@mcggiemon
For most teenagers, the idea of spending their weekend on the inside of a warehouse, opening boxes, arranging the stock and stacking shelves might have sounded like a punishment. For Izzy, however, it was the most fulfilling thing he had ever participated in. Sure, the thrill of hitting a home run came close but his time spent at the local food service warehouse was special, he felt useful, he felt appreciated, he felt like he was contributing something to his community and he was learning.
He was the youngest employee by at least a decade, he was pretty sure but his co-workers treated him as an equal. When he made mistakes, they didn’t scold him, they helped him and showed him how to better himself. When he had ideas, they listened and acted and awarded him the credit he deserved for his efforts. They spoke for hours and hours on end for anything and everything that crossed their minds, they prayed together, they sang songs of praise together, they bonded. There was no denying that he missed how close he had once been to his friends but he couldn’t help but feel as if the people at the warehouse had already filled that gaping void, providing him not only with a group of new friends but family as well. It warmed his heart and every time he put on the uniform, which was increasingly often these days, he felt as if he was wearing a badge of honor. He was not only helping the Nighmore community, supplying food to the Academy or earning some pocket money, but he was also bettering himself and strengthening his relationship with God in new ways that made him feel superior to his classmates for the very first time since he had enrolled.
He had Maggie to thank for all of this, of course. She had been the one who had helped him acquire the job, she’d introduced him to the people she knew in Nighmore, the ones who ran this and that around town and knew how to get things done. He couldn’t have been more grateful and in a small, somewhat meager attempt to express his immense appreciation, he decided to bring her some flowers and a fruit basket he’d arranged with permission from the warehouse.
With a spring in his step, he approached Maggie’s brand new dorm room, hoping he’d catch her inside and alone. Izzy knocked on the door, balancing the fruit basket in the crook of his arm and holding onto the fresh flowers as if his life depended on keeping them safe. “Hey, it’s me,” he called out, just in case she was avoiding her new roommate's pals, Izzy had done the same for a long time.
