Just Enough

“Beep.” Mary moved the box of store brand Cheerios to the rollers. Next was the plastic bag of dried pintos, 16oz. “Beep.” Half a dozen day-old bread rolls. The small pile of items collected near the plastic bags.

In line at the checkout, Jerry traded hands holding the ice cold soda and pre-made sandwich from the deli. He had walked over from the garage two blocks away to grab some lunch and was looking forward to sitting in the shade at the park.

Mary looked at the total and estimated the weight of the single orange left in her basket. Her mother had given her enough cash to cover her list, but Mary hoped there would be enough for her favorite treat. Mary reached up to punch in the fruit’s code. $7.17. She had seven dollar bills.

Mary froze. She would have to call over the store clerk and have them remove the orange. Everyone would know it was because she didn’t have enough money. She looked to see if any of her classmates were there.

Jerry realized the little girl in front of him had stopped checking her groceries. He recognized her. He’d seen her walking past the garage several times. She seemed upset now, looking around a bit lost. He noticed she was holding a wad of bills in front of her. He looked up at the screen and understood.

Jerry pulled a quarter from his oil-stained jumpsuit and tapped the girl’s shoulder before holding it up. She looked down, embarrassed, then back at him. He smiled. She smiled back and accepted his kindness.

A coworker once asked Jerry who the girl was that he waved to on the street. He simply smiled and answered, “Just somebody I know.”