When she asked for the chair in the crowded coffee section of Albertsons, Mel was instantly attracted. Pulling himself to his full six-foot height, he introduced himself.
“Hi, Mel,” the woman replied, reaching for the chair.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Let me do that.”
Shuffling his chair out of the way, he pulled the loaner away from the wall. “Here you go.” He looked the younger woman in her eyes. “I’ve lived here my entire life. How long you been here?”
“Only about five years. This time. I lived up by Browning before that.”
He nodded sagely, or at least what he thought was sagely. “I branded cattle when I was up there. What’s your name?”
“Sally.”
“S-A-L-L-Y?”
“That’s right.” She smiled at him, and his day brightened.
“That’s pretty.” He pointed to her necklace. Tugging at the cross around his neck, he said, “My son got me this.”
“My husband got me this,” she said.
The darkness returned, and the memory. He couldn’t help himself; he wanted this woman to know, even though she’d never be anyone more than a nice person he’d met at Albertsons. If he could only find someone who understood, he could love again; he’d be safe.
“My son, he committed suicide.” The words choked out. “Never knew he was so sad. Now he’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry.” She touched his arm.
But their relationship had changed. She wasn’t the one.
Damn him. Why did he have to be so weak? Bah! Nothing would have come from it anyway. She was married.
She sure was pretty, though.
“You have a nice day, Sally,” he said.
“You too, Mel.”
With one last smile, she left to join her friends, chair in tow.
He wheeled his walker back to his other friends. Eighty years old, he was still a fool for love. But she was out there … somewhere … he knew it. He’d keep looking.
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