Lucy-May Smith

Lucy-May Smith by Nerin Naidu

I made my way to the checkout at Woolworths complaining to myself about the price hikes and poorly stocked shelves.

I saw her then in front of me, unloading a few meager essentials.

She placed the divider after her groceries with gnarled fingers, smiling at me as she did so. Her oversized green checkered shirt, frayed at the sleeves covered her wrinkled, sun-burnt arms.

“Hope you had a good Christmas and New Year,” she remarked smiling brightly at me.

“Yes thanks,” I replied continuing to off-load my overflowing trolley.

“My daughter and her family left to Melbourne yesterday. Back to work for them, so it’s just me,” she added. The smile disappearing as suddenly as it appeared as she stood waiting for the young cashier to ring up her goods.

“That will be $67.51,” said the cashier.

The old lady blushed, looked at me embarrassed then replied with a slight stutter, “ I may need to take out the ummm bananas maybe”.

“$65.89” said the teller as she removed the items.

“And maybe the chicken and peaches,” the old lady said softly.

“ I have $46.80.”

She looked back at me, glancing at the growing heap I loaded onto the conveyer belt.

"I don't really need these extras," she said gesturing towards the excluded goods.

"I can't possibly eat that much anyway," she added.

"Sorry for the delay love," she smiled guiltily.

"All good!" I said.

"That will be $45.20," said the annoyed cashier.

The old lady rummaged through her faded, peeling leather wallet, counted out the required money to the last cent with trembling, semi-deformed fingers, handing this to the waiting teller.

Hunching forward, she picked up her recycled, floral bag and walked slowly away without glancing back at me.

The cashier rolled her eyes at me.

"She does this everytime she comes in," the cashier said ringing up my purchases hurriedly.

" She has no daughter in Melbourne, or any family to speak of."

I wheeled my 4-wheel-drive-trolley with difficulty towards the exit, looking out for the faded green checkered shirt, hoping I was not too late.

"Excuse me Mam, you left this behind," I said handing her a full paper bag.

I have never in my life received a gift as precious as the one I was given at that precise moment, a radiant smile of gratitude and the warm embrace of a stranger, that would lighten my load forever.