I stared, not saying anything.
She said, “It’s okay.”
…as if that would end the concern I was feeling.
“I know that, and I’m okay with it,”
It sounded like a mantra,
like a method of acquiring belief of a concept though repetition and ritual.
Like so many things American.
I shook my head and softly said, “No…”
I said, “…don’t you ever give that up,
because you’re most certainly the someone special
for many others, let alone one person.”
And in that moment of guilt and selfishness I added…
“I’m not saying it’s me. Don’t get me wrong.
I’m not saying this for me. I’m saying it for you,
because you can’t just give up like that.
We’re ALL SPECIAL.”
Then I asked her to promise me she wouldn’t let that possibility go,
|that she wouldn’t let it escape the many possible alternate futures which await.
She didn’t balk at the idea…
…but she didn’t promise either.
Now, as I sit here in the passenger seat and she drives,
both of us barreling down the highway together towards our undefined future,
a destination unknown and largely unimportant (simply because we’re heading there together),
we reminisce about this conversation.
It was me.
She IS MY SOMEONE SPECIAL…
…and I know that because if it wasn’t me, if it were anyone else,
I’d be just as happy…
…happy that she was wrong, and happy that she figured it out.
I’d be happy that she became someone’s…
…anyone’s someone special,
because that is, after all,
what we are here to do.