Tessie D

Angel noticed the other day that my mood was darkening. My mask was slipping. I needed to go home and be sad by myself. 

“Is something wrong? You seem far away.” 

“No, it’s just that listening to you talk about books reminds me of what I missed. What I’ve never had.” 

“Don’t say that. There’s still plenty of time. You can still go to college if that’s what you want.” 

I wasn’t sure that I believed him.

“What would you study if you did go to college?” 

“I used to want to study literature. I love reading. I love to write. I think I’m pretty good at it. But I don’t know if college is possible for me now.”

“Why? Because of the money?”

“That and I don’t know what I do with a degree in literature. Besides be a teacher. And, I don’t want to do that.”

“You could be a writer. I’m sure you have plenty of things to say.”

I looked down at my hands.

“I think I might be too old now. Everyone else started when they got out of high school. I’m already behind.”

I trailed off. The conversation was getting away from me, so I sat quietly. He must’ve thought I was so stupid, not to have anything to say in response. But, what could I say — about my family, my childhood, the past two years?

Angel smiled, “There’s still plenty of time for all of that. We’re young. We can do whatever we want.”

He lived in a world where the worst thing that ever happened to him didn’t break him. Didn’t shatter his dreams. He could still believe in the good in the world. How nice it must be to be respected without question. To live in a world where you’ve never known scorn and cruelty.

He is a fortunate son.