The End is in the Beginning
Throughout that day and the remainder of the week, Alisha carried our hearts back and forth through the purple wildflowers; sometimes skipping along in jelly sandals singing Barney’s song and other times sprinting there. Each day, each letter stirred emotions my mind—still preoccupied with Dante—cautioned me to still. Feelings whirled through my heart as water through a twisty-twirly slide spinning loops out of control to splash down into a pool and buoy up breathless.
Friday evening, my heart still awhirl, the sun slipped into an envelope of clouds outside. Still working, I moved around the temporary in a burst of frenetic energy. I stacked eighteen chairs on tabletops with the little silver legs to the ceiling, discarded juice boxes into the green metal trashcan, and swept away broken crayon bits to lighten Mr. Proctor’s workload. Of course he received his paycheck for doing the things he’d find I’d already done and Danielle would chew me out the whole ride home for keeping her waiting, but I hummed around the room as unconcerned as Cinderella meditating on her Prince Charming. In Kent’s last letter before our giggly messenger clocked out for the day, he suggested visiting a beautiful park he knew of in the city. I didn’t give him an answer, but the thought of him pulling into the drive in the middle of the afternoon to pick me up was glorious.
My work done, I locked up and was halfway up the sidewalk before missing my purse. Sprinting back inside, leaving the door wide open behind me, I grabbed it from the desk.
“Hey, beautiful.” In the threshold, Kent leaned against the frame.
Throwing the handbag over my shoulder, I smiled. “Hey.”
Striding into the room to stand an arm’s length in front of me, his eyes embraced mine. I twirled a strand of hair from my ponytail around my index finger, blinking. He moved closer, so that face to face, we scarcely breathed. His gaze dropped down for a moment, and then looking back up at me he asked: “So what would you do if I kissed you?”
It wasn’t a question I’d ever been asked. Either I was kissed or I wasn’t and more often than not, it was the latter. But it was never my choice. Still twirling my hair, I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know.”
So he did what deep down I really wanted him to do. Closing his eyes and the space between us, he touched his lips to mine. My hands found rest against the tense muscles of his upper back and they relaxed under my touch as his hands circled my waist, drawing me closer.
“Ahem.”
We jumped apart. Mr. Proctor stood grinning in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, but I came to clean up. Gotta be on time to pick up my wife.”
Kent smiled. “I know that’s right,” he said. Then he took my hand to lead me toward the door. I followed with my head down. How embarrassing!
“Looks like I don’t have much to do in here.” He pushed an ancient vacuum cleaner inside, his feet in black orthopedic shoes barely moving. “That’s one sweet lady you’ve got there.”
He squeezed my hand. “Yes, sir, I know.”
We were almost out the door when Mr. Proctor grasped Kent’s shoulder with swollen fingers I assumed arthritis had disfigured into a permanent bend. “You know that’s your future wife,” he said with knowing in his old eyes.
But exchanging this-guy-must-be-crazy glances, we smiled and walked away.
(Secret of a Butterfly, pp. 41-42)
Foreshadowing is a technique used in literature to clue a reader in to a future event. If we look closely, sometimes we can see these clues in the story of our own lives. Those hints that in spite of our current situation, something expectedly unexpected is just around the corner. Happy hunting!
