“I did not mean to bump into you,” he continues, breaking my thoughts
from looking up at the sky. I look back
at him and I know it’s not possible.
Only silly sci-fi things happen like that in. Well, they happen in books and on TV.
“It’s cool,” I stammer. “I wasn't watching where I was going.” Which is
mostly the truth. If I wasn't so busy looking for the moon, I might have actually
paid attention that there was a man walking my way.
Then again, he could have moved out of my way. But maybe he wasn't paying attention either. I look as he
holds his hand out to me.
“My name is Raoul,” he speaks. I
take his hand and shake.
“Greta,” I answer back.
He gives me a warm smile. “Nice
to meet you, Greta. Would you mind if I
trouble you for a bit?”
I try to ignore the fact that he speaks in an old-fashioned
manner. “Sure,” I answer. “I was just going out for a walk anyway.” Which isn't a lie at all. I would really like to see where the moon
went.
He interrupts my thoughts. “Well
you see, I am new around here and was wondering if you could possibly show me
the area.” He pauses a bit. “Or at least if you could maybe tell me about
it over coffee.”
I think he realizes that we've only just met and as cute as he is, I
don’t know anything about him. “Coffee
sounds great,” I answer and I know exactly where to go. There is a diner around the corner that we
could sit in. That way if it does turn
out he’s crazy, I could make a run for it.
We arrive around the corner and take a seat in the booth when the
oddest question comes out of his mouth. “What
happens to a dream deferred?”
I look at him. “Excuse me?” I don’t want to be rude.
“Oh,” he says apologetically. “It’s
a line from the poem Harlem by Langston Hughes.
Have you ever heard of him?”
It’s suddenly coming back to me bits and pieces. I can remember in
junior high we had to memorize Harlem for a quiz in English class. I can’t believe I forgot all about that
poem. I nod and answer, “Yes,” at the
same time.
“So tell me, Greta,” he seems curious.
“What does happen to a dream deferred?”
Deferred. Deferred. What does happen to a dream deferred? It’s all coming back to me now as I remember
being stumped on that word back in seventh grade. I remember looking it up and the meaning is
said to postpone.
I start drifting off to a deeper thought, pondering upon the word “defer”.
Ah, yes! It seems as though so
many times my dreams have in fact been deferred. I have wanted so little from life and got
nothing. So I asked for more and still
nothing. Now that I am the age that I
am, I realized that dreams for me will always be deferred. It’s not meant for me in this lifetime.
Why so cynical, you may ask? Why
so skeptical? I've been C-Blocked every
which way possible. Then I was told well
it’s not what you want in life that you’ll get.
It’s what you need that you will get.
I have needed. Trust me and still
nothing.
It’s a vicious cycle. It’s one that makes others wonder and ask me all
the time: “Well, what’s wrapped around
your heart?” My only reply: “Ice.”
My heart is blocked and cold and it feels good that way. It’s numb so no one could ever hurt it
again. No one could ever break
promises. I don’t even expect
anything. I will just work hard and die
working and have nothing to show for it.
That’s all life is anyway, right?
Full of disappointments. When
you open up, life gets complicated. Do
you know how thick an owner’s manual to a car is? Well, can you imagine carrying around one for
the heart with you at all times? That
would be huge. You would have to carry a backpack around. So yeah, numb and icy heart sounds good to me.
But I won’t let this nice man know this. For now, I say, “Sometimes, the best things
happen last.”
He seems to approve of these words.
Written by ©Diana Jillian 11/9/12
Short Story,
