CRIB by Rafiq Ebrahim

Our baby must get a new, comfortable crib, Sara and me decided. Next day we bought one with small jingle bells hanging from the top and some other items of need from a store. We unloaded everything from the car by the building in which our apartment was on the fourth floor. I carried them one by one to the fourth floor.

It was after a few hours that we realized that the crib was missing. I had forgotten to bring it up. I rushed down but couldn’t find it. It was gone. Somebody had taken it. I looked into the recycle bin and also in the big garbage receptacle, but could not find it. I looked here and there and saw Mason, a neighbor’s little son, playing with football. “Mason, did you seen anybody picking up a piece of furniture from here?”

He nodded and said, “The shabby man, living in apartment 291 just took it with him.”

Anger mounting inside me, I took the elevator and reached that apartment. I heard the jingle bells ringing inside. I knocked the door and the man opened it, looking at me questioningly. I went inside. There was no furniture, only a thin, worn-out mattress, and the crib in which a little baby was happily lying, delighted by the ringing of the bells. A woman, probably the man’s wife, dressed in dirty clothes with stains, now looked at me.

“What can I do for you?” Asked the man.

A tremor ran down my frame, my anger melted and I said, “My name is Steve. I live on the fourth floor. I just came in to say hello and introduce myself.”

“Nice meeting you, Mr. Steve. I am Mark and she is Kate, my wife.”

I came back home. My wife, Sara asked me anxiously, “ Did you find the crib?”

“Yes, and no,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw the crib in apartment 291.”

“Stolen,” she remarked.

“I can’t say that,” I said

.“What the hell do you mean?”

I calmed Sara and said, “Their need was greater than ours.”