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By Stacy Smith
Gazing out through these tree branches watching the sun’s rays shine a light farther down this walking trail, I could not stop thinking about the fact that in just a few more minutes, SHE would be here!
I first noticed her at Gina’s Gourmet Deli only a week ago. There she was with her shiny blonde hair cascading over her shoulders with just a few wispy strands falling ever so softly around her strikingly beautiful model-like face. This vision before me just stood there peering into the deli window covering to decide if she wanted the spinach/feta/cranberry salad, or the roasted chickpeas with olives. Had hoped she would notice me, maybe even say hello, but she never looked up. When she finally selected her salad and looked up, she grabbed her phone out of her purse and rushed quickly by me up to the cash register. Ignored once again by someone who had no time for me.
I knew the torture of being ignored. As a little boy, I lived with just my mom. Dad? “You don’t have a dad, only a donor,” she always screamed at me. And my mom was too busy with the many boyfriends she brought to our house to pay any attention to me, her son.
“Mom, look at what I colored for you!”
“Not now, I am BUSY,” as she twisted my arm and locked me in the dark closet. I heard them laughing as I cried, not just about the pain in my arm, but the more permanent pain in my soul for always being ignored.
Anyway, after the first gorgeous woman who ignored me after I grew up, I vowed there would be payback, and I kept my promises.
Over the course of the past fifteen years, I lost count how many I made pay the ultimate price for their insolence, but this beauty was no different than all the rest.
Saturday morning … 6:30 AM … crouched low and waiting. Little did this beauty know, but my face will be the last one she ever sees.
Stacy Smith is a voracious reader and occasional writer.