Shame Story

The surge went through my hand and up my arm. I shook in agony and then looked back at the socket. It was empty now. I gathered the pieces for the charger and shoved them into my hoodie pocket. I angrily tromped off.

As I entered the room, I had a light and airy feeling, the kind of feeling you get when you know something good awaits you. I walked across the room and as I gloomed down at the outlet my stomach deflated like air balloon that loses gas. I saw the charger lying there, or rather pieces of what used to be a phone charger sprawled out in front of the outlet. Frantically, I reached down to pick them all up, my hand touching the exposed metal piece that was lodged inside the socket. This was not a good idea.

The pain that was left, was accompanied by the shame I felt for the broken charger. It was all my fault, leaving it unattended in a public area, I should have known better I kept telling myself. Had it been my own charger, the feeling of shame would have been significantly less, or non-existent. But what got to me was that I had broken a bond of trust, my friend having entrusted me with his charger, I had to face the consequences of my actions. I know not what I will do to repay him, even though he says, “It’s alright”. I know he has already forgiven me, but the shame has not been forgiven. The shame will stay until it is redeemed. “Don’t worry about it” he says, but the shame worries me.