Peter and the Three Needs (A Modern Adaptation of “The Star Talers”)

John Thompson

ENGL 575

Peter and the Three Needs

(A Modern Adaptation of “The Star Talers”)

            Peter was a young orphan who had lived in Mercy Mission shelter most of his life. Most of his memories centered around people and events of the mission, but he had no memory of his parents. He was once told that his mother died shortly after giving birth, and Peter’s father took his own life after realizing how unprepared he was to raise a baby on his own. The knowledge of his parents ends upset Peter, but he managed to make friends with some of the other families in the mission and many, many good memories.

            Sister Doris ran the mission, depending on donations of money and supplies from local churches to keep the mission open. Year after year, Sister Doris watched her donations shrink and the needs of the mission grow ever larger until one day she found that the shelter could no longer continue to operate at its current capacity. Sister Doris had prayed fervently over the years that, through some miracle, she would be able to continue her ministry, but the time had finally come for her to begin turning families out and away.

            Several of the younger families were capable of finding another place to stay. Younger single adults could withstand nights on the streets more than the old and infirm or mothers-to-be. After losing sleep for several nights, Sister Doris finally decided which of her residents could stay and which ones would have to go.

            A meeting was called in the cafeteria of mission and Sister Doris called the names of the individuals and families that would have to pack their meager possessions and leave. First on the list was Peter. Shock rippled through the crowd followed by quiet crying and men swearing under their breath.

            After the meeting, Peter went back to his bed and looked at what he owned. The bedroll that he had slept on for as long as he could remember belonged to the mission, and Sister Doris made clear that bedrolls were to stay. All Peter owned was the shirt and pants that he wore, one extra, threadbare shirt, his shoes, and a jacket with holes in the underarms. Peter rolled his extra shirt up and tucked it under his arm. He stopped by Sister Doris’s office on his way out.

            “I just wanted to thank you for everything you have done for me,” Peter said.

            “I’m sorry that this has turned out the way it has,” Sister Doris said. She sniffed hard and Peter realized that she had been crying. “Please know that this was not an easy thing for me to do. You are such a good boy, all of you are good people, and it breaks my heart to do this. Please tell me you know that.”

            “I know,” Peter said. His reply was not terribly convincing.

            “I want you to have a couple of things,” Sister Doris said.

            She took out a package of peanut butter crackers and a knit cap.

            “It’s not much,” she said and lightly shook the crackers, “but it will last for today at least.”

            Peter slid the package of crackers into the back pocket of his pants and fit the cap on his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

            Another family, the Wilsons, passed by Sister Doris’s office. Peter had known the Wilson family for several months and had become friends with the oldest son, Ralph, and he looked up to Mr. Wilson a great deal. Peter hurried from the office and caught up with Ralph and his family at the door.

            “Mr. Wilson,” Peter said. “Got a sec?”

            Mr. Wilson turned to Peter already knowing what the boy wanted. His eyes were tired and he seemed to have aged several years in the half hour following the mission meeting. “What’s up, Pete?

            “Do you think I could tag along with you for a few days? Until I figure out where I’m going to go?”

            Mr. Wilson sighed heavily. The rest of the family, including Ralph, had moved on down the sidewalk and were waiting for Mr. Wilson on the corner. “Peter, I don’t think it’s a very good idea. I have five people depending on me as it is. I have to figure out how to feed them, and I have to protect them. The streets are dangerous, you know?”

            “Oh, okay.”

            “You understand, don’t you?”

            “It doesn’t matter if I do or not,” Peter said.

            Peter left the Wilsons and walked back the opposite direction, passing the shelter that had been the only home he had ever known. What had once seemed like a warm, caring place now looked cold and distant and sinister. He couldn’t help harboring bitterness toward the old woman that ran the place even though he knew that she had sold her home and everything she owned in an effort to keep the shelter open. She had done everything she could to help people who had nothing, but what good was it now?

            Peter wandered the streets around the shelter for most of the afternoon and decided to find a place to sleep for the night. He found an alleyway that was mostly occupied by other people looking for a sheltered place for the night. The cold wind shifted direction and the alley became a wind tunnel. Peter moved on to seek other options.

            Peter found another alley just as the sun faded. It was also occupied by a large group of homeless people, but Peter found a corner near the far end that was away from everyone else. An old man was stretched out in a Dumpster that had been turned on its side.  

            “Sir, can I sleep in here with you tonight?” Peter asked.

            The old man didn’t answer him; rather, he reached up and pulled the large plastic flaps that acted as the Dumpster’s lid down, and the flaps stayed down until Peter went away.

            Peter found a place behind a restaurant’s used grease bin. He moved some bags of trash from a trash can to close around his little sleep spot and give himself some privacy. Just as he was situated the last of the trash bags, a young girl approached him: “Excuse me. It’s very cold out here, and someone has stolen my coat and hat. Could I have yours? I see that you have an extra shirt that you can wear.”

            Peter looked the girl over. She was painfully thin and looked to have been out on the street for quite a while. Her hair was unkempt and her clothes had been worn thin and were stained with grease and mub. He thought for a while and finally took off the knit hat that Sister Doris had given him along with his jacket and handed them to the girl.

            “Thank you!” She said and snatched the coat and hat from Peter and pulled the hat down low on her head.

            Peter pulled his extra shirt on and flipped the collar up against the wind that blew through the alley. An old man that Peter recognized from the mission hobbled down the alley. He was hunched over his cane and dragged his left foot slightly behind him. Peter thought that Sister Doris had promised to keep the older folks in the mission. Peter decided to ignore the old man in the hopes that he wouldn’t be recognized.

            The old man shuffled up behind Peter: “You look familiar. Don’t I know you from the mission?”

            Peter was tempted to lie, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Yes, sir, I used to live at the mission.”

            “That woman sent me out into the world with nothing,” the old man said. “Not even food of any kind. I am terribly hungry. Do you have something to spare?”

            Peter thought of the package of crackers in his pocket and was again tempted to lie when he felt his own stomach growl. He took the crackers out of his pocket and extended them to the old man without a word.

            “Thank you!” the man exclaimed and began shoveling the crackers into his mouth. Crumbs scattered down the front of his shirt, and, for a moment, Peter regretted giving the crackers to the old man, but the relief on the old man’s face gave Peter an eerie sense of peace.

            The old man shuffled away and Peter set about finishing the arraignment his sleeping spot for the night and settled onto the pallet of old newspapers and cardboard boxes that he had placed between the grease bin and the side of the building. He dozed off, but only for a few minutes before he was awakened by someone sobbing.

            Peter peered over the top of the grease bin and saw a young man sitting in a large puddle in the middle of the alley. The man was clutching a make-shift cane and a pair of dark glasses glinted off to the side in the streetlight. Peter rushed to the man and helped him out of the puddle and gave the man his glasses. “Are you alright?” Peter asked.

            “I tripped and fell into that puddle and I’m soaking we. I have no dry clothes. Do you have an extra set of clothes I can use? I’m already very cold.”

            “The only clothes I have are what I’m wearing.”

            “Please. I’ll freeze to death if I wear these wet clothes.”

            Peter thought for a moment before he stood and stripped both of his shirts, his pants, and his shoes. The blind man thanked Peter over and over as he dressed in Peter’s clothes before he shuffled down the alley and left Peter alone wearing nothing but a pair of raged boxer shorts and dirty socks.

            Peter sank down on his pallet. He felt despondent and for the first time he wondered if he would survive the night or if he would freeze to death because he was so gullible. The back door of the restaurant slammed open and a portly man wrestled two large bags of garbage out and to his trash cans. Seeing that the cans were full, the man dropped the bags on the pavement next to the door and turned to look at Peter.

            “Come in, kid,” the man said and nodded toward the open door of the restaurant.

            Peter scrambled out from behind the grease bin and followed the man inside.

            “I saw what you did for those people down in the alley. I watched through the window when you gave the girl your jacket and hat. I was bringing trash out when you gave the old man your crackers, and I saw on the security camera just now when you helped that blind kid. You’re an alright kid, you know? How you end up out in the street?”

            Peter told the restaurant owner about his mother dying in childbirth and his father’s suicide. He told the restaurant owner about being turned out from the mission after all of the years he had spent there. Finally, he told the restaurant owner about the Wilsons turning him away earlier in the day because they could not handle one more mouth the feed or one more person to protect.

            “Tell you what,” the restaurant owner said. “I need a new dishwasher. The guy I had was stealing money and booze from me and turned out to be a real bum. You drink?”

            “No, sir.”

            “You a little sticky-fingered when it comes to the till?”

            “The till?” Peter looked confused.

            “The register. Are you going to steal from me?’       

            “Oh, no, sir.”

            “I’ll get you a uniform. There’s a shower and a cot back by the office. Get cleaned up and get some rest. We’ll try it out for three months and see how it goes.”

            “Do you mean it?” Peter asked. He was afraid that the restaurant owner would break out in laughter and throw him out.

            “Yeah. I need someone to wash dishes and you clearly need a place to stay and some money in your pocket.”

            “I can sleep here?” Peter asked.

            “Sure. A kid your age doing things for other people. I don’t know, I feel like I can trust you. We got a deal?” 

            “Absolutely. Thank you!”

            Peter showered and rested and started his job the next day. He worked hard and the restaurant owner decided to keep Peter around when the three months were over. Every night, Peter went to bed tired, his feet ached, but he was happy.