Chance Encounter – Nadine Michel

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer

041 imagesThe male check-out-chick was young, 16 maybe 17. He looked a bit shy.

“How are you today?“ he asks.

“Good“.

He pauses and keeps scanning.

“Have you had a busy day?“ he asks.

“Not too bad thanks“, I reply.

He pauses again, I feel uncomfortable. It’s hot, a January heat-wave in Melbourne. I better ask something. I just want to get the shopping done, I am tired, I want to get home, another dinner to prepare. God!

“Do you have a long shift today? I ask.

“Oh, I started at 5, not too long, just four hours, it’s ok.“

“Are you heading back to school soon, year 12 maybe or into Uni?“ I ask.

“I’m going into year 11.“

“Do you live nearby, what school?“

“I go to Fairbank, it’s not a very good school.“ he keeps scanning, I have a lot of groceries.

My ears prick up, I am always interested in high school reports, for my son’s future education, and in contradiction I had heard some good reports about Fairbank.

“Have you been there long?“ I ask

“Only six months, my Mum moved here from England with me and my sister. That’s her standing over there, she’s really annoying. He cocked his head slightly over his left shoulder. I glanced over but noone was obviously there.

“Oh, I can’t hear an accent.“

“Yeh, I think I lost it pretty quickly, a lot of people say that.“

With the risk of prying I ask, “Does your Mum work?“

“She’s a nurse, that’s why we moved, nurses get paid like three times more here than in England. We might not stay here anyway, we are just trying it out, Mum says we might move to Brisbane or New Zealand.“

I was getting the sense this kid and his family were chasing something or running away from something. I looked at him, dare I ask?

“So, your Dad stayed behind in England?“ I think I already knew what he was going to say.

He scanned the dips, “Dad died six years ago.“

“Oh, I’m sorry.“

He scanned my last item and said, “Oh that’s ok.“

Have you ever wondered how your interactions wth someone may influence their future? I get the feeling it can be profound, powerfully positive or incredibly damaging. It often goes unrecognised. Everyone has a story, has a past. People are the way they are for a reason. Give someone some ear time, some listening time to tell their story and you’d be amazed at what they have to say, how they open up.

The boy had a brief moment to watch the lady walk away pushing her trolley full of recycled shopping bags. The next shopper was placing their groceries on the belt.

“How are you today?“ he asked.

“Good“

“Had a busy day today?“ he asked.

“Not really.“

Why do I bother he thought, I’m not seen, I’m just a means to an end. Get the food, pay, get out of here. They don’t see me as a person. Do they know my story? I have a story. They have a story. Do I care about their story? Maybe. Where is my story going, what is the next chapter. It may be shaped by how I am treated. Maybe if they knew this they would think again. Common curtesy, a smile, polite talk, eye contact god forbid would be nice.

He left work at around 9.15pm. It was dark outside, warm though, January heat. A walk of about 20 minutes home. Mum would be waiting and his sister most likely home. To get home he had to walk past forest. He had planned this, the timing, the forest. Not how he felt though, that could never be planned. He thought the feelings were confirmed, the lack of hope, the loneliness, the loss.

He got closer to the forest, the tall dark trees. Tallest in the Southern Hemisphere they say. Amazing. Why was he feeling less than sure?

All the customers, they hardly noticed him. They didn’t really care how he was. He was just Aaron the boy check-out-chick. He was young, what intersting story could he possibly have? He felt his backpack on his back, heavy, a little uncomfortable, it didn’t sit well. He thought of his Mum, she worked hard and the move had been hard. He hated school, he knew he would fit in better somewhere else. Life in the family had changed since his father died. His Mum was trying to find the best place to settle. Running away maybe, but he couldn’t run much more, he wanted, he needed a foundation.

He took off his back pack and put it on the grassy embankment at the edge of the forest. He unzipped the bag and took out the rope. He thought again of the lady with the recycled grocery bags. She took the time to look at him, she asked more questions than usual. She said, “I’m sorry to hear that.“ She seemed to actually mean it too. He looked into the dark trees, the warmth was so nice, so comfortable. Not like England, it’s too cold there.

He zipped up the bag and stood up. He breathed hard, deeply and let out a big sigh. Maybe he would see how it went, another day that is. Maybe another lady will make eye contact and seem interested. Mum will be up, lights on, waiting for him. He started walking, another ten minutes and he’d be home.

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