Made for Walking
- Louisa Prince
- Jul 16
- 4 min read
Flash fiction by Louisa Prince
After months of self-imposed seclusion, I longed for something, anything, to break the isolation of staying home with a baby.
I’d emerged from the cocoon of our apartment, craving the sun’s warmth on my face and bustle of people going about their day. Only now, with Jodie turning one did my confidence to journey out alone return.
Music played throughout the store — that syrupy type found in elevators. The supermarket was a world of neon green signs, wide neatly stacked shelves and bright fluorescent lights, all screaming their purpose.
I smiled when Jodie squealed, her tiny, clenched fists waving in excitement. Eyes wide, she scanned the colourful displays and shifting crowd from the green booster seat attached to my trolley.
A nearby couple strolled towards the first aisle, pausing to test samples of sugar-coated pastries from behind a make-shift stall before vanishing to mingle with other shoppers. It was only our local Woolies but for us it was an exotic destination — our own little adventure. We took it all in. The aroma of roasted chicken wafted across from the deli, joined by freshly baked bread. My stomach grumbled.
Shh … not on the list, I told myself, pushing past vibrant displays of this weeks’ specials. Sandwich wrap, instant coffee, and plastic containers sat alongside bags of confectionery.
I meandered up and down the aisles, checking against my list before adding items into the cart along the way.
The rising voices of the other shoppers broke through my haze, triggering vivid memories of the night before.
“I can’t do anything right … can I?” Mark screeched.
“Why can’t you just answer the question?”
In the background, a wailing baby and yowling cat punctuated our argument.
“You’re such a bloody control freak … I’ve done nothing to justify your paranoia and shouldn’t have to deal with your trust issues” His tone, sharp like vinegar, stung more than any punch. Words I’d heard before — from a time of mounting bills, and daily calls from debt collectors — back when gambling overshadowed our lives.
The knock at our door interrupted us.
“Is everything okay?” our neighbour asked.
“Of course.” Mark stepped forward, his voice calm. “Couples fight.”
I peered over his shoulder, offering the familiar words. “Sorry to interrupt your night.”
The old man smiled and nodded, but the shadow that flickered across his eyes told me he wasn’t sure.
Meanwhile, my husband’s actions mirrored the fox slinking away after stealing a chook from the henhouse.
Static emitted from the store’s speakers, a momentary reprieve that pulled me back to the present, resuming with a song that had a distinct retirement home vibe.
I approached the nearest checkout.
The constant beep of the registers greeted me, along with promises of awaiting human interaction; even if only from a stranger behind a counter.
“Oh, what an angel,” the cashier said.
I laughed, “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
Creases formed below her wrinkled eyes, and she chuckled. “Yes, I remember when mine were that young,” she said.
The woman scanned each item, occasionally pausing to chat with Jodie who sat perched in her seat, little legs kicking against the wire mesh of the trolley.
Great, she’s getting her all worked up — the little beggar will never fall asleep now.
“That’ll be two hundred, eleven dollars and forty-eight cents.” Her voice bought me back to reality.
I fumbled through my purse, retrieved my card, and handed it over. The woman tapped the card and we waited.
“Do you have another one?”
My gut twisted, and lumps formed in my throat. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. “Maybe if I put back some items?” I asked.
Heat spread along the back of my neck while I removed items, intensifying when double beeps emitted from the register — it wasn’t enough.
Emotions I’d been holding surged forward, threatening a flood of tears. I opened my phone to check my balance.
There it was: ‘Knox Tavern Gaming Room'. The grenade that blew my life apart.
I’m not paranoid. My mind whirled. You mongrel — you made me believe it was all in my head.
Jodie’s piercing cry followed, responding to my anguish but too young to understand the events unfolding. Through tears I leant forward, grabbed nappies, formula, milk, and toilet paper, along with a few cans of soup, and placed them in front of the cashier.
“I’ve only got enough for this,” I said.
She glanced at the conveyer belt, before her warm brown eyes met mine. “Are you sure?”
“Baby first,” I said.
My head lowered, I avoided her gaze while she slowly voided items from my bill. I looked up when she cleared her throat. The display lit up with the price and I swiped my card again, smiled and packed the tiny bag into my cart.
The speakers crackled behind me. “Attendance needed at check-out five.”
I moved towards the automatic doors, ignoring sideways glances from curious shoppers, and lingering doubt vanished. The phrase ‘Fool me once’ echoed in my head. It wasn’t just the groceries I’d be placing back on the shelf.
Louisa Prince is a self-proclaimed late bloomer living in Melbourne, Australia whose writing often focuses on family and health. An active member of The Society of Women Writers Victoria, her work has appeared in CafeLit Magazine, New Plains Review and has been long-listed for SWWV’s Margaret Hazard Short Story Award.
Image:
Groceries from Getty Images