Beneath the Bridge

AI generated picture

The middle-aged man looked around frantically; beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and his hands jittered even though he tried to keep calm. His Adam's apple bopped as he swallowed, he just had to reach out and grab the pack of sanitary pads seated on the shelf staring at him, he thought. No one would see him. Late last night, his thirteen-year-old daughter had seen her period for the first time, and because they could not afford sanitary pads, she had to tear up one of her clothes to use. Today, she needed a change, but she couldn't afford to tear up any more clothes because she had only two pieces of clothing left.

The man swallowed again, glaring at the purple-colored pack in front of him. It was so close, yet seemed so impossible to reach. He looked behind him; there was a woman with a cart behind him; her cart was full; she picked up a big bag of oats and dropped it in her cart; the man dropped his eyes and wondered when was the last time he had eaten such food. Overhead, soft music could be heard from the speakers, and the aisle in front of him stretched a distance with shelves on both sides stacked with groceries. The one in front of him carried rows of soap bars, body oils, cosmetics, and female toiletries. People passed by and glanced at him weirdly.

He put his face down so they wouldn't see it. Then, slowly, he lifted it again and glared at the purple packet in front of him. His hand went up then dropped down again. He turned and looked around to be sure no one was looking. Every second that passed by brought him closer to what his daughter needed so badly, yet it seemed as though it was so far away. He shifted closer and wondered if there were hidden cameras on the shelves or in the ceilings. He could just grab the pad and head for the door, he thought. But what about the security guards at the door? He questioned. Then he put his hands behind him, walked slowly down the aisle to the other end, and took a peep at the security point. There were two men stationed there, checking receipts at the door. He bit his lower lip and turned around, circling the shelf, then walked back the other way. On the way, he picked up a cart and acted like he was shopping, touching and looking at products as he walked. Then he came out at the other end and came back to where the sanitary pads were. Slowly, he reached out his hand to pick it up when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hello, sir.”

He turned, it was a little girl, about eight years old. He almost cried out in relief. “Hello,” he said, smiling uneasily.

“Please can you tell me where I can get sardines?” she asked, staring up intently at him.

“Oh,” he stammered. “I _ah don't know, but you should ask the attendants.” He said pointing in front of him.

She nodded and smiled, “thank you, sir,” she said and walked past. A middle-aged woman came following almost immediately; the man hadn't seen her standing there, but he assumed she was the girl's mother. The woman gave a modest bow as she passed and smiled; the man smiled back and noticed her cart was packed full, too. He wondered how the world could be so good to some people, and to some others, utterly cruel. He and his daughter lived under a bridge, his impoverishment could be seen clearly by how he looked: a pair of faded black trousers that had been stitched at the bottom severally, so much it looked squeezed, and a dirty-looking blue shirt beneath a dusty brown jacket which was torn at the collar and the sleeves. He had to fold the sleeves to conceal it. On his feet were two different colors of rubber slippers; he had picked them up from the garbage a week ago when he and his daughter had gone scavenging for discarded clothes and food leftovers. He looked at himself and sighed, then turned to see if anyone was behind him.
His daughter must be wondering what's wrong by now, he thought. He had promised her he'd be back shortly, and that he would bring her a pack of sanitary pads.

“Excuse me, sir, is there something you need?”

He turned abruptly, it was one of the supermarket attendants. “No,” he responded, shaking his head. “I'm just looking for which brand of pads I should get for my daughter, she's quite sensitive,” he concluded, nodding.

“Okay, I could help you with that.”

“No, don't worry, I got it,” he said and turned away. The attendant lingered for a while, so he picked up the different packs of pads and pretended like he was checking out the different brands. At last, the young lad walked away and he slowly dropped the pack he was holding on the shelf. Then on a second thought, he picked it up slowly and pushed it under his jacket. Slowly he walked to where some carts were stacked up and dropped the empty cart he had been holding all this time. Then turned on his heels and slowly began to walk towards the exit. He reached where the security personnel were,

“Did you purchase anything, sir?” One of them asked, looking at him suspiciously.

He shook his head and showed his hands, “no I didn't,” he replied.

They looked at him and opened the door for him since other customers were already queuing up behind him to exit. Immediately he was out of the door, he began to walk fast, then a little distance from the gate, he bolted. As he ran, he heard some men begin to shout,

“Catch that man! Thief! He's getting away! Catch him!”

He didn't look back, nor did he stop until he was under the bridge where his daughter lay, calling out his name and wriggling in pain.

Mmeyene Joseph