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I scan the aisles right to left. Everything is stocked differently here. Where I used to live, the grocery store by my house had their fresh produce to the right, then their grains, their meat, and their dairy.

Everything is wrong at this one.

Rather than being separated into blocks and sections, the products seem to spiral inwards. Vegetables line the outer wall, then lead into fruits, then breads and pastries, then the cured meats, and so on.

I start heading towards the vegetable section, pulling my little sister along with me. I still don’t know why my parents made me bring her. ‘She’ll help keep you safe,’ my mother said, pressing the house keys into my hands. Theoretically, I know that there is safety in numbers, but practically, I don’t see how a four-year-old girl will be able to put up much of a fight if we actually encounter a kidnapper.

My parents would have come with me, but my father can’t afford to miss a shift at work, and my mother has to take care of the newborn twins. Plus, the store is only a minute walk from our new house, so it’s not like I’m going far.

My sister walks with her thumb planted firmly in her mouth. One hand clutches mine while her other arm holds her beloved stuffed rabbit. Her little legs waddle along, incapable of keeping up with mine. I reluctantly slow my pace to match hers.

It’s been five minutes since we left our house. I want to go back home as fast as I can to begin working on my project. Everyone thinks Rashid Munir will get first place because of his baking soda and vinegar volcano, but I would rather eat a bucket full of dirt than let him win. My project is going to be a potato powered light bulb. Let’s see his coloured foam try to outshine my light.

I don’t see any potatoes along the walls, so they must be in one of the aisles. I suck in a breath when I see how many there are. There have got to be hundreds of shelves, all towering above my head. I think about Rashid’s smug face as he told everyone at recess that his dad, a professional artist, was going to help him paint the mountain.

I pull my sister into one of the aisles.

As I scan the different items, I hear footsteps behind me. The other shoppers that were browsing along with us seem to have disappeared. Dread begins to pool in my stomach. I pull my headscarf more securely around me, almost hiding my face with it. Slowly, I turn around, and my heart stops.

I want to pick up my sister and run, but my feet remain glued to the floor. My hand trembles as I reach for the keys in my pocket, fitting each of them between my fingers, just like my dad showed me. I want to cry out, but fear steals my voice.

The man walks ever closer.

From this distance, I can see that the man looks just like him. He wears the same smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His stride is sure and confident, as if he has all the privilege in the world. He looks down with the same patronizing tilt to his mouth.

Memories begin to superimpose reality, almost eclipsing it.

My mom and I on the street. His loud, piercing voice. ‘What kind of a parent are you, that you would force a child to wear that?’

My dad and I just catching the subway. Only one open seat left. A nose wrinkling as a hand refuses to move a carrier bag. My dad telling me to sit while he remains standing.

I can feel another memory approaching, the most recent, but I flinch against it. I don’t want this one to come back. I’ve spent so long trying to forget. But memories don’t work like that. It comes anyways, slamming into me with the force of a freight train.

Me, alone. A door opening and closing. A lock clicking. Hot breath against my cheek. Muffled screams and hissing threats. Pain. So much, unimaginable pain.

I blink the memories away, dragging myself back to the present. My breathing is shallow and ragged. I think I might be hyperventilating. Is this what it feels like to go into shock? My fingers have turned into a vise around my sister’s hand. I know I must be hurting her. She looks like she’s about to cry, but so am I, and I just can’t seem to make myself loosen my grip.

Her thumb drops from her mouth and her face begins to go red. I know she’ll start wailing any second. All I want to do is join her in her sobs, but I can’t. I have to remain alert. For her. For my parents. For myself.

Unaware of my tumultuous thoughts, the man keeps walking. He’s closer than I anticipated, only a mere three metres away. He’ll need to take just five more steps to reach us.

It’s too late. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The aisles press in around me while the ceiling crumbles. The wall behind me rushes forward until I can feel the cement when I reach back. My gaze darts around, seeking any possible path, but all I can see are bags of onions and rice.

He’s three steps away now. I finally release my fingers from my sister’s palm. I can see red markings where they used to be. She begins to quiet almost immediately and cradles her fingers against her chest. My other hand grips the keys even more tightly. I pull her behind me, using my body to shield her from his view.

One step away, and I begin to notice some other details. His shirt is the same colour as the sign outside of the store. He wears a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. His name tag reads ‘Manager.’

My racing thoughts decelerate as I ingest this new information. He’s the store manager. He wouldn’t want anything bad to happen at his store, would he? But if he did do something, would anyone be willing to stand against the boss?

His smile is even brighter when he stops in front of us. “Hi there! Can I help you find anything today?”

I look up at him for a few seconds, unable to say anything. I search his eyes, looking for any trace of ill intent. He seems harmless enough, but so did the others. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he gives a small wave to my sister. She wipes her tears and snot with her rabbit and releases my hand to wave back at him. She places her thumb firmly back in her mouth.

My breathing begins to slow, and my heart starts beating again, though its rhythm is still erratic. I straighten, but make sure to keep a tight grip on my keys.

At last, I nod hesitantly. “Yes. Thank you.” My voice sounds like I’m speaking underwater, or like someone else is speaking from far away. I feel as if I’m watching the scene unfold from afar, like I’m floating while my body remains on the ground. “I’m trying to find the potatoes.”

“Yes, of course. Follow me.” He smiles and starts leading the way.

I grasp my sister’s hand again, lightly this time, and move to follow him. My feet feel leaden, but I push myself to keep up with his long strides. Each step becomes a little easier to bear.

“So, is your family new to this neighbourhood? I’ve never seen your faces around here before.”

I nod once more, not trusting my voice to sound normal yet.

Undeterred, he keeps speaking. “Me, I’ve been here all my life, and I love the people here. We’re always happy to have new families in the neighbourhood.”

My sister leans her soft cheek against my palm. I run my hand over her hair, thinking about what our mom told us before we left. Perhaps there is a kind of safety that comes from being comforted.

He stops after a couple more seconds and gestures at a few sacks of potatoes. “Here we are! Is there anything else I can help you find today?”

I shake my head and thank him once more. I even manage to speak the sentence aloud without my words shaking.

He wishes us a nice afternoon, then walks away.

My fingers finally release my keys as I watch him turn the corner, feeling strangely empty without them. The tension eases out of my shoulders, and there’s a hollowness in my chest that I cannot begin to describe. But the space leaves me room to breathe again.

I exhale and crouch down to my sister’s eye level, gesturing at the potatoes. “So, which ones do you think we should buy?”