Flights of Fancy

I hear a light jingle from where I am standing in the back of the small bright shop. Running my hand through my tousled brown hair, I weave around the tall stands bursting with candy of all shapes and sizes, hurrying to greet my customer. My gaze flies directly above the child’s head as I prepare to chirp out a friendly welcome to a parent - but she is alone. Dumbfounded, I stand with my mouth half open, goggling at the serene figure before me. No more than seven years old, she has round, pale blue eyes and strawberry blond hair that falls around her shoulders in tangled segments. The grubby grey coat she is wearing reaches down to her bare, scarred kneecaps and envelopes her tiny body entirely. The girl’s muddy left shoe sports a hole the size of her fist - I can see her toes peeking through it. Her slender white fingers tightly clutch a gold coin.

The corners of my mouth jolt upward into a grin as I become aware of the stony expression on my face. Her eyes widen in surprise and, examining the black-and-white tiles of the candy shop, she shuffles over to a display of taffy. I straighten my pinstriped apron and make my way back to the counter. Leaning on the stand, I start filling in an order form, to request several boxes of Caramello chocolates and Bubble Gum Cigars for next week. The child keeps her back turned to me and fumbles with something small in her hands. She reconsiders and puts the item back on the shelf before turning around and tip-toeing shyly in my direction. I note that she never lets go of the coin in her right hand as she walks along the candy-loaded wall, grazing her left hand over the top of FlipSticks, Goo Goo Clusters, Razzles and Pez dispensers. The stand with Curly Wurlys catches her eye and she stares up at the glossy wrappers, each holding a chewy caramel drizzled over with milk chocolate. She stretches out her arm and pulls down a bar, then drifts over to the cashier register. I smile expectedly at her as she stares down at her hands, one holding the Curly Wurly and the other clutching the coin. A minute drags by before she plops them both on the stand and gapes up at me, her eyes expressionless, her scrawny fingers grasping the countertop. I punch in the price on the cash register and hand her the brightly coloured plastic bag, containing the chocolate bar and three coins like the one she gave me.