When Droplets Collide

Eleven

The threat of actually being force fed was enough to get my arm to impulsively grab the bag before I could even comprehend what I'd done. While I stare down at the bag in alarm at what my body just did, Louie gives me an indecipherable look. The thought that his observant eyes might catch onto my biggest secret was what prompted me to do some damage control.

His eyebrow raise as I hug the brown paper bag to my chest and flash him a small smile.
“I’ve got to start heading home, but I’ll be sure to savour this on my way if it makes you feel happy.”

He lets out a small scoff and folds his meaty arms across his protruding stomach. “You better. It's a new muffin you haven’t tried yet. I'll quiz you on the flavours tomorrow and I expect answers.”
I smiled in spite of myself. “Is this part of my part time pastry lessons?”
“Of course. You better start heading home before it gets really late. Don’t worry about locking up,” he adds before I can protest. “I'll do it tonight.”

Instead of hiking the long route to the suburbia that is my home, I take the familiar detour that'll lead me further into the heart if the city.

If I'm going to make it in time for my curfew, I have to drop this off quickly.

So I hasten my steps, only pausing at intersections to glance down at the time on my phone. Unlike my usual trips into this part of the city, I don’t have time to be left alone with my thoughts. If I dwell on them, I'll slow down, and if I slow down then when I get home this impromptu visit will get me punished.

But to be honest, even if I don’t make it home in time, I wont regret visiting him. I’d rather be punished than waste food when I have the opportunity to get it to where it’s needed.

It isn’t until I'm met at a familiar crossroads that I halt my steady pace. Standing in the middle of the vacant street, I glance left and right at the two pavements on either side of me. In the large apartment building lies the sweetest old woman I've ever met. Not having seen her at all today, I find myself wondering for the second time in the span of six hours if she's okay, but a rustle from the other side of the street reminds me why I'm even here—in a neighbourhood half a city away from my own neighbourhood. With one last glance over my shoulder at the apartment building, I walk towards the back street before me.

His head snaps up as soon as I enter the darkened alley. He prefers this solitude from prying eyes, police sirens and nosy neighbouring hoodlums in search of an alley just like his. I pull down my hoodie and watch as the suspicion in his eyes disappears as if it were never there in the first place.

“No wonder you come during the day,” his creaky voice remarks. Crawling further out of his cardboard box, he adds, “I almost mistook you for a common criminal with those dark clothes.”

I flash him a small smile and bend down to his level. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I'm your meal ticket, remember? No more Mara means no more food.”
“I'm your food dumpster,” he corrects me. His eyes zone in on the paper bag in my outstretched hand before he wryly remarks, “and I see it's time to throw away more food. Twice in one day. That’s a new record.”

“I see you haven’t lost your wit in this cold.”
“And I see you haven’t been eating at all. Your face is slimmer than it was this morning.”
I roll my eyes and dangle the bag in front of his face. “Do you want the food or not?”

Instead of grabbing it like he did earlier, he eyes me beneath furrowed brows. “You still lying to your parents?”

I grab trade the empty lunch container in the corner of his box for the paper bag, thinking of a response that would save me a lecture from the old man. I finally settle on a curt, “Lying would imply that actual communicating takes place.”