“Petar, hop in the truck. We’re going scrap collecting.”
Petar tugged his ballcap low over his brow and climbed into the passenger seat. He didn’t say a word to Hristo as they pulled out of the property and bumped down the road.
Every so often, the vehicle stopped and Peter jumped out to haul a twisted piece of metal from the side of the road into the truck bed. Then they drove on again.
Photo credit Pixabay.com
Petar chewed his nails, his knee bouncing up and down.
“Hey, momche, what’s wrong?” Hristo asked. “You can talk to me, you know. I won’t kick you out.”
Petar stayed silent, his dark features set in a glower. Finally, he spoke up. “Nobody wants this stuff. It’s junk. Why are we taking it?”
“Well, with the right facilities we could melt this metal down and sell it, to be used in new cars and cans and bicycles,” Hristo explained. “Or maybe we could use it as construction materials to expand the shelter, make space to bring more people in off the streets.”
Trash could be useful enough, Petar supposed. He'd burned some of the rubbish piled up in parks to stay warm at night, when he just couldn’t handle whatever foster home they’d thrown him in. And the way people’s eyes passed over him… it was as if he was no better than the garbage they carelessly tossed on the street. Maybe they were all worth more than they appeared.
“You’re strong, and hardworking,” Hristo acknowledged, almost an echo of Petar’s thoughts. “Hopefully we can find you a job soon.”
Petar only looked out the window. He couldn’t let himself hope too much, that road only led to disappointment.
Hristo sighed, smoothing back his grey hair before turning the truck around. He looked tired. Petar wondered what his story was - not just anyone would welcome dozens of outcasts into their home. The guy who told him about the shelter in Ledenik had said his parents were both orphans or something.
As they pulled back into the driveway, Nadya came out to greet them, her baby resting on her hip. “Back from a scrap run, eh?” she said, nudging Petar with an elbow. “Welcome to the family. Now come inside, you two. Dinner’s waiting.”
Petar felt an answering grumble in his stomach and followed her to the new mess hall and into the warmth and chatter within. He could get used to this.
Thank you for reading, and thanks to @steeminfluencer for proposing this task. While most everything in this story is fictional, Hristo is a real person who runs a recycling business and homeless shelter in Bulgaria. He’s on Steemit as @hristoatanasov.
In the spirit of #payitforward, I’d like to donate the SBD payout of this post to Hristo. I also urge you to upvote his latest post to aid him directly.
Hristo and three orphans
-Katie, @therovingreader
