© Bruce Goodman 22 May 2015
Trying to carry too many grocery bags (he should’ve used a trolley) Graeme somehow reached into his pocket to find the car keys.
He dropped the keys just as he was standing over a storm water grate. The keys plummeted down into the murky water.
He would phone his wife, Vera, but the phone was locked in the car.
The weather was hot. The frozen meat was defrosting; the ice cream was melting. Graeme put the bags of groceries on the ground next to the car. He burst into tears. It was the first time he had wept for years.
The truth was, his phone wasn’t in the car. It was in his pocket. He couldn’t phone his wife because she had walked out on him that morning. She’d taken the kids. That’s why he was doing the shopping on his own. Usually they went shopping together. He hoped she was alright.
A passer-by asked if anything was wrong.
“No, no, I’m fine thanks,” said Graeme.
But he wasn’t alright, was he? He was bloody terrible. He phoned the Automobile Association. They came and fixed up the car key problem.
Graeme drove home to the empty house.