Friday, November 21, 2008

VOLITION

Damp hair matted her ageing face as she peered at the shelves of my local grocer. Her small features contracted in the artificial lighting. She studied the tinned food, while her shopping basket remained empty....

I watched as she pulled her motley cardigan nearer to her shivering body, her tiny feet rocking back and forth, offending all who noticed. ....
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The sadness had left her eyes when they landed on the lone tin of salmon, the fancy stuff.....
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She licked at her cracked lips and grasped the tin in her shaking hands. Just as she was about to place her find in the basket, she spotted the price. ....
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$8.50- for some reason this made her face fall.....
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She looked around and shoved the tin into her bag, but a thief she was not. Instead she screamed and hurled the tin away as if it had scolded her. The metallic clanging rang throughout the store, causing all to stop and stare at the weeping woman.....
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I bent down and picked up the tin that was causing so much heartache, stilling the deafening racket. I placed the tin in her basket along with a $20 note. The gesture was ridiculous at best, but I was in repair mode. The likelihood the woman even owned a can opener was slim, but the whispering had to stop. ....
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It felt like all the attention was on me, that I was the woman crying over dropped salmon; that I was the one who was displaced, different. Seeing a person so awkward and unsure with themselves made me uneasy, for I was a clone of society. I blended well.....
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I steered her towards the checkout, shielding her from view, and didn’t breathe properly till her and her shopping trolley house were leaving the car park, salmon in tow. ....