It's Called an Autograph

One Sunday afternoon Sergei stopped by for a quick visit before he had to catch a flight back to Los Angeles.  As he entered my apartment I noticed a small, black portfolio partially hidden from view under his arm.  When I asked him what was inside he pulled out several large, black and white photographs.  All the pictures were exactly the same—they were of Sergei standing in front of a large map, pointing to the coast of Canada.

  

Excerpt from A Rose for Sergei:

“Sergei, why do you have so many copies of the same picture?”

“You would not believe.  People ask me all the time for picture.  They want me to sign for them.  They want my auto…, how do you say that word?”

“Autograph.  It’s called an autograph when someone asks you to sign a picture for them.”

“Yes, they ask for au-to-graph.  When I tell my story about coming to the United States…a lot of people want to meet me.  I do not understand.”

He was smiling and laughing when he told me, and it was clear to me that he was amazed by all of the attention he received in this country….  I knew that he was not trying to impress me.

“Sergei, that is wonderful.  I’m very happy for you.”

He leaned over and kissed me gently.  “Here,” Sergei said.  “Let me sign picture for you.  I think you should have picture.”

“No, that’s all right, I don’t need a signed picture of you,” I teased him.  We were caught up in the moment, and we both started laughing and joking around.

“You do not want picture of me!  Why not?” he asked incredulously.

“Sergei, I don’t need a signed picture of you because I have you right here with me.  I have the real person.”

* * * 

I had unintentionally offended him so I quickly asked for a signed photograph.  Sergei took the picture into the kitchen to write something in private.  When he came back into the living room, he proudly handed me his photograph.  I was touched when I saw how he autographed it. 

“With all my Love, Sergei”