Cilantro

She reminded me of an angel – if angels cook – for she was wearing chef's whites and had food stains on her uniform. Her hair was the color of popcorn and her curls made me think of straight hair that had been thrown into an air-popper for a minute or two. A rainbow-colored shoelace held her wild hair away from her face.

She bounded down the steps and when she passed her eyes held mine and she smiled. Up close I noticed a web of lines indented her face. They were sweet lines, the kind that old people get when they have laughed a lot in their lifetime.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" She looked up at the blue sky and giggled. "Oh, I just love days like this."

She cocked her head, birdlike, waiting for my reply.

"It is beautiful, " I said. I tried to muster the same enthusiasm that was emanating from her but I just couldn't feel it. My voice sounded fake. Lifeless. Not at all like the lilting quality her voice had.

"I have to borrow something from this restaurant,” she sang. “Do you work here?"

I nodded. Who was this lady?

"Are you going to be here for a moment?" I looked at my half-smoked cigarette and nodded again.

"I'll be right back!" She winked at me as she opened up the back door to my restaurant and went inside.

A minute later she was back. Clasped in her hand was a bundle of crisp cilantro.

"Smell this," she said, plunging the cilantro into my nose.

I inhaled. All that I could smell was the pungent scent of freshly washed greens.

She brought it up to her own nose. "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH," she sighed. "Smells like rain, doesn't it? Fresh rain. Fresh and clean."

"Can I smell again?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, placing the bunch back into my nose.

This time I could smell rain.

I laughed softly and watched her walk up the stairs to the competing restaurant above.

At the top step, she called out to me, "It's good in salads!"

"What?" I called back, still thinking of rain.

"Cilantro! It's wonderful in salads."

"Oh. It sure is."

"Yep."

And then she was gone.