Sanchez Brown

Sanchez Brown was leaning forward on his desk, the telephone receiver cradled to his ear. A smile full of love played across his face and he occasionally doodled something on a sheet of paper that in front of him. His voice when speaking to his caller was soft; his words sweet and melodic. They tumbled out of his mouth one after another as if he had a never ending supply of beautiful and endearing things to say. Occasionally he chuckled, and then sat quietly and listened with that same sweet smile on his face and his eyes half closed as if he were a million miles away.

Typically a conversation like this could go on for thirty minutes or more. He would alternate between delivering syrupy sweet words and listening. Eventually he would look at his watch, look at the pile of work on his desk, and decide that it was time to cut it short. This would be followed by fifteen more minutes of saying goodbye. When it was finally over, he would spend an additional two to three minutes quietly reflecting on what had been said and writing in a small leather bound journal that he kept in his desk.

This morning’s conversation had started somewhere around 8:15 am, shortly after he had arrived for work. He’d just sat down with a breakfast sandwich from the deli on the corner and was about to lose himself into egg and pork oblivion when the phone rang. His company’s overpriced phone system came complete with a caller ID system that allowed him to see the phone numbers of his callers. He recognized the ten digits immediately and snatched the phone up after the first ring.

“Hello?”

Even though he knew it would be her voice that responded to his, he still held his breath after he answered. He held his breath and he could hear hers on the other end of the phone. She took a slow one before she answered.

“I wanted to hear your voice.”

She didn’t exactly say it. It came out sounding more like a contented sigh. Then she chuckled. He grinned in silence. He felt his heart begin to beat faster. How can her voice make me react like this? He felt the urge to be near her so he could hug her. Leaning forward and placing his elbows onto the surface of the desk he felt a slow warmth start to spread over his body. It was comforting. It was pleasurable.

“It‘s good to hear your voice. How‘s work so far?”

“I have a meeting at nine. I discovered a run in my stocking shortly after getting here so I have to run out and get a new pair. But I wanted to hear your voice. Thinking about you will get me through the day today. You were really sweet last night.”

He felt as if the grin was plastered on his face like Joker in Batman and he’d never be able to remove it. Still, he could live off the dalliance of her words for a lifetime and never grow tired of hearing them.

“Will you be around tonight?”

“I don’t know,” she began. “There’s this thing over my mother’s house ...”
“You can call my cell if you get bored.”
“I will probably do that,” she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I better get going so I can come back in time for the meeting.”
“Well, I’m glad you called me.”
“I’m glad I called too.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them unsure of what to say next. He could hear her breathing again. It felt like hours when it was only seconds and then she spoke.

“I will probably call you before the day is up to let you know what’s going on for sure.”
“Okay.”
“Bye Sanchez.”
“Goodbye sweetheart.”

He hung the phone up and sat there for a moment, the grin still on his lips. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded so many times it threatened to rip where the creases were. He unfolded it carefully and looked at it, studying the contents. After several minutes, he pulled the paper close to his lips and kissed it. He folded it and put it back in his pocket and leaned forward to do some work. His email client notified him that there was new mail in his box. Clicking on it, he saw a piece from her and immediately clicked to open it.

Sanchez,

I don’t think words would do justice to the things that I am feeling right now. Sometimes I am afraid that what I’m feeling is not real or cannot exist. And you say something to make me know that not only are the feelings very real, but I am not the only one feeling them. I hope this feeling never goes away.

Closing his email client, he tried hard to push thoughts of her out of his head for at least an hour so that he could get some work done. That is what they were paying him to do.