The little boy was eyeing the row of long thin loaves of strawberry crème bread as if they were the most fascinating things he had seen. Oh, the bread looked yummy all right – baguette-like-breads with pink strawberry crème zig-zagged on the upper side and filled with ruby red strawberry jam.
He seemed to be about 5 years old, with unruly black hair and a serious face with cute little glasses. Noticing his interest, a spur-of-the-moment question popped from my mounth “Would you like to have that bread?”
He glanced up, looked at me for one second and quickly shifted his interest back to the bread.
“His mother is visiting the dentist over there,” the girl behind the counter provided, pointing her index finger at the dentist clinic across her stall.
I tried again, “That bread looks nice, isn’t it. Go ahead, pick one. I’ll pay for it”
He gave me more attention this time. “Mommy is in the clinic,” he said quietly, almost as if telling me that Mommy taught him not to take anything from a stranger.
I didn’t know the boy. I had no idea who the boy belonged to – but his cute serious face, his deep interest in the bread and him insisting on waiting for his Mommy and not to take anything from a stranger combined - made me even more determined to win him over. Even if it was just for over a loaf of strawberry crème bread.
I suddenly recalled - when I was his age, I was taught not to take things from strangers too. But once a long time ago, when I was about his age, I unexpectedly received a bar of chocolate and some candies from two nice strangers sitting in front of my grandparents and I in the train, on our way to visit my auntie in Port Dickson. I may have forgotten their faces but I remember thinking then that not all strangers are bad after all. They had no intention to kidnap, kill, or mutate me. They just wanted to share their delight with me then.
Returning to the present age, I found myself wanting to see the little boy's delighted face very much.
“Well, you can have that bread. I’ll pay for it. And I insist on it,” I persuaded.
He looked up again – looking a bit puzzled but half delighted. I took a loaf, immediately paid for it and offered it to him gently “Here, this is yours.”
For a moment, he just stared at the bread in my hand, nervously biting his lips. Then, he slowly reached out and took it hesitantly.
He gazed up, mumbled a shy “thank you” and gave me a wonderful, honest-to-goodness toothy grin often reserved for the rare occasion where an adult get to be hugged by a five-year-old-ruffled-haired-bespectacled-child. He didn't actually gave me any hug - but that grin was almost as good as it gets...
The bread costed me two ringgit.
The smile?
Priceless.
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