Victor Kerlow Dear Diary:
My heart is broken. How could he have done this to me?
His name is Sammy and I met him two years ago. Each weekday morning I would leave my apartment and take the subway to 28th Street. Like all good New Yorkers, I would avoid eye contact. I speak to no one. No one speaks to me.
When I surfaced, I would walk to the corner cafe. It has a buffet, multiple racks of snacks, a soup bar and a deli department. That is where I met Sammy â€" standing behind the deli counter, dressed in snow white, eager to serve.
Shortly after I entered the cafe, we would make eye contact (my first of the day). His dark brown eyes and my light brown would connect deeply for a nanosecond before I got my coffee. After pouring myself a cup of Colombian coffee, I would walk back to the counter and Sammy. He would hand me my whole-wheat toast lovingly wrapped in foil, and would smile. I would say, “Thank you,†my first words of the day. Sammy and me â€" five days a week for two years.
Until last month. On a Monday morning, I entered the cafe as usual. I searched behind the deli counter for Sammy’s eyes. I walked around the cafe looking for him. I went back to the deli and ordered whole-wheat toast with peanut butter, and went to get my coffee. When I returned, I asked the man where Sammy was.
“He doesn’t work here anymore,†he said.
I asked where had he gone. He didn’t know.
Exhausted by all of this early-morning social interaction, I walked unsteadily to my office. My equilibrium had been shaken.
Sammy â€" you could have left me a note.
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