Page 62 of Eyes Like Angel
I swallowed my hesitation.
“I…understand,” I answered politely.
She acknowledged at my submission. “Good. Get to work.”
Then I absconded, my skirt fluttered as I rushed to the doors Mrs. Rivers pointed at. From there, I searched the kitchen doors from an elongated hall, wondering where the kitchen doors lead.
My ears perked at the sound of cabinets flown to closure, and I followed the traced sound, leading me back in the kitchens, where the kitchen staff was gone, except a young man, who had his head turned back at me, whistling a catchy tune I was unfamiliar of.
I approached closer, praying I don’t disrupt him in a wrong time. But he looked so cheery in his own way, dishes washed and clean trays settled into the drying rack.
“Excuse me,” I articulated.
His body flinched at my voice. “Woah, Jesus! I-I mean, hey, there! Sister Eva, I assume?”
I nodded, willing to cooperate. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Ah, thank god you’re here. I was just getting worried to where you’re at.”
He piled the clean dishes up back inside the cabinet.
His guffaw was loud as the booming speakers in the church system, clapping his hands at once altogether, as if he was ready to face head on with impossible challenges with an ease, easy-going and mature, unlike any guys or elderly men I came across.
Chill and filled with cordial presence.
“So what am I going to be doing, sir,” I used my regular worker voice, like how I did when being as a housekeeper in the Fort Heaven neighborhood.
“Sir?” he released a brief guffaw, in a one ‘Ha!’ “Please, call me Micah. I’m sure Mrs. Rivers informed you my name. I insisted on it when she mentioned how other workers should call me ‘Sir’. But I find that term kind of old, and I don’t feel old. Don’t like the vibe I’m getting if everybody decides to be formal with me.”
I tried to make a polite and trivial conversation to fill the quiet void.
“How…old are you?”
“I’m twenty-two years old,” he confirmed, his cheeky dimple appeared.
“Ah,” is all I said.
“So, are you ready to work with me?” He adjusted his second-handed watch.
I looked up once more, meeting his dark, glistening eyes. “I’m ready.”
“Wonderful! Okay, so, let’s get to the basics.” He moved over to the counters. “When it comes to the kitchen, all we have to do is to collect the trays from the homeless and wash them—morning, noon and night. We each gather them around thirty trays, twenty if you can’t carry heavier, but I’d be happy to assist. And we each take turns for the kitchen when washing and rinsing. We must clean every single one of them in three hourswhile putting the trays in the extra cabinets, to avoid any rats or cockroaches infested.”
Nodding my head as he spoke in regarding to a proper guide to trays and the kitchen, step-by-step. Hearing him talk eased the tension on my body.
The way he gestured and expressed with his hands, his laid-back posture, and the calmness in his voice, it was safe for me to stick by his side, fueled me to learn more tips and tricks to be super-efficient and spotless.
“So, any questions, Sister Eva?” he peered over me.
“We take turns, right?”
“Yup, that’s right.”
“What if one of us gets hurt, whether it’s by accident or something else…”
His brows scrunched. “Something else, what do you mean by that?”
“Like…let’s say I’m sick or injured while working,” I said, half-lie, smoothing my velvet gloves.
