I get to the supermarket, some guy approaches to see if he could borrow my phone. After two wary ‘noes’, I’m his third option, and none of us have passed the entrance yet. So I ask what happened, and he rushes: ‘I was drinking and smoking, and my phone was stolen. Probably the friend I was with knows something.‘ To me, this sounds like his words also got stolen by the guilt now holding my phone. I nod and silently hope he remembers the number he is trying to call.
After much stuttering of his fingers, he finally makes the call, and someone answers. He says his phone has been stolen to get a quick hang-up as his night bumps into my nose. I get my phone back. To my eyes, that call and none at all looked the same, yet his anxiety dims —He looks beat, though.
We’re still at the entrance, so I ask if he needs anything else —water or food, I figured—, nothing, he replies. Suddenly, his eyes caught up to our encounter and I noticed that, for the first time, he had a real question for me. But he is quick to pump the brakes on whatever got him curious and, instead, he said: are you single or married? Married, I replied as I started to walk away. His eyes seemed to keep chasing something inside but the words that come out in the end wrap it all up: respect your wife, he says nicely, as giving me advice.
I wandered around the hesitation in his wrapped-up eyes while making groceries. What woke his curiosity? What dissuaded him from sharing it with me?