The other man

Posted: March 29, 2018 by Rachel

This is how you fall in love with another man. He’s there, in line at the grocery store. You’re standing so close that you can smell his cologne. You’ll never again be able to forget that scent, never again be able to associate it with anyone other than him. He’s dressed in a suit—dark blue, a blue and white checkered shirt underneath. Brown leather shoes. A nice watch. A gold wedding band. You’re embarrassed; you wish you’d worn something nicer than your ratty, old jeans and Birkenstocks. Next to him, you look like a child.

He pulls out his wallet to pay for his lunch: a sensible salad and banana. You’re re-considering your frozen burrito and red bull when you look up to find him studying you. His eyes—which can’t be described as green or blue or hazel or brown because they are some color there is no name for—are locked on you.

“Hi,” he says, his voice deep and husky.

You wonder how there’s any room for all the other shoppers, what with your hopeful faces and imposing guilt.