Courage

The first thing I did was, I swore. After I had looked up, then down at my bag, then back up again. I expected that.

The next thing I did was, I ran. I didn't expect that.

It's crowded on the street but I run, and I shout. Loudly. I don't know where my voice comes from, it's low and strong and unprepared. It just comes out.

Stop him, I shout. Stop him.

But no-one does. They pause, too late, as he shoulders through them, a smallish figure in a hood, faceless, nameless.

Stop him, I shout, but I'm giving up as he gets further away.

Two boys with backpacks, fifteen years of age perhaps, pass me out.

Is that him? One of them calls, still running.

I call back yes, and watch as all three disappear into the shopping crowds on the next street.

I slow, stop, try to catch my breath, cheecks smarting. From the cold, from the shame. I remember to be embarrassed now, alone and without any money.

At the station, I give my name. The officer writes it down in biro on a sheet of paper. The sheet already has something else written on the back in red marker. Pinned to the notice board is a handwritten letter from a woman asking for her mother to be found. I stop hoping.

Another officer stops by, looks over at the paper.

We have that guy, he says. Two young fellas chased him the whole way. Can you hang on a few minutes?

They take a statement, in a small room with three chairs and a desk with a hole in it. Three different officers come in and out while I explain what happened.

Could you identify him? They ask.

They stand him up in the next room, his back to me so he can't see me. He seems taller now. One of the officers lifts his hood up to show me a logo on the sweatshirt back.

Can you say that's him? They ask.

I close my eyes, trying to remember. I can't see him. I can't see anything.

I have stolen many things before. Food, mostly, from one supermarket. I didn't even eat it most of the time, I would throw it away outside. I couldn't say now why I did it. Maybe because it was so easy.

Can you say that's him? They ask again.

I was never caught. I was well-dressed. I didn't run. I just picked it up and walked out. I've thought before about speaking to the supermarket now, offering to pay for what I took.

No, I say truthfully. I was running, I remember running. I can't remember what he looked like. I'm sorry.

But it's him, one officer says.

He looks at me, lowers his voice.

It is him, he says.

I see how easy it would be. If it weren't a small wallet, if there was more at stake.

I shake my head. I'm sorry, I say. I can't remember.

They are disappointed. They try not to show it.

I've thought before about going back to that supermarket.

I wonder what will happen to the boy.

I just don't have the courage.