Lost Dream

Lost Dream - A love story by LJ Kundananji

She was everything that I ever dreamt of—everything. And there she was, smiling sweetly at me, right in front of my face.
“Luis,” she said in a saccharine voice. “What is it that you have to tell me?”
   I bit my lower lip in pain. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I just gapped at her speechlessy. My eyes flooded with tears and I felt a lump in my throat. I shook my head.
   “I can’t do it,” I said in my heart. “I can’t do this.”
   I looked over her shoulder and saw her father staring at me with an expectant albeit sad expression on his face. He nodded his head and I realised that there was no way I could avoid this. I sniffed, wiped away the tears from the edge of my eyes and held my breath. While I gazed at the diminishing smile on her face as she observed my sadness for the first time, I suddenly felt nostalgic, and I remembered that day, six months ago, when I met Rachel for the first time.

   I had just finished school, and I was prowling around town for something to do. It is not a really good occupation—prowling around; but I had little choice, and besides, my mom was driving me mad at home with her never ending chores.
   After a lot of not so lucrative window shopping, I finally found myself in an internet café—Rachel’s Café. It was located right in the heart of the town where it was the most crowed. I fought my way in.
   It was a modern café with extremely fast computers. I need not mention the downloading speed. It was reasonably affordable—even for a broke person like me whose father found pleasure in letting him live below the poverty line.
   Upon entering, I immediately felt the difference between the cool, sweet air-conditioned air inside and the hot humid air and burning sunshine outside. I breathed in deeply and looked around. Everything looked neat and shiny. My heart danced when I laid my eyes on the computers with flat LCD screens and pert mice and keyboards. There were also enchantingly attractive headphones propped against the speakers.
   Being almost midday, there were few customers. Most of the computers were free. I rushed to the counter and leaned over, holding out a few filthy notes in my hand. There was a lady bowed over the computer. All I could see was her hair.
   “Two hours sir,” she said without looking up as she clicked away. She spoke in an excellent accent. I stared at her perfectly manicured nails with bulging eyes.
   The man standing next to me reached out for his back pocket and pulled out a bulging wallet. I shifted my legs impatiently with a smirk on my face as he slowly, and obviously deliberately, pulled out a fifty thousand kwacha note and handed it to the lady. It was brand new and made a crisp sound. I smarted a bit and tried to hide my unsightly notes. He noticed this and gave me a conceited smile. I almost started sulking.
   “Here madam,” he said proudly, giving me a sideward glance.
   For the first time, the lady looked up and reached out for the note. I almost gasped. She was not really a lady, but a girl—about my age, but perhaps slightly younger. She was very pretty. She had round gorgeous eyes and a pert nose. Her complexion was very light—as if she was Coloured. She did not have so much as one blemish on her face.
   She quickly counted out the man’s change, which he pocketed in the same usual condescending manner and walked away with a proud gait. But I was not paying attention to him anymore. I was staring at the girl in front of me with some kind of awe.
   “Yes?” she asked, staring at me, with a large beaming smile
     Dimples appeared on the sides of her mouth. For a while, I stared at her, goggle-eyed, without saying a word—totally hypnotised.
   “Can I help you sir?” she asked again.
   “Sorry,” I said apologetically. “It’s just that …”
    I handed over the notes with a shaky hand. I felt awful giving such a pretty girl those filthy notes. She raised her brows upon receiving them. I wished the ground could swallow me. I stared at the floor in shame.
   “Just that—what?” she asked with a grin.
   “Never mind,” I said quickly.
   “Are you buying anything?”
   “Err…no. I’d like to use the internet.”
   “You pay afterwards—after you use…” she handed me back my notes.
   ‘Arrgh!’ I screamed inside. How could I forget that?
   “Then make an exception for me…I would like to pay in advance…”
   “Okay,” she chirped. She counted the notes, her fingers moving so quickly I could hardly see them. “You only have eight minutes… Go to number two.”
   “Okay,” I said, turning to leave.
   “Are you sure the time is enough?” she asked with genuine concern.
   “Um…Yeah,” I turned to look at her. The look on her face was so enchanting that I forgot to breathe for a few seconds. “You see, that is the beauty of paying before hand. You never go beyond your budget.”
   “You’re funny,” she laughed, her long hair sweeping elegantly across her face. I laughed as well, albeit nervously. I wished I could talk more with her, but she was soon attending to another customer and her attention shifted.
    I dejectedly walked to computer number two. I sat down and pulled out my memory stick. I bent sideward, thrust my hand under the table and plugged it in. I pulled the headphones over my ears and played my favourite song—“When the wrong one love you right” by Celine Dion.
   I had only eight minutes in which to read my mail, make a reply if I had to and download some updates for my computer’s antivirus. But I had learnt a number of tricks on how to make the best use of my time. For instance, I usually typed beforehand the emails that I intended to send. It worked very nicely.
   My heart broke when I opened my mail box and realised I had no new messages. I almost shed a tear. Only a few months and my friends had already forgotten about me! Anyway, there was no time for whimpering. I instead concentrated on downloading antivirus updates.
   Five minutes later I was standing at the counter, smiling at the girl. As at the first, she was bowed over the computer and only her hair was showing. I could not help noticing her perfectly manicured nails again. My eyes followed each little click that she made with her fingers.
   “I am done,” I breathed.
   She started and looked up.
   “Already?” she asked in sheer disbelief.
   “Yeah, a minute ago actually,” I said, gaining a bit of confidence.
   “And you have done all you wanted to do?” she frowned.
   “Yeah…”
   “Are you pulling my leg or something?”
   “Gee…no,” I laughed.
   “Well, in that case, you still have change.” She handed me back one of my wrinkled notes. I smarted.
   “No—keep change.”
   She leaned forward, put her hand to the edge of her mouth and whispered. “No offence but my conscience does not allow me to do that—I consider it stealing.”
   I smiled nervously, grudgingly got back the note and quickly pocketed it. I was about to leave, but then I felt a strong urge to stay and talk to her. I looked around the café and noticed that only one person was left. He was clicking away lazily with a sleepy expression on his face.
   She was now back to bowing her head over the computer; this time typing rapidly. Her fingers were perfectly placed on the keyboard as though she was a professional typist.
   “Say…it must be awfully dull in here,” I said with a lot of effort.
    “It is,” she looked around with a hand under her chin. “But with no school anymore, I’d rather stay here than stay at home doing laborious house chores…”
   “You completed school?” I asked with surprise.
   “Yeah, last year,” she said perfunctorily as she typed away.
   “Wow, me too…”
   “Interesting coincidence,” she stopped and smiled at me.
   “Have intentions of going to college?”
   “Yeah…want to study computer programming.”
   “You don’t say!” I exclaimed in disbelief. “I too—I want to study to study the same thing.”
    “Interesting coincidence—again,” she said, the smile on her face growing bigger.
   “So is that what you are doing over there?” I asked curiously.
   “Um…nope; I am composing a poem…”
   “Poetry?” My eyes grew wide and almost popped out of their sockets.
   “Poetry, yes,” She stared at me with a little frown. “You think it’s silly, right?”
    “NO—no, no…” I said quickly.
   “Then why that funny look on your face?”
    “I am surprised—I love poetry too; I have actually composed a couple.
    “Okay, this is like weird!” She got to her feet, raising her hands in a gesture of surprise. She stared at me closely. “Are you sure you’re not pulling my leg?”
   “No…” I laughed. “I can actually recite one right now…”
   “Go ahead—I don’t believe you could.” She said incredulously.
   I chuckled and began. “Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art….”
   “Stop right there!” she shrieked. “You lie, that is not your poem! That is one of Shakespeare’s sonnets.”
   “Of course it is!” I said gasping from laughter. “I just wanted to see if you are well-read, and—God you are!”

   “Come on, come on,” she prodded. “Let me hear one of yours.”
   I recited one of my little and slightly childish poems to her. After I was all done, she gasped in amazement.
    “You are good—you’re perfect in your use of metaphor and simile…You create perfect images…”
   “Nay…” I said with a shy smile. “I bet yours are far much better.”
    I had her recite one of her poems to me. It turned out to be far much better than mine. We chatted away for almost two hours. It was remarkable; we really had so much in common. Before long, lunch hour was over and the customers started trickling in.
   “I have to go now,” I said finally.
   “Why so soon?” she said disappointedly. “We are having so much fun!”
   “My mom’s going to kill me…I did not exactly say goodbye.”
   “Naughty…But please, come round again,” she implored.
    “I will—definitely.” I promised. “I am Luis by the way.”
   “Rachel,” she said. “Rachel Tembo.”
   “Oh—Rachel’s Café,” I said with realization.
   “That’s my dad’s idea,” she said with a bit of embarrassment. “I am daddy’s girl—you know, being the only girl in my family. So he could not help naming the shop after me.”
   “I see…”
   “He’s a really good guy. Pass by tomorrow and you will meet him.”
   “Okay.”
   I was almost skipping when I stepped outside. It seemed my prowling about in town had yielded something good after all. I had met the most beautiful girl I had ever encountered, and we had so much in common.

   The very next day, I was back at Rachel’s Café. This time, I actually went there with my little book of poems that I had composed myself. She was really glad to have it. I also got to meet her dad. He came by somewhere after lunch. He was a large hefty man with an intimidating look about him. But he was surprisingly gentle. I guess that is where Rachel got her niceness from. Rachel was keen on introducing me to him.
   “Dad, this is Luis—and he is a great poet.” She declared proudly.
   “Oh…that’s nice,” her father said absentmindedly as he wrestled to replace a mouse on one of the computers.
   “And he also wants to study computer programming—just like me!”
   “Nice…”
   I suddenly felt uncomfortable and desired to leave. At that moment, I felt as though I was doing nothing but disturbing.
   “You two need to work,” I whispered to Rachel, “I’ll come round another time.”
   “No you don’t need to leave…”
   “Rachel, go take care of the customer,” her father commanded.
   She walked back to the counter. I waited on her as she attended to the customer.
   “You see,” she began, eyeing her dad sympathetically. “The previous person dad employed disappeared without notice after he paid him. But for me, he would be doing all the work himself.”
   “Wish I could help,” I said with a slight smile.
    “That is a brilliant idea!” she shrieked with shining eyes.
    Before I could even stop her, she ran off to her dad. She talked to him persuasively and sweetly—girls are usually good at sweet talking their fathers. I remained standing by the counter; shaky and feeling all nervous. After a while, her father beckoned to me.
   “Are you familiar with computers?” he asked in a sober tone.
   “Yeah…” I said nervously.
   “Do you think you can work around here?”
   I stared at Rachel. She nodded her head enthusiastically.
   “Yeah…”
   “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “Come tomorrow.”
   “You mean—I will start working here?”
   “If you want to, come tomorrow,” he said firmly.
   “Thanks sir,” I said, my heart boiling with happiness. I looked around the little café in disbelief. Was it true that this place was going to be my constant domain? Was it really true that Rachel and I were going to be seeing each other everyday?
   She was visibly happy too. She almost hugged me, but her father scowled at her and she settled for a handshake.
   “Come tomorrow at eight—and don’t be late.” She told me.
   “I won’t!” I said.
   As I left the shop, I was really skipping this time. I was more than happy. I was going to start work at the best café in town! No more would I live below the poverty line! I would also be walking around with brand new crisp notes in my pocket. My days of the sheer embarrassment of destitution would be over. But the real reason I was so happy was because I would be seeing Rachel everyday.
   My parents were elated when I told them about it. My father, whilst nodding his head, said that it was time I got a job because he was tired of giving me an allowance—which, of course, he hardly did. And mom said that it was better for me to contribute to the income of the household than to suck then dry like a nasty parasite.

   The following day, thirty minutes before eight, I was standing outside Rachel’s Café. It was closed and this was because Rachel and her dad had not yet arrived. When they did show up, five minutes before eight, they were definitely surprised to find me already there. Her father pulled up the car in front of the shop, and she jumped out even before it completely stopped.
   “Luis!” she squealed happily, “Luis—it’s great you are here. I had nightmares that you would not come.”
   “Are you kidding?” I laughed. “There is just no way I could not come. This is the first real job I will have in my life.”
   “I am glad you are here, because I have a lot to show you!” her face glistened in the morning sunshine as if there were small pieces of jewel imbedded in her skin, and her hair fluttered elegantly in the morning breeze. As I stared at her, smiling back at me, I once more felt hypnotised by her beauty.
   Her father slowly got out of the car and walked towards us with the keys.
   “Good morning young man,” he greeted with a smile.
   “Morning sir,” I greeted respectfully.
   “Your friend here was so excited that she could hardly sleep—as if she is the one starting the job,” he sniggered as he opened the door.
   “Is that true?” I asked in amusement.
   “Oh—he’s exaggerating,” she said shyly, sounding like a little girl. “I’m just happy that I have a helper…”
   Her father stared at me and winked. I smiled broadly, feeling strange that he should do that.
   Once the door opened, Mr. Tembo walked in, the bunch of keys in his hands clattering loudly. For a while I stood still, staring at the sign above the door. It was almost as if I was seeing it for the first time. The previous times I had been coming, I was always in a terrible rush and never had the time to take a good look at the things around the shop. But today was different. I had all the time in the world.
   Suddenly I felt a strong pull at my hand as Rachel yanked me inside. I stared at her with round eyes.
   “Come on in, you!” she said. She led me to the counter and stood me behind the computer.
   “You two,” Mr. Tembo suddenly said. “I have to go out of town to meet a business partner and I might be out for a while. So please take care of everything.”
   “Will do, daddy!” she chirped.
   “And Luis,” he turned just before he walked out of the door.
   “Yes sir?”
   “Learn all you can from her, okay?”
   “Yes sir.”
   Just before he left, he winked at me again. I was puzzled and remained wondering what the meaning of that was.
   “Your dad—he is very friendly.” I told Rachel.
   “Yeah—he’s my favourite.”
   “He has no reservations about leaving me here with you—without his supervision?” I asked with a worried expression.
   “He believes he can trust you…”
   “That’s quite too soon to earn his trust.”
   “Hey—I know you a bit more than he does…” she smiled knowingly at me.
   “You put in a good word for me?” I asked feeling a bit flattered.
   “Hey—you’re my friend.” She nudged me gently with her elbow. I just smiled back at her. My heart warmed up. She considered me a friend!
   “Isn’t it quite too early—for me to be your friend?”
   “No…from the very first moment we met—I knew you are a very nice person.”
   “Oh…” I said. I felt as though my inside would burst with happiness. It was almost too good to be true. One of those beautiful girls that I only would admire from a distance was now my friend! For a while, we stared at each other in silence. Her gaze seemed to bore into me…
   “Let’s get started, she we?” she said.
   “Um…yeah…”
   That day, I had a time of my life. Rachel enthusiastically showed me how the system was run and how to keep track of each and every computer. I was a quick learner, but today, it seemed I had become a bit duller. Perhaps it was because I was so mersmerised by her charming personality and her beauty that I could hardly concentrate. Eventually, I got the hang of it and was soon operating the counter. She, on her part, concentrated on helping out the customers who found difficulties in using the computers for obvious lack of familiarity.

   Days passed, and the days soon became weeks, and the weeks became months. I not so much as missed a single day from work. I cherished it with my whole heart. But I cherished Rachel’s company even more. We became very good friends. We wrote a dozen poems together. In time we even started writing short stories. We planned to write a book together. Our friendship became so strong that we always wanted to be together. We even spent some time after work together. Sometimes, I even visited her at home and spent time with her family. It seemed that, in all fairness, we were supposed to be together forever.
  
   Eventually, after about five months of working at Rachel’s Café, something happened that would drastically change my life and Rachel’s.
   One day after work, Rachel and I were packing up to leave when she suddenly put on a sad look. She walked up to me and stared at me, her eyes glistening with tears.
   “What’s up?” I asked in alarm.
   “Luis…” she began in a jerky voice. “Next month—I am leaving for the UK to study computer programming. I am being sponsored by the company dad works for.”
   “Wow!” I exclaimed. “That is nice.”
   “Really?” she stared at me with a frown.
   “Yes—you’re going to live your dream.”
   “Yes, but I don’t want to go…” a tear slid down one of her cheek.
   “But why?” I asked in disbelief.
   “I don’t want to leave you…I want to be with you ever!”
   “Me too,” I said with a lump in my throat. “But you have to go. When you return, we will be together again.”
   “But I will be away for a long time.”
   “How long?”
   “Five years.” She said painfully.
   “Five?” I felt the tears well-up in my eyes.
   “Yeah…”
   “I will still wait,” I said reassuringly and forced a smile. “I will be there for you when you return.”
   “Do you know that you are the only friend I have?” she asked.
   “I thought you do have other friends—Maureen for instance.” I said.
   “No—those are not real friends like you are; you understand me and you care about the same things that I care about. You love me for who I am and not what I am. The rest just like me for what I have…” the tears were now pouring out of her eyes in two thin streaks on both of her cheeks.
   “I never knew…” I said with a shudder. I felt terribly awful seeing her cry. I was soon shading tears myself.
   “You know what I want?” she asked. I shook my head without realising it.
   “I want you and me—to spend the rest of our lives together. Then we can do what we love for the rest of our lives—write poems and books—lots of books.”
   “What are you saying?” I asked.
   “I would love you to be more than my friend—I would love you to be my husband.” She smiled slightly.
   “Oh Rachel…” I gasped. “I would love that…very much.”
   She stooped forward and hugged me.
   “I will wait for you.” I said as she whimpered on my shoulder. Her tears drenched my shirt. Suddenly, there was a tap on the glass door. I looked up quickly. It was Mr. Tembo. He had been watching us.
   “Dad is here,” I whispered into her ear. She slowly loosed herself.
   I stared at him fearfully as he walked into the shop. I shuddered when I noticed the serious look on his face. But it gave way to a smile.
   “Let’s go,” he said, stretching out his arms towards his daughter.
   “Bye…” Rachel said, looking at me with a cute smile. As she walked towards him, she wiped away her tears with her hand.
   “Luis, wait here,” Mr. Tembo said. “I will be coming back soon. I want to talk to you about something.”
   “Okay, sir…” I said nervously. I watched them walk towards the car together, Mr. Tembo with one arm around her shoulders.
   After they had gone, I walked dejectedly to one of the computers and sat down. I sighed wearily and clicked away. Without even thinking about it, I found myself opening my mail. Suddenly, a pop-up appeared and covered my screen. I started in shock as I stared at the images of nude women. I minimized everything instantly and leaned back on the chair.
   “What is the meaning of this,” I asked myself, a terrible confusion raging in my head. My heart thudded heavily. Deep down my heart, I knew that pornography was wrong. Then the sad face of Rachel flashed in my mind. I frowned severely. All I now wanted was to forget about the reality that was facing me—that she was going to leave me soon.
   With a little grin on my face, I maximized everything and scrutinized the images with intense curiosity. A strange excitement permeated my whole body. I found myself clicking on the links to view more images.
   Suddenly the sound of the door jolted me out of my fantasies. I looked up quickly and stared at the door. It was Mr. Tembo. He walked in with a smile.
   “Sorry, I am late,” he said. He walked over to the counter. I quickly shut down the computer. I watched him from the corner of my eyes and noticed that the smile on his face vanished. He looked up at me with a stern expression.
   “Is everything alright, sir?” I asked worriedly.
   He stared at me for a long time without saying a word. He looked kind of dumfounded.
   “You can go home now, Luis,” he said coldly.
   “Sir—you said you wanted to talk to me?” I asked in alarm.
   “Go home…I have changed my mind.” He said coldly.
   I picked up my bag and swung it over my shoulder. I walked out of the café dejectedly. I stared at him as he locked up. He looked terribly upset. I shuddered as I slipped away into the darkness.

   Two Weeks before she could leave, Rachel’s father stopped her from coming to the shop. He said she had to prepare for school. But she still paid me regular visits. Those days I spent at the shop alone without Rachel were grossly lonely. I missed her loud and gregarious nature. I missed her jokes and the funny pranks that she occasionally pulled on me.
   To ease my loneliness, I typed out about thirty poems for her. I intended to print them out and have them bound into a book. At least, even if she left, she would have my poems to keep her company and remind her of me.
   Due to my extremely loneliness, I was now even more prone to give in to the desire to visit pornographic sites. It became like a drug, helping me to forget my miseries. And just like a powerful addictive drug, I got hooked. It almost became a daily affair; a daily affair, that is, until that night—that awful night. I shudder when I remember it.
   It was after working hours and Mr. Tembo and I were preparing to leave.
   “Have a seat young man,” he said suddenly, making me sit on one of the chairs. He pulled up a seat and sat down a few inches from me. He looked into my face. There was an extremely sad look on it.
   “Young man,” he began, “I have really enjoyed having you as my employee. You are very skilled and hardworking. I have never come across anyone half as hardworking as you are.”
   “Thanks,” I said shyly, staring at the floor.
   “That is why I am extremely sad about what I have to do,” he paused and stared at me long and hard. I looked into his face drearily. I almost thought I saw the glister of tears in his eyes, but I was not sure.
   “What is the matter, sir?” I asked in a small scared voice.
   “This month—it is the last month you are working for me….” I gaped at him in shock. I was speechless. “Why…” I asked in a whisper. There was an awfully big lump on my throat.
   “You have been abusing the internet—using it either before or after working hours. And the sites you’ve been visiting…” he paused; a painful expression appeared on his face. “The system is able to keep track of all you do on the computer; no matter how well you try to conceal your tracks.”
   “I am so sorry…” I said, my eyes flooding with tears. “I am really sorry, sir.”
   “You know very well that I do not allow watching pornography…” he pointed at the notice on the wall that clearly stated that it was prohibited to view pornography.
   “I know,” I said, nodding my head painfully.
   “Then why…?”
   “I…I was depressed,” I sobbed. “I was—and still am—quite unhappy that Rachel has to go…all I wanted was to forget about that.”

   He listened with a smirk. “If you really love my daughter, you would not do that.”
   “I do—I really do,” I said in desperation.
   “Well, not as much as I do. Viewing porn alters your view of women. You begin to view them as sex objects. In time you may become a ruthless beast—a sexual predator.”
   “I won’t do it again, sir,” I said, the tears dropping to the floor.
   “I wish I could believe that,” he said in a sincere tone. “It seems it has become an addiction.”
   I shuddered heavily. I was overwhelmed with shame. He walked back to counter and came back with a Bible. He opened it and handed it to me. I got it reluctantly and put it on my laps.
   “Read it,” he commanded. The scripture he gave me to read was Colossians chapter 3 verses 5 and 6. It read as follows:
  “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature; sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming.”
   “You should put to death those desires, Luis—put them to death.” He said.
   “I will…” I sobbed.
   “You know, my daughter—she has trouble making friends. Most of the friends she has had in the past are phony. But when she befriended you, she trusted you—I trusted you too. She was happy once more. She really loves you Luis—she really does. And I for one was happy that my daughter really found a descent young man…but now you have revealed your true colours….”
   “No, no, no,” I said, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I am seriously not like that. It’s just that—I was and still am depressed.”
   He chuckled and said nothing, giving me a mocking smile.
   “I want you to forget about my daughter—to walk out of her life.” He said solemnly.
   “No!” I cried. “She will be hurt; I can’t hurt her!”
   “You have already hurt her,” he said. “You should have thought about that the time you were busy watching those pictures…”
   “I can change…” I said with determination. “For Rachel I can change…”
   “I know you can,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “But I want what is best for my daughter.”
   “Please,” I said, my tears blurring my eyesight.
   “Come on,” he said unwaveringly. “Go home son…tomorrow, you bid farewell to Rachel.”
   I got up on wobbly legs. I felt as if my whole life was crumbling to pieces. I sobbed heavily as I walked to the door.
   “Please…” I pleaded as he locked up the door.
   “You should face the consequences of your actions.” He said. He turned and stared at me with a glum look. “You see; I put in a good word about you at my company and was arranging for a sponsorship so that you could go and study in the UK as well…but I don’t think you deserve it.”
   I stood there, like a statue—totally petrified. I tried to speak but all I did was gasp like a dying animal. With a look of utter disappointment on his face, he waved me off with his hand. I cried all the way home. Upon arriving, I made straight for my room and locked myself in. I did not even have supper. I was mourning—mourning the loss of my Rachel.
 
 So here I was, six months from the time Rachel and I had first met, looking down at her beautiful face.
   I reached out for my bag and pulled out the book I had bound for her—that contained all the thirty poems I had composed.
   “I have something for you,” I said. She got it and clutched it affectionately. I looked at her father again. He frowned.
   “Don’t be sad, Luis,” she said, wiping away my tears with her hand.    
   “I will be back—just like you said; and we will be together forever and live out our dream.”
   “I am sorry Rachel,” I said breaking down into sobs.
   “Sorry about what?” she asked, her eyes flooding with tears.
   “I—I won’t be there for you when you come back.”
   “What do you mean?” she appeared shocked.
   “I am not right for you…” I blurted out.
   “Yes you are!”
   “NO—I have made some mistakes and I think it’s better if …you forget about me.”
   “Mistakes? What mistakes?” she asked incredulously. “All mistakes can be corrected…”
   “Yes, but—you just have to forget about me!”
   “Impossible!” she hurled herself at me and hugged me tightly. “I am not leaving you! I am not leaving you!”
   “I am sorry,” I gasped. “You have to leave.”
   “Come on Rachel, let’s go!” Mr. Tembo said, pulling her away from me. “He is not a good boy, this one.”
   She fought back furiously but he was too strong for her. She held on to my hand, but it was wet with tears and slipped out of her grip. Her pretty countenance was now drenched and her hair terribly disheveled. It fell downwards, covering most of her face. It was terribly awful to see her so distressed.
   “I am sorry!” I shouted in a shaky voice as he dragged her towards the car.
   “What about our dreams?” She shrieked as he pushed her into the car. He quickly locked the door, run around to the other side, jumped in and started the engine.
   I stood watching despondently as the car drove away. I saw her staring at me through the back window. That was the last I saw of her.
   I stared at the ground and saw the book I had given her. She had dropped it in the commotion. I stooped down and picked it up. As I grasped it in my hand, I cried hard and loud for a good minute or so.
   “I am sorry,” I said in a trembling voice. “I am so sorry, Rachel. Our dreams—my dreams—your dreams… are lost…”
   I stood up and stared at the cloud of dust that the car had left behind. I threw the book back into my bag. That is all I now had to remind me of Rachel. With one great burst of effort I made the first step to the many steps of my walk out of Rachel’s life.

Lost Dream
© Kundananji Creations 2008

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