail. Did they have one? Alex had forgotten.
Every time Belle read it, she smiled. She couldn’t help it.
Hurriedly, she got in her car and drove a few miles up the road to Super Target. She walked into the food service area and right up to the counter, where she knew Greta was finishing up her shift.
Greta had worked at this store forever. Belle had always seen her, ever since she had started shopping there, once she could drive. Greta had never been to college, but she didn’t seem to care. Whenever Belle came in for her pepperoni pizza and order of breadsticks, Greta always had a story for her. And though it wasn’t necessarily an appropriate business-practice - stories of bratty kids, late co-workers, and all around strange customers were hurriedly scribbled in shorthand on the back of Belle’s receipt.
“Let me guess. You want the usual,” Greta said, after finishing with an incredibly large order of tacos.
Belle nodded, digging in her pocket for exact change. She pulled out the spoons and looked surprised.
“You are stranger than fiction…” Greta muttered, eyeing the spoons warily.
“They’re for tonight,” Belle explained, sliding them back in her pocket.
“I don’t even want to know!” Greta called from out-of-sight.
“Any weirdos?” Belle wondered.
Greta turned, giving Belle her order, and sliding the receipt into her hand. “Go browse, or…play with your spoons. I’ll finish up here, and punch out.”
Belle looked down at the receipt in her hand. She studied the acronym. CPS. ID. Her eyebrows shot up, and Belle leaned over the counter. She knew what it meant. Chronic Pop Stealer. In Denial. She had a little kid ask for a water cup and get pop instead - all the time.
“Still?” Belle asked, incredulously.
Greta nodded. “Now take your pizza and go…I’ll find you in the music section.”
Belle left then, thinking of the little kid Greta had so often described. She felt a knot start to grow in her stomach and hurried over to browse the CD section and distract herself. In moments, she found herself thinking of Greta.
Greta was exactly the kind of friend Belle’s mom didn’t want her having. Greta was 22. She had no goals, no college education, no prospects. Just a few months after they’d begun hanging out together, Belle came home with gothic dark hair. Sherry had put her foot down. No more hanging out with this girl. She was a bad influence.
Belle hadn’t been able to admit that the hair color change had been her own idea. At least not to her mom. And she hadn’t been able to stay away from Greta.
Greta not only had an antiquated name; she also possessed a classic sort of beauty. She looked like she truly belonged in another era. She didn’t dress according to trend or brand-names - she never let fads or other people dictate how she should look. When she wasn’t wearing her uniform, Greta wore thrift store clothes, usually, or her own ripped jeans, camouflage pants or wide-brimmed fedora hats.
She had a no-nonsense manner that Belle appreciated. She liked not having to read into things, or wonder what Greta was feeling. She was sure of herself, and she knew what she wanted out of life. Unlike Belle, Greta knew who she was.
Belle was still a little shocked that Greta had agreed to come to Bible study. True, it had evolved, and wasn’t so much a Bible study anymore as it was a young adult group - with varying topics in the Biblical and spiritual side of things. Josh was still the youngest. Mikhail was still their leader. But things were shifting.
--
Greta insisted on taking her own car. She loved driving too much to be a passenger.
“You know, every time I see your hair, I still cringe,” Greta said, glancing across the seat at Belle.
“Thanks,” Belle said, forcing a laugh. She bit into her pizza decidedly, glad that Greta wanted to drive, so she could eat.
“Just because your mom freaked out so bad, you know?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Did you know she was gonna react like that?” Greta wondered.
“I had a feeling.” Belle admitted.
“She’s never home anyway. Why does she care?”
“Can we talk about something else?” Belle sighed. She and her mother had fought about her hair every day.
“Any weirdos?” Greta asked slyly.
“At Micah’s? Pretty much everyone’s cool. Julia’s fair game, though. Say whatever you want to her. She can take it. But be nice to Elise. She’s been through a lot.”
“When am I not nice?” Greta exclaimed.
“Like, anytime anyone has something a little different about them!” Belle insisted.
“Well, does Elise have, like, an arm coming out of her head?” Greta wondered, sarcasm edging her words.
“No,” Belle answered, flipping on the radio.
“Then, I’ll be good.” Greta agreed.
--
“Micah! How many extra spoons do you have?” Alex called from his entry way.
“Do you know you’re like, insanely early?” Micah shouted back from his couch.
Alex kicked her shoes off, and pounded up the stairs, lugging her 50-pack of pudding upstairs. “So how many do you have?”
“How many what?” Micah asked blankly, staring at the TV.
Alex strode in the living room and turned it off. “Spoons.”
“Like, six. Why?”
“You only have six spoons?” Alex asked incredulously. “What happens if you have company, and they’re dirty?”
“They are. So what?” Micah answered blandly.
“Micah! What if people forget? You need to go wash your spoons! I need them for my lesson!”
“You go wash my spoons, if you want ‘em,” he laughed.
“I brought one!” she announced gleefully, pulling the airplane spoon out and showing it off.
“You’re leading tonight?” he teased. “This ought to be good…”
Alex followed him into the kitchen. “It will be,” she assured. “I should call people and remind them to bring spoons!”
“What? You don’t think the two-page email was enough of a hint?” Micah grunted, squirting dish soap on his spoons and then running water over them.
“Some of us don’t have email,” Alex answered, already dialing Kylie.
“Hey Kylie? It’s Alex. When you come tonight, bring a spoon. A spoon. I’m having a pudding party. Okay, thanks. Yep, see you soon! Bye.”
Alex hung up and dialed another number.
“Hello? Belle’s phone. This is Greta.”
“Hey, Greta. This is Alex,” she answered easily, despite having never spoken to Greta before. Belle always invited friends. “Y’all got spoons?”
“So you’re the one.” Greta nodded, smiling. “Yep, Belle’s got ‘em in her pocket. See you in a bit.”
Greta turned off the phone and tossed it at Belle. “Alex. Taking spoon-inventory. Why don’t you ever eat at home?” she wondered, watching Belle finally finish her pizza.
“’Cause it’s usually only me, and I hate cooking for one,” Belle answered.
Greta nodded. “Yeah. That would suck.”
--
Micah rinsed off the last of his spoons and set them up to dry. “Anything else, your majesty?” he asked dryly. Alex was now lounging on his couch, with her feet propped up on his footstool.
“Yeah. Call Elise. Remind her about spoons.”
Micah rolled his eyes. But he pulled out his cell phone and happily dialed the Evans’ household. He rarely saw them outside of church and Thursday nights. Any extra opportunity to talk to Elise or Rob was one that he looked forward to.
“Hey Elise?” he said when he got her on the phone. “It’s Micah.”
“Hey, so I don’t know if I can come tonight.” she said apologetically. “I have this huge thing to do for English.”
“When’s it due?” he wondered, pacing the kitchen.
“Tomorrow,” Elise answered miserably.
“What is it?”
“A reaction to this book I read. I need to have five different excerpts of the book that I react to. I have them marked, but I only have one done so far.”
“Well, let’s see. What time is it?” Micah looked at his watch. “It’s only 6:30. You still have a half-hour. Let me buzz over, and we’ll see if we can’t get it squared away, then I’ll drive you over.” he promised.
“What’s up?” Alex asked, watching Micah rush around, getting his laptop and his keys.
“Going over to Evansville. Keep an eye on things. Let people in. Except Kenzie. Tell her we’re closed.”
“Right,” Alex agreed. “Should I start without you?”
“Nah, be social for a while, if Missy will let you. We’ll be back when we can. I’ll send Rob and Kylie ahead if I see ‘em.”
--
Micah arrived at the Evans’ in record time. Quickly, he got the particulars on the paper from Elise and typed up what she already had.
He was shocked to see that though her handwriting was still shaky, Elise had wonderful and poignant insight into her first excerpt of Johnny Got His Gun - a novel by Dalton Trumbo that Micah himself could remember reading as a senior in high school. The book seemed too horrific and grotesque for a sweet girl like Elise, but Micah knew that she, like the main character in the book, had been though a war.
Micah listened, feeling alternately shocked and honored as Elise eloquently described and tied in her own fight for expression and rehabilitation. She admitted openly, to knowing how the wounded soldier felt - having coherent thoughts, but not being able to express them, because of her injury. She spoke at agonizing length about what she called “being trapped in a box, that was opened little by little until her voice could escape.”
It was not lost on Micah that Elise failed to mention the attack that brought her to such a desperate place. She didn’t mention her mother, or her mother’s husband, who pushed her down cement basement steps, and then savagely beat her with a baseball bat until she passed out.
It was as if that was no longer important. Instead she focused on how she found her voice, just as the main character had found his.
Rob came home from work and Kylie stopped in, too, but seeing Micah there, diligently typing as Elise dictated her thoughts, both had gone ahead at his urging.
They finished at 7:30.
“Do you think it sounds rushed?” Elise wondered.
“No, it’s great.”
She studied him intently. “Are you serious, or are you just making me feel good?”
He shook his head. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. This is amazing. You have great insight.”
She smiled, relaxing. “Thanks for the help. This would have taken me hours.”
“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. I’d rather be here, anyway. Alex was making me wash spoons. Oh, by the way, you’re supposed to bring one.”
“One what? A spoon?” Elise squinted, pulling her blonde hair back in a ponytail quickly.
Micah nodded.
Elise made her way in the kitchen. “Will this do?” she asked curiously. “I love ladles.”
Micah laughed. “Yeah. Alex brought an airplane spoon, so I think anything goes.”
They left quickly, and Elise made sure the door was locked behind them. Without being asked, Micah offered her his arm as they approached the stairs. She had made such considerable progress, even since the previous year when she told them all what she had been through, but Micah had a feeling the stairs were still a cause of anxiety for her, even though she navigated them confidently now.
“Thank you,” she said softly, as she stepped on ground level.
Nodding, Micah squeezed her shoulder.
They rode over listening to 80’s music - Journey, Fame, Toto, Annie Lennox, White Snake. They were all on Micah’s Hits of the ‘80’s CD. And though Elise had limited memory of the decade, she was learning the words to songs like Heaven, Walking on Broken Glass, Why, and Africa.
“Did you finish?” Rob asked, seeing his sister and Micah enter the house.
Elise nodded, holding her ladle up victoriously.
“That’s awesome!” Alex exclaimed, and they both knew she was approving of the large blue soup utensil and not the fact that Elise had done her homework.
Micah went to plug his computer into the printer and get Elise’s paper stapled before he sat down next to Rob.
“Dude, your sister’s amazing. Make her show this to you before she hands it in.” he whispered, as Alex launched into her pudding monologue, tossing plastic containers around the room.
“Hey! Where’s the Chocolate Fudge Swirl?” Jared wondered, looking at his chocolate pudding with disdain.
“Sorry, I’m over it,” Alex apologized.
Without thinking, she tossed one to Josh. He flinched as it came whizzing toward him. Chris expertly reached across two people to intercept it and hand it to him.
Josh sighed in relief, and then stared at the pudding cup in his lap, half-hoping the pudding party wouldn’t be held right this minute. He hadn’t eaten pudding since he was little. His sister or his mom would open it for him and then hold the container while he ate.
“As you can see,” Alex was saying, opening her pudding and flying her airplane spoon into it. “Everyone brought spoons. Or everyone should have brought spoons,” she narrowed her eyes at Kenzie who brandished her fork and smirked.
“Just like our spoons are all different, God made all of us unique and special. Just the way we’re meant to be. And even though all our spoons are different, they can still serve the same purpose. Anyone up for reading some scripture? Psalm 139:13-16?”
Quietly, from his spot on the floor, Rob began reading from his own Bible. It had been a birthday gift from Kylie. It was small, and the words of Jesus were in red. It was the same translation as hers, which gave him comfort.
“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, Your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be.”
“Kenzie, how often have you felt like a fork among spoons?” Alex challenged good-naturedly.
Laughing, Kenzie answered easily, “Like, every day of my life! I was always the square peg trying to fit in the round hole. Singing on the worship team! Hello?”
“Anybody ever felt like God made a mistake making you the way you are, or with the circumstances you have gone through?” Alex wondered.
A few hands went up. She noticed Belle’s immediately, and felt surprise ripple through her. Instinctively, Alex didn’t call on her, but instead opted for her outspoken friend, Greta, who had introduced herself to the room as a whole a few minutes after coming in.
“Sometimes it feels like God’s made a mistake in not giving me more of a desire to pursue college,” she said honestly. Beside her, Belle stared, surprised at the admission. “I mean, I guess it’s the thing to do.”
“Josh?” Alex nodded.
“Can somebody help me with my pudding?” he asked.
From beside him, Mikhail leaned over. “How you like me to help?”
“Open it, and hold it, please? That’d be great.” Josh smiled.
Wordlessly, Mikhail opened the pudding and held it, waiting.
“Spasibo,” Josh answered, before digging in.
Mikhail smiled. “You’re welcome.”
--
Alex’s turn at leading had been successful, as it usually was. Afterward, visiting commenced, while Jared gathered pudding cups and spoons.
“I missed Gabe tonight.” Alex sighed. The scent of coffee brewing always brought him to mind.
“He always did love the snowflake speech,” Missy agreed, smiling. “How’s he doing? Have you heard?” She knew Gabe had finally left for Costa Rica but had heard very little since he left.
“He’s good. He’s been in San Jose a while. Loves the weather, loves the people. Spends his time translating for the Spanish women when they can’t understand his team’s Spanish. He doesn’t know why they want his help, because he says he doesn’t speak fluently, but I think he’s just being modest.”
“I’ll have to email him one of these days.” Missy mused. “I don’t usually have much time, but maybe a quick one when I’m at work.”
“Tell him he missed a great pudding party!” Andrew volunteered from across the room, letting his conversation with Chris drop momentarily.
“You could tell him yourself…” Belle muttered. She glanced to the doorway of the kitchen, where Jared regularly passed between Greta and Julia, who were talking. Greta had asked Belle to point out which one Julia was right away.
“So, what church do you go to?” Julia asked.
“I don’t.”
“You don’t…”
“I don’t.” Greta repeated simply. “As in, I’m not a member anywhere.”
“You should come to ours; we’d love to have you.” Julia invited. She took a sip of her coffee.
“I don’t think so…” Greta declined. She was beginning to see why Julia got to people. “Oh, excuse me!” she stepped back, realizing that she’d been completely blocking the way to the kitchen.
“This is Kylie. She’s wonderful.” Julia gushed.
“Thank you, baby.” Kylie kissed the top of Julia’s head. Then, she turned her attention to Greta. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Greta.”
“Greta,” Kylie took her hand, smiling and amused.
“I know, it’s crazy. I was named for my grandmother. Margaret Elizabeth.” she apologized.
Kylie laughed easily. “My middle name’s Grace, after my grandmother.”
“Well, you know how it is, then!” Greta laughed, feeling slightly uneasy with the fact that Julia was still watching them.
“Did our Beauty bring you?” Kylie wondered, looking a little sadly in Belle’s direction.
“Our beauty?” Greta questioned, confused.
“Belle.” Kylie clarified.
“Ah, I thought it was, like, a national treasure, or something. Yeah. Well, technically, I drove, and she gave me crappy directions.”
“Well, it’s great to have you. I hope you’ll come back.” Kylie said sincerely, surprising Greta with an embrace.
“She’s…friendly,” Greta commented, since Julia was still standing there. She watched Kylie walk over to Rob, and exchange a kiss quickly. “Aw, are they dating?”
“Yeah,” Julia replied shortly. “I don’t like it, but they are.”
Greta was taken aback. “You don’t have to like it.” she said plainly. “It looks like they’re happy. Last time I checked, that’s all that matters.”
“And last time I checked,” Julia hissed, “It isn’t Biblical for someone to practically invite an unmarried woman to live with them for the sole purpose of helping take care of their sister.”
“Kylie’s a big girl,” Greta whispered back. “You’re, like, a relationship Nazi…” Greta muttered.
“I just care.” Julia defended.
“Oh. Ripping your friend’s boyfriend and his sister apart is a great way to show you care.”
“I’m telling the truth. They were having problems. Earlier this year, Kylie hurt her back at work, because she was working so many hours! They fought a lot. Then Rob pulled some ‘honorable guy’ crap and told her that he wouldn’t be with her if she didn’t start taking better care of herself. Of course, being Kylie, she took the time, prayed, waited, then went back, and cut back on her hours.”
“If you’re done gossiping, I think I’m gonna go.” Greta dismissed herself, walking into the kitchen.
Belle was standing off to the side talking to Mikhail. Greta caught her eye, and motioned slightly with her head in Julia’s direction. “Weirdo.” she mouthed.
Smiling, Belle focused her attention back on Mikhail.
“Alyona ask for you often. Maybe this weekend?” Mikhail asked.
“This weekend…Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Tomorrow night. I take my wife and we have dinner. You come play with Alyona, and I drive you home.”
“Mikhail, I can drive myself--”
He took her hand firmly. “I drive you home. You care of my child, I make sure you get home, so Sherry don’t worry.”
“She won’t,” Belle denied, lowering her eyes.
Mikhail squatted until he could look at her. “She’s your mother. She worry. You kinda make me worry, too…” he continued gently. “What happen to make your hair like this?”
“Nothing.” she dismissed, feeling hurt. “I just needed a change.”
Sensing he had offended her, he moved to make things right.
“It’s beautiful. Sometime in the dark, you find different kind of beauty. It’s good.” he nodded, smiling.
--
That night, Alex sat down at her computer to write to Gabe. He’d been in Costa Rica for a couple weeks already, and would remain there for another month.
Signing into her email, Alex smiled. Almost all her messages were from Gabe. It made sense. She saw all her other friends regularly. Only Kenzie occasionally wrote, sending long thought-provoking emails or song lyrics. There was one new message from Gabe. She opened it and read:
To: “Alexandra R. Craig” ARCangel@hotmail.com
From: “Gabe Sanchez” Sanchez.Gabriel@hotmail.com
Querida Alex,
Hola. I miss you! The weather is gorgeous here! Belle was right suggesting South America. Even though CR is in Central. Close enough, right? How is everybody? Let me know how Thursday night goes. The kids here are great. God is really working in their lives and in mine. I’ve been helping a lot with construction, and getting to know a lot of the workers. Having some team trouble. Just minor stuff, but pray about it. The food is great and so is the culture. How is your neck? How is your family? Write soon, please, I’m lonely!
Gabe
Smiling, she opened a new message and began to write:
To: “Gabe Sanchez” Sanchez.Gabriel@hotmail.com
From: “Alexandra R. Craig” ARCangel@hotmail.com
Hey Gabe.
Don’t brag about the weather, ours sucks! High this morning was 26! I want my Texas weather back! So guess what? I led tonight. We had a pudding party and it was awesome. I went to Costco and got this amazing 50-pack of pudding, and I had everyone bring their own spoons! (I actually think I might have sent you the email, by accident, sorry!) Anyway, everybody brought spoons - except Kenzie - and I gave the “God made everybody unique and special” talk with Psalm 139, It went really well.
Hey, ask Belle about Greta. She brought her tonight. Seems cool. See what she has to say. Actually see what she has to say about anything, she’s been pretty quiet lately, Glad to hear the kids are well. I will pray for your team and your TL. Hope all is better soon! God is there, though, so things will improve! Eat some of those little bananas for me. And bring me back an eyeball fruit! (Just kidding, I know you can’t., so don’t try!) My neck is fine. The scar is still there. My dad will have to get over it. The parents are actually on a trip to work on their marriage. Don’t know how that works. Seems like denial to me, but oh well. If it helps them, then I hope it’s great. Viva Mexico.
Missy’s gonna email you. She knows you always loved a good Snowflake speech.
Miss you.
Alex
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