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Vol. XIX No. 5 February 2004 |
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 Accomplish the World I don't remember the details—what you were wearing, what the inside of the church looked like or the presence of others who were there. The only thing I remember clearly is you; everything else has disappeared from that day. I don't even know how you felt about my being there; you certainly hadn't gone out of your way to tell me about it. But I found you all the same. I remember the fuzzy orange glow and musty smell of the church overwhelming my senses during the brief moments when music paused and silence sang. I was disappointed. Everything you did was brilliant, but full of anger. When you stood up to bow, heaviness sat upon your shoulders and above your smile, your eyes were weary and sad. No one brought you flowers, and as the hall emptied, your sadness filled me like water. I wanted to talk to you but knew I couldn't. I didn't want you to hear the disappointment in my voice. The chill of February filled my nostrils as I stepped out into the night, and I wondered, who would walk home with you? You said about me one rainy October day, "She tried to accomplish the world." It was then I started to wish I could accomplish the world, only to be able to place it in the palm of your hand. The anger I heard in you that night is something I know well; it has been my shadow since I was you. I only wish I could have told you. You were in my life but a moment, and now I don't know where you are; but I hope you learn to live without that anger. I hope you find love in someone as beautiful as you are, although I doubt such a person exists. I hope you accomplish the world.
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