5/12/10

Different From All Others
By Sherri Collins


She thought Roberto was so exotic, so intriguing with the accent that trickled off his tongue, the heavy-lidded eyes, and the confident swagger. She listened to the sound of his stories; she watched the graceful arc of his gestures. When he left, she sobbed for a loss that could never be filled.

To mend her heart, her friend fixed her up with a man named Roberto. When he arrived, she gaped at his lean, lithe body. His lips touched her cheek, her hands. "Muy bonita," he whispered, and her breath caught. Such a man, different from all others. When he bid her a permanent farewell, she wailed hopelessly.

While mailing a letter, she bumped into a man and dropped the envelope. He retrieved it and caught her hand. "I am Roberto," he said, and she smiled. At the supermarket, Roberto bagged her groceries. At the pharmacy, Roberto filled her prescription. As he handed her the bags, he touched the small of her back lightly and whispered in her ear, "mi querida." When she returned to both places the next day, she asked for Roberto only to hear that he no longer worked there.

Slumping onto a park bench, she wiped at her wet eyes. "Are you alright, miss?" came a voice, not lyrical, but strangely rich with comfort. "Oh, leave me alone, Roberto!" she sobbed. No more, she thought. No more. The man sat down next to her and slipped a tissue into her hand.

"I'm John," he said.


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Bio: Sherri Collins lives in the foothills of Tennessee with her love. Her work can be found in Bartleby Snopes, Writers' Bloc, and The Oddville Press, among others.