Brazilian Bus Stop, Destination: Emotional Murder

I arrived, stepped off the bus in a slice of small town Brazil as he once called it. Not a trace of him anywhere…

Bathroom. Freshen face. Fluff hair. Smell unforgettable. After my last-minute makeover, I emerged from the doorway ready. And there he was. Tunnel vision sucked me into them ever-green eyes framed with shorter hair, and that same ol’ mouth-watering smile. I smiled back, hard. We wrapped in a warm, close hug hello.

Then he stepped aside and said, “This is Livia.”

I gave her two very weak, customary kisses on each soft cheek as my stomach sank to China, and as my heart got the 300 Trojan spear treatment. I came all that way …it was emotional murder.

© 2012 Bernadette Ignacio

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