Silver / clay

⊱ 23 ⊰

The shopping trolley seemed to have a mind of its own. The front wheel spun on the spot and it wouldn't stay still even after coming to a stop. Thankfully the cart was still empty.

The place itself was just as sparse at this time of day, which gave Caleb the option of stopping at the end of each aisle to study the shelves. The layout was different to his regular store, and it was taking him a while to catch up. As he manoeuvred past the back end of aisle three he stopped and stared. But it wasn't the products on the shelves taking his focus. His gaze rested beyond them, to the cash registers.

He hissed heavily, realising only now that he'd been holding his breath, and returned to his search. It didn't take much longer to find the rice, but lifting the heavy bags proved more of a challenge.

"Have they changed what five kilo weighs?" he said, to himself, only partially joking.

His arms were thinner than he remembered. He'd have to find other ways to supplement his diet. He backed up, heaving the trolley along one side just to make it move straight, scanning the tickets for chicken, beef, pork, anything that might contain protein. The prices for them all seemed exorbitant, at least when multiplied and compared to the rice. Still, there were other ways of achieving the same result that didn't entail taking money from Amala's pocket.

The trolley slowly crept away until it came to rest partly inside aisle three. Once Caleb retrieved it, he looked toward the front end once more. The checkout operator, head down, scanned a customer's groceries, taking brief moments to push the glasses back up his nose. Caleb gripped the trolley handle and, slowly, to the soundtrack of distant beeps, shepherded its contents up the aisle. A few customers passed by, obscuring his view, but the rest of the time his eyes were fixed on the checkout operator. He stopped at the tip of the aisle, relying purely on his peripheral vision to spot obstacles, before lining up in a queue behind an over-filled basket.

The beeps were louder, now. Caleb studied the man causing the noise. He looked different under the bright lights of a supermarket, and without his shimmering metallic shirt.

"Would you like to come to register two?" said a woman's voice to his side.

The older man struggling with the basket turned, but it wasn't directed at him. And she was already moving into position before Caleb spoke.

"No," he said, "that's OK."

She gave him a strange look. "I can serve you now," she said, used to customers acting a little slow.

"I'm fine," said Caleb. "Did you want to...?"

The older man scooped up the scraps he'd already placed on the conveyor belt and, nodding at the reprieve, hastened to the other line.

With a burst of strength Caleb hoisted his bags of rice from the trolley. As the cashier finished with another customer, Caleb took the opportunity to check out the name tag on his chest.

"Hello, how are you?"

"I'm OK, Marcus, how about you?" said Caleb, studying the man's expression for a twitch. He knew what it was like for the general public to call you by name, and hoped to elicit just that response.

"Good, yes," said Marcus, without missing a beat. "Thanks for asking."

He spoke with an unusual accent, like it aspired to be proper English but without the pretensions. Or any expectations at all. It irritated Caleb. Who did he think he was?

"Lot of rice," said Marcus.

"Is it?" said Caleb.

"Actually I don't know," said Marcus. "How much do you normally have in one go? I don't remember the last time I had any. Mum doesn't like it or some such."

The reference to his mum softened Caleb's taut stance. This wasn't just a symbol but a real person with real relationships to others, not just Amala. A real life with real feelings.

"What's it like?" said Marcus.

For a moment Caleb thought he meant the relationship with Amala. But the man's eyes were stuck on the bags of rice.

"Cheap," said Caleb, brightening his face.

Marcus snickered.

"And it lasts a while," said Caleb.

"I'll have to start thinking about that, soon." He finished scanning the bags and looked up into Caleb's eyes. "I plan on moving out. Still living with the folks."

The last word seemed strange coming out of that mouth. But it did explain the expensive house.

"Living with parents provides a good base," said Caleb. "Are you sure you want to leave?"

"It's time," said Marcus. "I'm finishing uni, you know, and once I get a job--" He stopped to look around at his current workplace. "A career, that is, I want to be independent."

Caleb mulled that one over. He wouldn't call his own life independent, in that its whole purpose was to provide for Amala, not his own whims, and yet this man was hoping to live for himself?

"But is it what's best?" said Caleb.

Marcus took his own moment to contemplate a response. "You know, I'm not completely sure. It's what you're meant to do, though, right?"

"The world is shaped by men who bucked the trend and didn't live how they were meant to," said Caleb.

"I suppose you have a point," said Marcus. "But I don't want to just sit around doing nothing."

"Oh, you still have a purpose," said Caleb. "Once you discover what that is, it's your responsibility to succeed at that purpose. That's what it's all about."

"Hm, yeah," said Marcus, nodding, deep in thought. "Oh, sorry, there's another--"

A customer waited patiently in line. Caleb took hold of his trolley and shifted away, the troublesome wheel still causing him to veer off track.

"But thanks for the chat," said Marcus, before he'd gone. "Really thought provoking."