I was pretty young at the time of the incident, probably still in elementary school.
I had gone to buy bread from the bakery.
The bread was still baking in the oven.
An elderly man was standing in line behind me.
He was wearing a white jalabiyah. He had a thin beard.
He placed a hand on each of my shoulders.
He gripped them tightly and pressed his penis against my behind.
I remember how it felt. His penis was pressing into my back and my ass.
I prayed they’d hurry up with the bread. I wanted to leave.
I finally managed to pull away from him.
It was a struggle, during which I failed more than once.
He didn’t want me to go.

I went home without the bread.
“Where’s the bread?” mama asked.
“They were out”, I said.
I was too scared to tell her what happened.
“Go back and get some”, she said.
I went back. I can’t remember if he was still there, though.
I remember his red bread basket, his beard, the way his penis felt against me.
But I can’t remember if he was there the second time.
I also can’t remember how I felt then.
The memory of that day keeps resurfacing from time to time.