The Spot by Benjamin Michael Saubolle-Camacho

As his family and friends and teachers were sobbing for their premature loss, he couldn’t help but stare at the stain on the pastor’s robes. The spot was large enough to see from the back pew, and since his robes were mostly black, the bright yellow stain shone bright in his eyes. The spot seemed overwhelmingly large, but no one seemed to notice it. How could such a large blot blend in?

The congregation was asked to join hands and sing, and as he rose he felt his heart drop. The pastor turned to the choir and directed them to start:

When I die, don’t cry for me
In my father’s arms I’ll be.

He lost sight of the bright, yellow spot on the pastor’s black, silk robes. He began to walk to the front of the church; he had to see the spot again.

It don’t matter, where I lay,
All my tears be washed away.

He arrived at the first pew, where he could see the pastor swinging his body to and fro wildly, allowing himself to be carried away by the rhythm of the song. As the pastor turned to the crying congregation, his forehead gleamed in the spotlight. The sweat and tears, which dropped to his robes, carried away the stain.

Yeah, yeah, yeah,
They’re washed away.

As his family and friends and teachers were sobbing for the loss of their child, peer, and student, he began to understand what was now gone forever.

“Goodbye, Ashley.”


Benjamin Michael Saubolle-Camacho is a journalism major at SJSU.

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