Misconstrue

"SEVEN years. Why seven?

I look back at the loaded shelves with a sigh as I carelessly throw a bottle of Jerk seasoning in my small basket. I reach for a bottle of dried thyme leaves. The small bottle is also tossed in with the rest of spices I've picked up.

A small frown occupies my face as I keep my eyes focused on the contents of my basket. I also begin to think about how I ended up at the supermarket in the first place. It's actually my turn to do the grocery shopping but I've been putting that off since the supermarket is not where I want to be on any evening. 

Supermarkets are always filled with people. And I know, it's obvious that people would be at a supermarket in numbers since they need food for sustenance. But being around people makes me jittery, the aisles aren't even that big so you're definitely going to bump into someone.

And what am I supposed to do when a fellow shopper is standing directly before the thing I want? It's bad enough that my throat seems to close up when I have to talk to strangers, so if Ben's not with me I'd stand in my spot until that person moves.

The worse part of coming to the supermarket is the cash registry. If I have more than fifteen items then I begin to panic just a bit, since that means I won't be able to use the self-checkouts and so I'm stuck with a cashier asking about my day.

I hate the supermarket and everyone in it.

"Save some for the rest of us?" The packet of cayenne pepper falls to the floor as a voice startles me.

My eyes meet his as I turn to the right, the man smiles mischievously at me then points to my basket filled with spices. I give the stranger's body a quick once over, there's a small dimple by the right corner of his lip, his skin is free of any blemish, and the waves in his hair are definitely on swim or whatever it is that Internet people say these days.

"I'm not weird person I swear." He laughs at that as he reaches for a bottle of black pepper.

"If I don't have enough spices and seasoning when I'm cooking then I won't be happy."

Balei you idiot, just shut up.

The handsome stranger nods then give me his undivided attention. "That's normal in most African households."

I raise an eyebrow at his assumption. "I'm not African." His smile widens. "Well, I'm not from Africa but I'm a descendant of stolen Africans, I think."

He laughs, it's a pretty sound and I relax instantly. "You're from the Caribbean." I nod my head and he stretch his hand. "I'm Christopher."

I shake his hand firmly. "Balei." 

He hums. "Interesting name." He grabs a bottle of nutmeg then looks at me. "Good luck with dinner, Lady Spice."

I laugh at that and he does the same, with nothing else to say to each other we turn and go in the opposite direction. I quickly reach for my phone and as discreetly as I can be I smile widely in the screen.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot no sign of any pieces of food lingering in places where they shouldn't be. I pocket the phone then continue on with the gruesome task of shopping while checking how much time I'll need to spend waiting for an Uber.

The part I've been dreading since walking in this God-awful place has finally arrived. The line-up at the cashier is too much for me to handle, but I have no other choice since there's no way I want to return in two weeks' time. 

I occupy myself by going through a few notes I have stored on my phone, the exam at St. Andrew's is fast approaching, and if I want to remain then I have to prepare as thoroughly as I can.