The Purloiner

"Hey! Kid! Come back here!"
Garrett dashed down the cobblestone road, skidding around a corner and down an alleyway. He ducked into his hidey-hole and crouched down in the dust. Rapid footsteps pounded the road as Rolf, the restaurant owner, ran past. "That damned kid," Garrett heard.
As soon as he was sure the man was gone, Garrett began sifting through his "findings". One crudely wrapped sandwich. A flask of water. The boy sighed. "Not much today," he murmured to himself. "No matter. This'll suffice."
He spent a few minutes enjoying the day's rewards, taking care to preserve half of the sandwich and half of the water. Afterwards, he carefully peeked outside to see if Rolf was still around; he wasn't. The boy exhaled quietly and slipped nimbly out of the concealed nook. After surveying the area, he traipsed down the road, away from the restaurant. Various thoughts flashed through his mind. Only one made itself permanent. Is she okay?
Garrett shook his head violently, attempting to clear his mind of such thoughts. He didn't have time to think about that. Of course she's alright.
But his brain was so cluttered, he didn't notice the man standing right in front of him until he barreled right into him. "My apologies," the man said automatically.
Garrett didn't respond; instead, he looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet. "S'alright," he mumbled eventually.
He forced himself to lift his head to meet the man's watchful gaze. "Well, it's a little bit late to be out and about, isn't it, son?" the man asked, scrutinizing Garrett through his round, thin-rimmed glasses.
Garrett didn't answer; he didn't trust this man one bit. As if Garrett had said this aloud, the man ran a hand through his auburn hair and said, "Cat got your tongue, boy?"
"No," Garrett replied irritably.
"Well, can you tell me what you're doin' out here in the dead of night?"
"Why do you want to know?"
The man eyed Garrett's half-eaten meal. He pointed to it and inquired, "Where'd you get that?"
"The restaurant down the road," Garrett answered carefully.
"Ah, I believe the owner was looking for you." The man raised an eyebrow.
Garrett flinched. How did he know that?
"Did you pay for that?"
"… No."
"Well… I'd advise you to return it, but it seems you've eaten the lot of it."
Garrett averted his eyes. He was seriously considering walking away when the man said abruptly, "Let's walk, shall we, boy?"
For some reason that even he couldn't fathom, Garrett followed the man as he began to make his way down the road. "I'm John," the man said loftily. "John Lennon."
"J-- I mean, Mr. Lennon," Garrett began. "If you don't mind me asking, where exactly are we going?"
"Call me John, son. And there's no clear destination. Taking a walk doesn't necessarily mean going someplace." He paused, then queried knowingly, "Tell me, why did you steal food? Are you poor?"
"Not exactly," Garrett confessed, abashed. "I… I don't want to… to burden… her."
"Burden who, son?"
"My… my mother."
"How exactly would you burden her, boy? Explain."
"She's been… ill for quite a while now… And I don't want to have to waste money to buy food and whatnot."
John was silent for a moment, mulling it over. Then he spoke. "I understand your logic, boy, but stop and think for a moment. Your mum wouldn't want you getting into trouble by stealing food, would she? Especially if you have the money to buy it?"
Garrett thought about it. "Well… no…?"
The next thing John said surprised Garrett. "What's your name, son? So I can stop calling you 'boy' and 'son'."
"Garrett," he answered promptly, gaining some confidence. He was sure he could manage a conversation with this perceptive man.
"Well, Garrett, I must ask you: does your mum know about your shenanigans?"
"No," Garrett replied guiltily, his confidence quickly ebbing away.
"I'll be blunt about it, Garrett. I don't think your mother would be very proud of you. And you obviously care for her a lot. You shouldn't upset her so," John chastened.
Garrett didn't say anything. He was too busy thinking. Then he voiced his opinion. "It's not that I want to upset her, it's just…" He struggled to find the right words. "I want to save the money, just in case she needs it for something more important."
"Like I said, I get what you're saying, laddie… but think of it this way. I bet your mum wants the best for you, correct?"
Garrett nodded.
"She would want you to live a healthy life, would she not? Stealing's not the way to go, my boy. Trust me." He sighed, then continued in a vague tone, "I loved my mother, too, y'know. As much as you do now. I still love her."
"Where is she now?"
"… Dead."
Garrett cringed, imagining how he would even live with himself if his mother passed away. "Wh-- what happened?"
"Hit by a car," John replied tersely. It was obvious he wasn't going to go into any more detail.
"I'm sorry," Garrett said awkwardly.
John placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "She always wanted the best for me, Julia did. But my point is this: don't stoop down to thievin', my boy. Sounds redundant, I know. Let me put it this way. Spend more time making your mum happy, instead of going around purloining food. I know you're capable of a lot, Garrett. You're a clever boy. But don't use your talent for the wrong things. Get it?"
"Yeah, I get it."
John patted him on the back. He then leaned in and whispered in his ear, "But coming from the mouth of a previous petty thief, you're awfully good at pilfering things." He winked.
Garrett smiled for the first time since he had met John. "Thanks, John," he said, grinning from ear to ear.