SIERRA'S LEONE

FIRST TOUCH

The living room was Jonas's territory, yet Sierra found herself on the couch with Jonas while Leone played with his building blocks.

"I prefer to see him this way."

"Yeah, me too."

It was the first time since the Chicken Pox outbreak that the two adults got to sit and chat.

They smiled at one another when suddenly Sierra's stare narrowed and fixed a spot on Jonas's face.

They were almost nose to nose. Jonas got a clear view of Sierra's deep chestnut brown eyes. He realized he had never observed the woman so closely. The proximity made the man slightly slide away.

"What wrong?" Jonas asked.

"You have a red dot, Jonas. Are you sure you caught varicella when you were young?"

"Of course, who hasn't."

Apparently, Jonas was one of the rare humans to have escaped from the itching pimples, as the next day proved.

"Jonas."

"Oh, Sierra, good morning."

The woman stared at the man, who glowed with fever redness.

"Jonas, you're sick."

"No, I'm fine, Sierra. What are a few pimples?" said the man who scratched his arm obsessively.

"I'll stay at home."

"No, Sierra, drop off Leone, and go to work think of your promotion."

"But Jonas," exclaimed to protest.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"Jonas, your not fine at all."

"Go, don't worry," Jonas said while brooming the woman away with his hands.

Sierra left, but she could not shake off the sensation of having abandoned the man.

An hour later, Jonas was surprised to get a message:

Are you okay?

The man whisked off a thumbs-up emoji.

Sierra sneered in front of the image that did not indicate his state.

At noon she called, "hey Jonas. How is it going?"

"Eh, good," Jonas answered the question. He did not expect Sierra to worry that much about him, and he appreciated the gesture until his phone received messages every thirty minutes. Sierra's mother-hen syndrome was more potent than he imagined as she added another call in the afternoon.

The man caught all sorts of colds and tropical viruses, but none were as annoying as the rashy spots, which he rubbed frantically while trying to hold the phone to his ear.

The sound of his quaky voice did not reassure Sierra, who knew how people played it out. Right then, Jonas borrowed her repertoire of words. They were alike, always pretending to be okay not to make others worry.

Sierra got a taste of her medicine as she recognized the behavior made the other distress more.

Once her day's work was over, Sierra passed by the pharmacy. They had used all the creams on Leone. Thus the man had nothing for himself. His pimples seemed far more vicious than those Leone had.

Like most men when sick, Jonas was an inch away from writing his will when Sierra arrived. The man had rubbed his back against all the rough and rugged surfaces he could find.

"Oh my, Jonas, look at you."

Jonas sat with his raffled hair, pajamas, and glasses on the still unfolded couch.