See The Change

Really? Don’t they think I knew that? Having just cycled down in the rain and cold wind to get them bread for dinner and lunches. And in Dunedin, it wasn’t the rain that made it cold, it was the windchill. I shut the door and passed them the loaf of bread.  I could say they ‘fell’ upon it ravenously, but I noticed all the diner plates were nearly finished anyway. I walked up to my mother who thanked me. As I passed her the change she said, “Your dinners in the oven.” I smiled. ‘Go and wash your hands” She said in that standard motherly way. I went to the bathroom and washed my hands. I was really looking forward to the dinner. Particularly after having been outside in the cold.

Walking back to the kitchen I went to take my seat in front of hot dinner plate, just served from the oven. The gravy had dried out a little, but all smelt terrific. I looked up to smile my thanks and that was when I noticed my mother looking at the change. “Hold on,” She said quietly. Her querulous tone alerting me instantly, that something was wrong. “Where’s the rest of the change?” She asked. The chatter from the others stopped.

I did the momentary internal panic as I blithely lied. “There isn’t any. The bread was seventy cents.” I lied easily. She wouldn’t know the price of every loaf of bread from the shop. I foolishly conjectured in my head. She looked at me. “No, it’s not”. She said. “Yes”. I nodded. I smiled. My mother didn’t. I stopped smiling. She continued, “It does not cost seventy cents for a loaf of bread.” She said clearly annoyed. I guess I must have swallowed or something, because suddenly her look hardened. Then the voice sharpened as she asked. “What did you do with the rest?”

I looked at her. She looked at me. Obviously I looked guilty. At least that was how I was starting to feel. “Yes. The bread cost seventy cents.” I lied again. Her look seared into my conscience. “Really?” She questioned my response. “ Come here.” I looked down at the plate in front of me. So close. The aroma of the dinner, hot and warm, rising from the plate. “I said come here,” she repeated. You didn’t want her to repeat again or you had lost the situation completely. It wouldn’t matter what the outcome would be. I stood up from where I was sitting. The eyes of all the other children were on me. I walked to the end of the table. My mother holding out the change on her open hand. “How much was the loaf of bread?” she asked. “Seventy cents. You can ask the shopkeeper. He said it was seventy cents.” I pleaded as honestly as I could in my lie. You know the feeling don’t you. You’re lying so sincerely it almost feels like the truth. But it isn’t “Well, then, perhaps I should simply call the shop and ask then?” I must have gulped audibly.

 (Continued tomorrow)