Lois Ruby - Eddie Whatever

H ow does Mom find it crumpled in the bottom of my backpack, where its been sitting for the past three weeks? She pulls the letter out and irons it with her palms. Did you read this, Eddie? It says all the bar and bat mitzvah students have to choose a mitzvah project. What a terrific idea!

I grab my baseball pants out of the dryer and shake out the wrinkles. You can hardly see the grass stains, though the hole in the seat could be humiliating after another couple of slides into second. The jersey thuds to my kneesNo. 5, Hank Greenbergs number, because back in his day, the 30s and 40s, my hero was called the Hebrew Hammer.

Ugh, do I have to? Cant you just call Rabbi Kefler and tell him Im

Edward Benjamin Lewin. Trouble, when she calls me by my full name. Youd better get on board with this quickly, because you need to put in a minimum of twenty-five hours over the next three months.

Twenty-five hours! When? I have regular school and Hebrew school, bnai mitzvah class on Tuesdays, baseball on Thursdays, Robotics Club Wednesday mornings, synagogue Saturday mornings. Tell me when I can fit in a mitzvah project.

Monday and Wednesday afternoons, and Ive got just the place. I saw in the paper the other day that Silver Brook Pavilion welcomes volunteers.

Ive heard of it. Tessa Schwartz in my bnai mitzvah class decided to volunteer there but quit practically immediately. What a recommendation.

Moms already grabbed her tablet and pulled up the website for the retirement home. Silver Brook is a continuum-of-care facility for senior citizenslovable old folks who are thrilled to have young people around. See?

She shows me the home page on the tablet screen.

SILVER BROOK PAVILION

WHERE OLD IS THE NEW YOUNG

Are they kidding? I picture shrunken crones licking lollipops or blowing pinwheels. Baldies playing hit and catch with a Nerf bat and ball, rock-paper-scissors to decide who bats first.

And you can walk there, perfect. You can start next Monday. Well call the administrator to set it up.

Aw, Mom, gimme a break.

Instead she gives me her famous evil eye while looking up the number. My mom: when she decides something, an army of fire ants under her bare feet wouldnt change her mind.

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After school on Monday, Mom marches me to the old folks place and deserts me at the main entrance.

I think about making one last bid for freedom, but shes got that look on her face, so I whoosh in my breath and blow out a gust of hot air as I tromp up the wheelchair ramp to my doom.

Despite Silver Brooks slogan, theres nothing young about the wrinkly people lining the buildings front porch. They make Grandma and Grandpa in Cincinnati look like high schoolers. Some lean their chins on canes. Others look stuck in wheelchairs or rocking chairs, or theyre backed onto their walker seats. All of em look like theyre watching a silent movie playing in midair. At least until every pair of eyes rotates toward me.

One woman points at me with a skinny, unlit cigar stuck in a plastic holder. Whos this? she croaks. I mean, she doesnt croak , as in die on the spot, but she sounds like a bullfrog, and her brown face is as worn and cracked as Dads briefcase. The fancy gold watch thats slid down from her wrist to her elbow catches a glint of sunlight and almost blinds me.

The lady next to her pulls thick glasses down from her halo of cloud-white hair and googly-eyes me. Could be Mrs. Goldfarbs youngest great-grandson. See the way his hair hangs in his eyes?

I swipe my hand across my forehead, but my squirrel-colored hair just flops right back. Two guys whove been smoking cigars, blowing fruity puffs into each others faces, turn to stare. One of them hooks his cane around my arm and reels me in.

Afternoon, sonny. Watcha up to?

Leave him alone, Herman! the other cigar man barks.

Mind your own ps and qs, Maurie. Cigar smoke blasts out of Herman.

Im Eddie Lewin, I say. The new volunteer.

Herman Stark, says the cigar man who lassoed me with his cane. And this nudnik here is Maurie Glosser.