Brushed

For the elderly pensioner, it was just another morning at the local shopping centre.

As always, her list was short. Now that she was on her own, her needs were modest. In fact, since his passing, her life had been modest; both modest and simple. She was grateful that despite her age she could still get about, still catch up with friends. Although, for a while now she had been feeling a sense of emptiness. Whenever this notion made itself felt, she had pushed it away. After all, it was only the silliness of an old woman. She looked down at her list again. She was almost done. One more item in isle four. Using her trolley as both a trolley and a walking frame, she headed back to the shelves of canned foods. She was trying to remember the colour of the can she liked. Once there, she looked up and found it. She stood still for a moment.

The girl packing shelves could see that the old woman was troubled. She went forward and asked, “Can I help you with something?”

“That’s kind of you, dear.” She pointed. “Yes, the cans of crushed tomatoes, up there, with the red label. Just one, thank you.”

The girl reached up and grabbed one. She smiled as she placed it in the trolley. Momentarily, their hands brushed.

She went back to her stacking, oblivious of the old lady watching her with eyes that were watering. That feeling came over her once again. She stood, pretending to read her list, but remembering. More accurately, trying to remember the last time she had been touched. Touched, by anyone.

It had been her grandson, months ago, holding his hand, looking at a small paper cut…

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