(O. Henry’s, “The Gift of the Magi” had us studying all my favorite topics this week for school: irony, income disparities, and empathy for others. Plus the lesson that good intentions are expensive; enjoy the aftermath.)
There was once a town called Plenty, which by all reasonable measures, had more than enough.
The shops overflowed. Every store window filled with pies, every field waved with grain, and every shop with shelves that were full to the brim and beyond.
The shopkeepers in Plenty had learned something important. Empty space and empty shelves scared people, it looked like failure and frightened them enough to shop somewhere else.
So the baker made one more batch, and then another. And the grocer ordered one more truck, just in case. Every night, when the lights went out though, the trash cans behind Plenty sighed. With a plop, and a thud, and a squish; perfect food, wasted.
Penny lived next door to Mr. Lopez, downtown in the part of Plenty most people drove quickly to get out of. He was an older man with the kindest eyes and quick with a laugh. He had lived there longer than the grocery store on Main Street, which had now been remodeled, twice! He spoke with a soft accent, that others scoffed at. Penny noticed his usual thriving garden had gone still that summer. His back ached, his hands weren’t as steady, and now his cupboards were bare.
One afternoon, Penny helped clean up after school lunch and stood as frozen as Lot’s wife. The trash was full of untouched rolls, shiny apples, and still sealed milk cartons. “If we have so much,” she thought, “how come Mr. Lopez has to skip dinner?”
That night, Penny dreamed of all that food left behind. The apples looked tired in her dream. The rolls drooped. Even the milk cartons sighed in sadness as they sauntered. “We were made to be shared, not tossed aside like we were never there,” they cried.
The next morning, Penny started asking questions. The farmer sighed, “The extra cucumbers grow just fine,” he answered, “but picking them costs money! Workers to harvest them, boxes to hold them, gas to haul them away. If no one’s paying, I lose money kid. So the extras sit in the field, it’s cheaper that way.” The grocer shrugged, “Empty spots, that I wouldn’t otherwise fill, scare customers and they’ll shop somewhere else.”
Everyone cared. But everyone lost money trying not to waste, or trying to give thier leftovers away. Penny realized: nobody wanted it this way, it just sort of happened.
The next day at school, Penny set up a cardboard box by the trash can with a sign she drew by hand. It read: “For food too good to throw away.” By the end of lunch, the box overflowed.
That afternoon she carried it, a little nervous, to Mr. Lopez’s porch. He blinked at the pile of apples and bread. “You starting a grocery store, kid?” Penny grinned. “Sort of. But one where everything is free, and the customers smile more.”
Word spread. The baker began setting aside almost expired loaves for Penny’s “route.” The farmer left a basket at her bus stop each week. The grocer started labeling oddly shaped fruit “Perfectly Imperfect.” Nobody told them to, it just felt right once they saw it.
By harvest season, the town decided to celebrate. They called it The Festival of Enough. There were soups made from all the extras, and pies from the funny shaped fruit. Mr. Lopez stirred a pot of stew. Penny helped ladle it into bowls. “Strange thing, kid,” he said. “When we stopped trying to have everything,we finally had enough.”
And for the first time in years, the town of Plenty slept soundly; not stuffed, not starving, just satisfied.
There was once a town called Plenty, which, by all reasonable measures, had more than enough. Reasonable, it turns out, is not the same as right.
UNSCRIPTED 