The Prince and I - 1

Okay, so you’ve heard of ‘The King and I’, right? Well I’m for sure no school teacher and the ‘prince’, well he’s no king. In fact he’s not a prince---or maybe he is. Time will tell. Anyway, my name’s Richie Marino and here’s the lowdown on what happened. 

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I was walking up and down the aisles, fingering the change in my pockets. I figured I had enough for either a couple of frozen bean burritos or a can of tuna, plus a bag of apple slices if they were on sale. Not exactly a balanced diet but better than what I’d find in a dumpster. Of course with luck… I glanced up at the convex mirror in one corner of the small grocery store to see if the owner was watching. He wasn’t, so as quickly and stealthily as possible I picked up a box of instant soup, stuffing it into the inside pocket of my jacket. It was a tight fit but by squeezing it I got it in.

Opting for tuna, I got the cheapest can I could find and some raisins since they were cheaper than the apples. As I passed the grapes in the produce section I snagged a couple of them, popping them in my mouth, chewing and swallowing before I got to the checkout aisle.

The clerk eyed me warily as if afraid I’d make a grab for the cash in the drawer when she opened it. Not that I could blame her. I knew what I looked like in my old jeans with the knees almost worn through and a stained, dark hoodie under the tattered jean jacket. Even my backpack looked like I’d found in a trashcan.

Digging the change out of my pocket once the girl had rung up my purchases I carefully counted out what I owed her, sighing when I realized it left me with forty-three cents to my name. She bagged the items, which I put into the backpack, and then I walked casually out of the store.

Suddenly a hand grabbed my elbow, a male voice saying, “I think you forgot to pay for something.”

“No… no sir,” I stuttered, panic welling up. “I have the receipt right here.”

“Does it list the soup you picked up?”

I tried to pull free as I said in denial, “What fucking soup?”

“This soup,” the man spun me around, pulling back the edge of my jacket to reveal the soup box in the pocket. “And watch your language.”

My shoulders slumped and I lowered my eyes to stare at the man’s well-shod feet. “Are… are you going to call the cops?” I whispered.

“Now that all depends, boy.” When I kept my head down, the man ordered, “Look at me, boy.”

So I lifted my head, taking in the man who had caught me. He was older, probably thirty-five to forty I guessed. Good looking in a businessman way with short, dark well-styled hair and a two-piece suit.

“How old are you, boy?”

“Nineteen.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I am, I swear, I just look younger.”

The man nodded. “I’m going to let go of you but do not try to run. Understood?”

“Yes.” The man did as he’d promised and I tensed, ready to take off.

“I said don’t run. I might be older but I’m no slouch when it comes to chasing down thieves.”

“It was only a packet of soup, damn it.”

“And some grapes. I doubt the store’s owner, or the cops, would care how small the items are, it was still shoplifting.”

Sullenly I asked, “So now what.”