Chapter One

The hardest part about shoplifting is the idea that I am perpetuating the stereotype attached to my race. I don’t think of myself as a bad person. I just think I’m a person that has to do bad things. Whenever the need arises for me to slip a chocolate bar or two into my oversized black hoodie, I comfort myself with the idea that one day when I have a yacht and three houses situated in Malibu I’ll pay all these stores back. That’s what gets me through this, thoughts of a better life.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Is there anything I can help you with?” a perky voice rang yanking me from my delusions. She had a wide smile plastered on her face, one of those customer service ‘friendly’ smiles that led you to believe they were genuinely happy to help you with a query but in reality, I’m sure they just wanted to smoke a blunt or something. Beyond that smile however, I sensed that she was slightly suspicious.

“Yes! The other day I believe it was Monday, my man and I were watching TV, right? And this ad about a new yogurt that’s a cross between strawberries, pineapple and vodka came on. It looked so dope, I think it was called Yogurt Supreme or Yogurt Madness. Do you have that here?”

Her confusion was very apparent, “Uh, I don’t think so. Well I mean, I’ve never heard about it-”

“My friend got it here last week, she said a cute blonde chick helped her find it.” Sarah’s, according to her name tag, face lit up in recognition and jealousy rolled off her in waves.

“Of course, I’ll inquire about it for you. Give me a minute please,” with quick, determined steps she headed towards a door labelled ‘Staff Only’. That was also my cue. I made my way for the closest exit trying not to appear as nervous as I felt. No matter how many times I did this, I never got used to it. The thrill, the adrenaline, the rush it was always the same.

As leisurely as possible, I strolled towards the exit and concentrated on my breathing, my blinking, and my fidgety hands. Just a few more steps. A couple more steps… two more…one more.

“Can I see your receipt?”

“What?”

“You need to show me your receipt before you leave the store ma’am?”

“Oh…I didn’t buy anything.”

The man before me frowned and glanced at the bag that I didn’t realize I had been clutching tightly. “Weren’t you aware that you’re supposed to leave all bags at the front there?” he pointed to a counter in front of him.

“Oh,” I forced a laugh trying to ease the tension but it just came out as a nervous giggle. “I didn’t-”

“Can you hand me your bag, ma’am?” To hell with the question mark because he basically grabbed the bag out my sweaty palms and began searching though the remnants of it. Immediately my anxiety sky rocketed.

It must have been illegal for personnel to take and search my belongings like this. If I wasn’t guilty I would have already been going off about stereotypes and racism. I gazed down at the security officer searching my bag and I managed to put on a look of disapproval despite my inner feelings. “You know, you’re the second person to harass me since entering this store. I have a lawyer friend-”

He handed me my bag having come up with nothing among its fragments. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” rather coldly and I got the impression he was somewhat disappointed.

I nodded, refused the urge to stick out my tongue at him and left the store. I always parked pretty closely to the Exit doors, just in case I ran short on luck that day. It did feel like my luck was running out, today had been a close one. My anxiety was still on an understandable high but on top of that, my stomach was growling more fiercely than Mufasa. I needed to eat but not in the parking lot. I fled the scene of my crime and headed towards the community park, my go to location.

The park wasn’t far, it was about five minutes from the supermarket. Knowing that I was still in such close proximity to Sarah the rightfully suspicious but jealous brunette and the racist security officer who despite being half my height wanted to appear like the biggest person in the store, instilling his authority on non-suspecting customers made me want to throw up.

I sighed. A long and dreary sigh, it was both a sigh of relief and frustration. Would I have to be stealing like this the rest of my life?

I zipped down my jacket and stared at the couple of chocolate bars I’d just recently acquired resting against my stomach. I followed all the rules of basic shoplifting and still barely escaped. I sighed again and resisted the urge to shed tears. I hated stealing, I hated feeling like a bad person, I hated living in constant anxiety.

Grrr-rrr That was my stomach telling me to stop bitching and eat the goddamn chocolate bars. My stomach didn’t care about morals, as long as food was present it didn’t matter how we came by it.

I grabbed two chocolate bars, an almost empty bottle of water, my phone and my keys. My anxiety almost immediately receded once I stepped out the car. The community park was my happy place. It wasn’t real fancy or anything but it provided me with a sense of calm that I couldn’t get in my vehicle. I headed towards my favourite bench where an elderly lady sat feeding the pigeons. Very cliché scenario, I know, but cliché isn’t always a bad thing. I found comfort in the familiar.

“More chocolate bars I see,” the lady chuckled to herself. Her laugh reminded me of tea, framed pictures of Jesus and most of all, being overfed and over pampered. “I’ve never seen you eat anything else and you’re here at least two times a week!”

I smiled for the first time today. “Do you want one?”

“Oh no! That ain’t good for me, heart problems you know? The doctor said I need to stay away from the sugars and the fats.”

“A doctor told my grandmother the same thing and she eats her pie real regular. Stubborn old thing.”

At that, she laughed so loudly a couple of birds flew away. The authenticity and joy that surrounded this woman was intoxicating. I couldn’t help but envy her. The last time I felt such raw, unfiltered happiness had to be at least two or three years ago.

I dug into my chocolate bars and finished them all in only a matter of minutes. I barely tasted them, I just obeyed my stomach’s will and stuffed them all down as quickly as I could. I finished my bottle of water too.

“It’s strange that I’ve never seen you around the community except in this park.” It wasn’t a question but I think she expected a response. Her happiness had disappeared leaving only mere concern etched at her features. When I didn’t say anything, mostly because I didn’t want to lie to this sweet old lady and I more so couldn’t reveal the truth, she sighed and peered at me with little black eyes examining me from head to toe. I knew what she must be thinking, I wore the same clothes every time she saw me, I was always hungry and she only ever saw me here on this bench or in my car.

I squirmed quite uncomfortably. This is why I don’t make friends, they become a little too observant and start asking questions. I sat there staring at a couple kids trying to get a blue kite out of a tree. After a few attempts, one of them began crying and the others looked so defeated that they sat under the tree picking at the grass.

My stomach growled again, quite loudly I might add and my cheeks flushed. I glanced at the old lady across from me to evaluate her expression but she had gone back to feeding the birds. I clenched my teeth and for the second time today, I fought back tears. One thing I hated more than crying was crying in front of people.

I closed my eyes, willing the tears back and I managed to suppress them for a while. I only opened them when the lady began talking. “My granddaughter, cutest thing, just turned nine! I like that age, its right before they head into the dreaded hormonal years and they forget all about their parents and grandparents. Anyway, when I told her I was going for a walk today she insisted that she make me these sandwiches. To appease her, I told her sure. Surprisingly they’re really good but she made way too many!” She chuckled again and my sadness began to dissipate. The love for her granddaughter basically radiated through her smile, I couldn’t help but smile as well.

“That’s sweet,” I managed to say before she stood up. “Well, there’s Katherine. Right on time as always,” she glanced at her pocket watch. “You enjoy the rest of your day sweetie.”

I smiled at her and watched as she made her way to her daughter who had already stepped out the vehicle rushing to assist her mother. She had so much worry and concern instilled into her energy I was anxious for her to leave the park. The old lady wasn’t having it, she resisted her daughter’s help and made her way to the car on her own. I watched the car drive away suddenly feeling lonelier than ever.

I was about to leave the park as well when I saw a container on the side of the bench where the old lady once sat. Upon examining the container, I found four meticulously made cheese sandwiches. I do remember seeing the old lady with this container on prior visits.

I opened the container and engulfed all four sandwiches in one go. ‘Eat like a lady, Samara.’ That was my mother’s voice. This memory appeared whenever I ate too quickly or too messily.

‘Why do I have to eat properly for other people to judge me?’

‘Because you look so unsightly when you eat like that!’

‘You never tell Stefan to eat properly,’ I mumbled under my breath.

She rose her eyebrows daring me to continue. I sighed and put my plate in the wash. ‘I don’t get why you have all these rules that only apply to me, mom.’

‘You’ll understand when you’re happily married,’ she sang with a dreaminess in her eye.

‘You mean like how you’re happily married?’ I regretted the words as I said them. My mom was fast, before I could apologize she was across the room beating the living daylights out of me.

My fists clenched at the memory. I always had a love/hate relationship with my mother but the hate side escalated when I finished high school and I decided I didn’t want to go to university. She was understandably upset. But I think what sent her off the rails was when I couldn’t give her a solid reason.

‘It just doesn’t feel right. Every time I think about it, I get this feeling of dread and anguish and… I don’t know mom. I think I have a different calling, something other than school.”

She slumped into the sofa holding her head. She stared into nothingness and I stood by the doorway waiting for the backlash.

She didn’t scream nor shout at me that day. I remember feeling a sense of calm as I assured myself that she’d gotten over it. I smiled now and shook my head. Silly of me to think so highly of my mother especially since I had a very high intuition for sensing other people’s feelings. For the next few months, she became the worst version of a mother a mother could be. Her words cut me like knives each day until I almost bled to death. As a mother, she knew the very worst things to say to me and she held nothing back.

She reminded me every day that I was a waste of space.

She told me that I was a mistake from the beginning and she stills regrets having me.

She constantly described how ugly I was to her, my big nose, my dark skin, my nappy hair.

She called me stupid and several times asked why I hadn’t given up on life as yet.

Each day, her hatred and resentment for me escalated. I knew it was just a matter of time until something ugly happened as a result. One day when I came home late from work she cornered me at the end of the staircase.

‘You was at that boy’s house again.’

I tried to get past her and into my room but she wouldn’t let me go upstairs. ‘Answer me, bitch. Where you at that boy’s house again?’

I glared at her. Nineteen years old and I still wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend. ‘It’s just eight o clock,’ I said to her.

‘Yeah and your work finishes at four. I sure as hell didn’t ask you to run any errands for me, so, where were you?’

‘Mom, please I’m tired-’

‘Answer me! Were you at that boy’s house again?’

I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes shut and nodded reluctantly. I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. The sensation of her hand across my face had me facing her shoes. I yelled in agony but, as always, she was fast. She kicked me in my stomach. I gasped for air as my lungs emptied clean. I barely caught my breath before I saw her leg lounge for my face. Quickly, I stood up and the impact of her miss almost caused her to topple over. That angered her and she reached for my throat.

‘You are a selfish little bitch! Selfish! Selfish! Selfish!’ She was crying now. ‘Off making babies when you aren’t much of anything yourself. You’re such a waste, trying to make more waste. But you expect me to raise them, don’t you?” It was getting more and more difficult to comprehend what she was saying as I lost air.

I didn’t remember much of what happened next. Looking back, I know I had thought to myself how shitty it was to die at the hands of the same person that birthed me. I remember how quickly I had accepted my fate. I was ready for death. Even now, it surprised me how quickly I had accepted death. Maybe I wanted to die all along.

All of a sudden, sharp air filled my lungs and the clichéd white light disappeared. I opened my eyes to find that something held my mother tightly around her waist, ankles and wrists. Tears, I didn’t realize were there, prevented me from seeing exactly who or what just saved my life. I just lay on the floor, gasping for air and willing my uncooperative muscles to stand.

That was when my brother decided to come downstairs. “What the hell is all this ruckus?” he whined.

I couldn’t see his facial expression but I…felt his unwavering fear.

Even in death had I not felt such fear.

That’s when my mind began processing my surroundings. Or rather, I forced myself to process what was happening around me.

One. My ears tuned in. My mother was screaming. My brother was also screaming.

Two. My sight kicked in.

And that’s when I saw what my brother had seen.

My ringtone jolted me from my thoughts. “Hello?”

“Hey Mara, I thought you said you were going to stop by.” The anxiety in his voice was painfully obvious.

I glanced at the time on my phone and withheld a gasp. Had I really sat on this bench for a whole two hours? “Oh yeah, I’m on my way now.”

He hung up before responding, his usual way of ending a phone call.

***

Al opened the front door on my first knock.

“Hey,” he had a goofy smile on his face.

“Hey,” I returned his smile.

He hadn’t changed much. Al was attractive in an unconventional way, in a Tumblr kind of way. He was blessed with a smooth red-gold complexion that I often envied. He was rocking that fuckboy haircut, shaved at the sides and long on the top. His facial hair in desperate need of a fade but somehow the look complemented him. He wasn’t a fuck boy though, he was one of those guys that constantly had you laughing, he was goofy in the cute kind of way. His overall energy is welcoming it’s easy to see why I am drawn to him.

He invited me into his apartment with a quick, stumbled gesture. I could tell he was nervous, he usually greeted me with a hug.

His apartment wasn’t the big, fancy types. It was quite compact with a single bedroom that barely held his double bed and closet. The bathroom was pretty tiny, no more than one person could occupy that room at a time unless one was in the shower. The living room, dining room and kitchen are one. It would’ve probably been a cozier home if he didn’t line the floors, the walls, the furniture and any available space with his art pieces. Even though his art added to the Tumblr apartment aesthetic vibe it often felt too clustered. The only redeeming quality of this place was the view that overlooked the sea offering tremendous sunsets that you’d find him recreating on several canvases nearby the window.

He moved some of his paintings from the sofa to the kitchen counters that already seemed to have about a thousand pictures resting there.

“Dude, it’s okay. I’m not staying long anyway.”

His jaws clenched. He relaxed quickly and a bit forcibly.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked, genuine concern plastered on his face.

I shrugged. “I’ve been all right, I suppose… How about you? How’s your art going?”

He frowned, he could always tell when I lied. It’s an artist thing, he was in touch with his emotions and everyone else’s too. Or at least that’s what he said. He stood quietly waiting for me to tell him the truth.

“What do you want me to stay? I live in my car, I steal to survive… how do you think I’m doing?”

“That’s on you Samara, you could’ve stayed here.”

I rolled my eyes, “You made it hard to do that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah! With your art that lines the floor like tiles and… you know what else.” I looked away now, I hadn’t intended on bringing that up.

The anger from his face dissipated replaced with hurt, “That isn’t my fault.”

So present tense, huh? Nothing has changed.

Al’s been a bestfriend since high school and even when his mother decided to move to a new city, we texted regularly. I thought it would be no problem to crash with him when I got to this city and it wasn’t, at first. Even though the apartment was really small, we made it work. We blended very well together so it never really felt like I was in his hair. Blended so well in fact, that we began having sex.

It sort of just happened, you know? I was chilling on his bed one night, as we always do, watching TV, and making fun of the clichéd movie lines. I’m not sure how we ended up being so close to each other, but suddenly I was incredibly aware of his presence next to mine. His body heat, his beating heart and his breath on my lips. I knew what my body wanted and I acted on it.

I hadn’t had sex in months. The sex was great, he explored and handled my body as beautifully as he did his art.

Our relationship was a bit difficult to sum up with a label, so we didn’t label it. We were just roommates or friends that enjoyed each other’s bodies. Or so I thought until he blurted out ‘I love you’ and not bedroom talk either. We were just chilling one night, smoking a blunt. He immediately told me to forget it, that it was just something he said in his high, but we’d been smoking together since high school and I’d never once heard him say that.

How can you ignore when someone told you they loved you? I lived with him for crying out loud. It wasn’t easy, things got awkward fast and that was the end of occasional sex sessions. that was when the apartment had begun to feel small. Eventually I just left.